Prologue
“Your solemn vow, Rafael. Give me your solemn vow that you will find a suitable woman to marry, before next Christmas Day.”
Rafael Livingstone, Duke of Oakmoor, regarded his mother with an expression compounded of frustration, resentment, and resignation. They were barely a week out of their year of mourning for his father and, already, it had come to this.
He knew that he should marry, and get himself an heir, that it was part of the responsibility which came with the title, but he had hoped for a few years respite from the London Season, and the hovering hopeful young women who wished to be a Duchess.
Mourning had allowed him to avoid their shallow falsity for a year, but now, it seemed that there was to be no further escape.
“Surely, I can take a little more time about it? I would prefer to find a woman I might actually like, or even love, rather than simply tolerate! And I’ve yet to meet one.
Every young woman of the ton that I have met is vapid, insipid, shallow, self-serving, and prone to gossip and lies.
I abhor gossip, and dishonesty is just completely unacceptable. ”
“Nonetheless, I want your solemn vow. There must be one woman among them that you can tolerate. You cannot waste time – you need an heir. The thought that, if anything should happen to you, the title and estates would go to your uncle, is enough to make any sane person feel quite ill. Your uncle is incapable, bedridden – the estates would fall into disrepair, and everything that your father and his father worked for would be lost.”
Rafe, nodded, unable to dispute her point.
What she said was true. He swallowed, facing the fact that he would have to give her what she wanted, that duty bound him despite his personal misgivings.
He would give his vow, and pray that a miracle happened, that somehow, he would meet a suitable woman, who was also pleasant, honest, straightforward, and had at least a modicum of intelligence.
“All right Mother. I give you my vow. By next Christmas Day, I will find a woman to marry.”
“Thank you. But I warn you, don’t take this lightly. If, by November, you have not become betrothed, I will organise a Christmas House Party, and you will choose from amongst those who attend.”
Rafe shuddered.
“I will do my best to prevent it coming to that.”