He has brushed my hair, rubbed my feet, and not only read me poetry with animated passion but written it as well. Ah, dear ladies, his voice is a soothing baritone, his features most comely, and his shoulder incredibly comforting when I required a haven to absorb my tears. His eye never wandered . . . well, except toward sweet shops. He does so enjoy his lemon balls.

In spite of my flaws, he remained the most loyal and steadfast of husbands. Win his heart and find yourself falling into a lifetime of happiness.

With my most sincerest regards,

The Departed Countess of Rosemont

Each time he read it, the coldhearted lie she’d meticulously penned mocked him. She hadn’t loved him. Not in the least. Not with one iota of her being.

The daughter of an industrialist knighted by the Queen, Elise had been in want of a titled husband and, at only nineteen, she’d known well how to work her wiles on him. He had little doubt his smile had drawn her—that much was true—but she’d also been lured by the title he’d inherited only the year before. He’d been all of twenty-three, infatuated with her beauty and teasing eyes that promised wicked adventures and a tantalizing escape from all cares. When she’d suggested a tryst among the plants in the conservatory during a ball held at his married sister’s country estate, he’d been only too keen to accommodate her. Being caught by Elise’s father with her skirts up and his trousers down had resulted in a rather hasty trip to the altar. But the triumph mirrored in her eyes when they were interrupted alerted him that he’d been cast into the role of gullible fool.

It had been a hard lesson learned, a high price paid, and he’d made a solemn vow to never again be duped by anyone of the female persuasion.

A marriage based on a lack of trust was no marriage at all. During the first two years, they’d not confided in each other at all, preferred to spend their time apart, he in the country, she in the city. He’d been in no rush to get her with child. The joy of having her had died in the conservatory, and he’d been hard-pressed to work up any enthusiasm when it came to the bedding of her. The third and final year, he’d seldom left her side as the cancer had its way with her. Elise had made a point of listing all the things she’d never do. She’d not welcomed death, nor should she have. She’d been all of twenty-two, with hair that would never gray and skin that would never wrinkle with age.