Chapter 1
Tuscany, Italy – Summer, 1890
If there was one thing that the all-night ball at the Villa Torrigiani taught Lady Hattie McGovern, it was that she was completely unwilling to live her life on someone else’s terms.
“The food was surprisingly good for that sort of a ball,” she said to her twin cousins, Heather and Sage, as they sagged against each other in the carriage that bumped and rattled over the rolling, Tuscan countryside as it took them to their temporary home, Villa Adelina. “Though I was disappointed in the wine.”
“A young lady of your status should not overindulge in wine at a foreign ball to begin with, Lady Hattie,” Miss Wendine Sewett—the battle axe of a chaperone that Hattie’s cousin, Asher McGovern, Duke of Addlebury and head of the clan, had hired to keep the McGovern ladies in line on their grand tour of Europe—said with a sniff. “A refined lady must always keep her head about her. She must exude morality and uprightness at all times.”
Hattie pursed her lips and sent a sideways glance to Miss Sewett, who sat beside her in the rattling carriage. “You would say that,” she said, sharing a teasing look with her cousins across the way. “It is your job to be as much of a wet blanket as possible.”
“A wet blanket?” Miss Sewett squeaked in protest, pressing a hand to her chest. “I am no such thing. I am the voice of reason. It is my responsibility to make certain that you lot present yourselves as perfectly as possible, and if that means sharing advice about how you should deport yourselves—”
“Unsolicited advice,” Hattie murmured, arching an eyebrow.
“—delivered with precision and honesty—”
“Cruelty and arrogance, you mean,” Hattie continued to mumble.
“—then I am honor-bound to instruct you,” Miss Sewett finished.
Hattie turned her head to glance fully at the sour-faced woman. “I understand that my cousin, Asher, thinks very highly of you, Miss Sewett, but you could do with some softening around the edges.”
Again, Miss Sewett looked as though Hattie had threatened her life and livelihood. “Why, I never.”
“I am simply offering advice about how you should deport yourself,” Hattie said with a casual shrug and a wink for Heather and Sage. “Delivered with precision and honesty, I might add.”
“Well,” Miss Sewett huffed, picking at the drab, black fabric of her skirt.
Hattie grinned when the woman failed to continue with her diatribe. It felt like a victory of some sort, though it could just have been the sheer level of exhaustion that they all felt. The ball at Villa Torrigiani had begun the evening before and continued through the night. The food and drink had been plentiful, the company vast and varied, and the entertainment seemed as though it would never end. Hattie was certain some of the guests were still enjoying themselves at the villa, long after everyone else had departed.
She glanced out of the carriage window with a sigh. On the horizon, dawn was just beginning to break. The sky was streaked with coral and orange that cut through the deep blues of the night sky. The sunrise just barely kissed the rolling hills they traveled across. The dewy grass around them was misty as morning approached. All in all, it was a beautiful sight that stretched deep into Hattie’s soul. But she couldn’t enjoy it fully. Not when so many things had been made clear to her the night before.
“I refuse to make the same mistakes my mother made,” she murmured, louder than she’d intended to.
Heather and Sage looked as though they had fallen asleep on the seat across from Hattie, but Sage raised her head and asked, “What mistakes are those?”
Part of Hattie felt awkward about speaking her mind, but an even greater part of her desperately needed the outlet. “Mother was wild and impetuous. She savored every bit of life, regardless of what people thought of her.”
“Yes,” Miss Sewett grumbled. “You would do well to avoid those traits.”
“Those traits are the ones I wish to embrace,” Hattie said, feeling the indignation Miss Sewett’s words brought to her deeply. It was the same indignation she felt every time she thought of what was expected of her, and what had happened to her dear mother. “Mother fancied herself in love with Father and married him after a whirlwind courtship. But Father soon put an end to her lively spirits and adventurous ways.”
“As well he should have.” Miss Sewett nodded sharply.
Hattie rolled her eyes and pressed her lips together before going on. “Marriage killed something in Mother’s spirit. She was never the same after giving birth to me and to Trent, or so I’ve been told. I could see in her eyes through my entire childhood that she missed the woman she was. She told me time and time again not to settle for anything less than what I wanted from life.”
“But what do you want from life?” Heather asked, sitting up a bit as though the conversation had become interesting.
“I want adventure,” Hattie said with a sigh of longing. “I want passion and excitement.” Indeed, she’d already had her fair share of passion and excitement in her twenty-three years. More than she should have and far more than any of her family—especially Trent—knew. And yet, as delicious as it was to lose herself in the arms of a lover, her heart continued to demand more. She wouldn’t let it entrap her the way her mother’s heart had ensnared her so long ago.
“Lord Hartfield seems rather adventurous,” Sage said with a hopeful look.
“He was quite attentive to you throughout the ball,” Heather agreed.
“Lord Hartfield is an aging roué who merely wants a young wife to ensure the next earl in his family line,” Hattie complained.
“And that is precisely why you should have been a great deal more attentive to him,” Miss Sewett said.
“He bored me,” Hattie said, though part of her wished he hadn’t. He was, in fact, exactly the sort she should have been interested in—experienced and not bad to look at.
“What about Mr. Cosgrove?” Sage asked. “I was told he is worth a fortune, and he was quite taken with you.”
“And he’s ever so handsome,” Heather added, her cheeks going pink in the dawn light streaming in through the window.
“He’s handsome enough.” Hattie shrugged. “But he was a little too eager to latch himself onto a wife with a title.”
“That is why men of his sort come to Italy on holiday,” Miss Sewett said. “To choose brides from the extensive collection of Englishmen and women taking in the Italian vistas.”
“I do not want to be poached like a chicken on someone else’s farm,” Hattie said.
“Not even by Lord Wentworth?” Heather asked, a sparkle of mischief in her eyes.
Lord Wentworth was heir to a dukedom and widely considered the finest English catch in the entire Italian peninsula at the moment. And he had lavished attention on Hattie throughout the ball. Or at least he had lavished attention on her décolletage, which he hadn’t been able to stop staring at. For about half an hour, Hattie had considered sneaking off into the depths of the Villa for a quick tumble with the man. He certainly had all the hallmarks of one who would be good at such things, and it had been an achingly long time since she’d felt the sinful delight of a powerful cock pounding inside of her. But that devilish beast, Pride, had convinced her that a quick poke in a side parlor wasn’t worth the risk.