Victorian London is a cruel place for a divorcee, but with the death of Sophie Duthie’s beloved second husband, she is now a widow, and independent for the first time in her life. She might not have much in terms of means, but with the help of her music shop, she can support herself and her son, Alfie. Even though her second marriage was happy, Sophie is done with husbands. Her first marriage taught her well that fairy tales are nothing more than illusions.
To Lord Aberley, his former wife is nothing but a scheming pariah, and unfortunately, his subsequent engagement wasn’t successful—not that he’s ever had much delusions about marriage. It is something he now wishes to avoid at all costs, but he needs an heir. It is the one duty he cannot overlook, so learning that his former wife’s son is six years old, creates serious doubt about his true parentage. Seeing the child only confirms it. Alfie Duthie is his child.
This is currently my best selling historical romance book. It has consistently performed well since launch.
GRIPPING HER SON'S hand tighter, Sophie guarded them against the rain that pelted down on her black umbrella. The vicar had no umbrella and stood in the rain as he read the burial sermon. Two men stood by, waiting for it to be over, so they could start their work of filling the grave of her husband.
Consumption had finally claimed him as she’d known it would. It had still been a shock when it had happened, as if she'd never truly been convinced it would. Doug was gone, and the emptiness of the thought ached in her heart. She'd loved her husband. He'd been kind.
How was it that the awful ones lived and the loved ones didn't? How was that fair? How was a gentle man like Doug taken when such an awful man like Lord Aberley lived and breathed every day?
Sophie shunted the thought of her ex-husband from her mind and held her son tighter. What was the point of being bitter? Lord Aberley had, for whatever else he was, given her the most precious gift at all, and the divorce had led her to a man who she had truly loved, and who had loved her in return.
Many had seen her second marriage as proof of how far she had fallen—marriage to a penniless and failed musician. Their marriage had been bought, but it had nonetheless been a successful one. With the money he had been paid to give her child a name, they had set up the music equipment and supplies store in Holborn, which had afforded them two rooms not far away and, as it turned out, quite a happy existence.
Her son, Alfie, had thrived with a childhood surrounded by music and gentle love. This was the first blow in his life and he looked up at her with those icy blue eyes she loved. "We will be alright," she said with a sad smile. "We knew this day was coming."
"Won't he be cold down there?"
"Your father is in heaven now. He will never be cold again."
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French
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Translation in progress.
Translated by Nnenna Eronini
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Portuguese
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Already translated.
Translated by Wélida Cristina de Souza Muniz
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Spanish
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Already translated.
Translated by Susana Rebon
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