Chapter One
Mivart’s Hotel
Brook Street
Mayfair, London, England
Ashlyn March reclined against the pillows of her plush hotel bed, her gaze drifting around the room in awe.
She took in the multitude of boxes and packages scattered across every surface of her room.
Scarcely ten days ago, she and her cousin, Miss Elizabeth Vickers, daughter of American shipping magnate William Alfred Vickers, had arrived in London, eager to immerse themselves in all the excitement the city had to offer.
As they’d grown up as close as sisters could be, Elizabeth had insisted that Ashlyn go with her on this grand adventure.
Elizabeth’s parents would be joining them in a few weeks to begin the official whirlwind of the London Season.
The six-week transatlantic trip from New York City had been exhausting, and they were jubilant to be finally off the ship and on terra firma once more.
They had spent the first three days settling in and sightseeing—visiting the Tower of London, the Royal Menagerie, Westminster Abbey, the Royal Museum, and taking several rides in Hyde Park, where they stopped at Gunter’s before leaving.
Of course, they also sampled new cuisines—new to them, at least—and went shopping.
Ashlyn had adored the Royal Museum, full of antiquities, and loved visiting a local book shop, while her cousin preferred browsing the various modistes and milliners and chatting about the latest French designs.
They spent the next three days at the modiste’s being fitted for various day gowns, pelisses, hats, gloves, kid boots, dancing slippers, and even undergarments.
Elizabeth had insisted on four ball gowns (which were what she had ordered for herself) for Ashlyn.
Although Ashlyn had appreciated the generosity of her relatives, she had been perfectly fine with only one ball gown.
But Elizabeth had stubbornly insisted, and they’d argued back and forth until they finally agreed on two ball gowns for Ashlyn.
Then Elizabeth had insisted on having their portraits painted as a gift for their parents.
The footmen had just finished delivering the dresses and multitude of boxes to their hotel suite.
“I’ve never seen so many boxes and packages for me in one room in my life,” Ashlyn mused, getting up from the bed to begin sorting through all the packages and folding her clothes. She’d given her maid the afternoon off.
“I’m getting married, Ashlyn!” Elizabeth squealed as she burst into Ashlyn’s room, dressed in a lovely blue silk gown, one of the new dresses that the talented Madame Trousseau had created. Elizabeth twirled in a circle in front of Ashlyn.
“Of course, you will…once you’ve danced with every titled gentleman in the ton,” Ashlyn said, chuckling as she carefully folded and put away the new undergarments that Elizabeth had also insisted on.
“No…truly. Wait! I’ve something to show you. I’ll be right back,” Elizabeth said, rushing out of Ashlyn’s room.
Minutes later, Elizabeth returned, wearing a creamy ivory satin gown, tastefully decorated in pearls and sequins. “It’s my wedding dress. The modiste agreed to alter it for me when I stopped by yesterday.”
Ashlyn’s eyes widened. “That was the dress hanging on the back of the door in the fitting room we used.”
“Yes… But Madame Trousseau agreed to make the dear girl another one. I needed something quickly, and we both loved this dress. So, I agreed to pay twice her price,” Elizabeth said. “I simply won’t be married in a blue ball gown.”
“But Elizabeth, why the hurry? It’s a lovely gown, but you know your mother.
Aunt Beatrice will insist on a much more elaborate wedding gown when you eventually marry, not to mention an extensive wedding trousseau.
There will be plenty of time for that. But first, we need to get through the Season. I’m certain you will meet the right—”
“Oh, pish posh!” Elizabeth said, cutting Ashlyn off with a flick of her wrist. “You’re not listening to me, Ash. I have no interest in marrying an English nobleman. Not when I have Matteo,” she whispered in a dreamy voice.
“Matteo…the artist?” Ashlyn said in disbelief. Matteo was an effusive and outgoing young man from Italy who had been in London for a year and quickly made a name for himself as a talented artist who specialized in portraiture, especially ladies of the ton.
In his mid-twenties, Matteo had flirted outrageously with Elizabeth the entire three days they’d posed for their portraits. And Elizabeth had flirted right back.
Elizabeth had told Ashlyn after their first sitting that she thought he was the most handsome man she’d ever met.
Ashlyn had agreed that he was striking, with an exotically handsome face, but his features were so refined, they were almost too pretty for a man.
Almond-shaped, dark eyes with a thick fringe of black lashes, a Romanesque nose, and full lips.
His tanned, olive-skinned face was framed by thick, long blue-black hair that he kept tied back in a sleek queue.
He was of average height, with a wiry physique and lean muscles that he obviously enjoyed showing off in a shirt that he wore almost completely unbuttoned.
Clearly, it had had the desired effect on Elizabeth.
“Yes, Matteo!” Elizabeth gushed. She grabbed a pillow and clutched it against her chest, as if she had been holding the Italian artist in her arms. “Matteo is sooo romantic, Ash. He calls me Bellissima. Isn’t that wonderful?
Do you know what it means? It means my beautiful one. He’s asked me to marry him!”
Ashlyn gaped at her cousin. “Elizabeth, that is outrageous! You don’t even know him.”
“Yes, I do. I know plenty about him. Matteo told me his father is an Italian count, and they are quite rich. He wants me to elope with him. To Italy! Isn’t that romantic?
“Yes, you already mentioned how romantic it is,” Ashlyn said, frustrated.
“He told me all about the beautiful vineyards on his family’s estate, and all about his wonderful family, and the grand villa where he grew up.”
“Elizabeth, are you listening to yourself? Marriage? What are you thinking? You’ve known him all of three days.”
“I do too know him. It was practically love at first sight for both of us. Some people know each other for three years, and they don’t have the kind of passion that Matteo and I share after three days,” Elizabeth said, her voice rising.
“Passion?” Ashlyn had become more and more alarmed by Elizabeth’s words. “Did you—? Did Matteo—? Already…?”
“No, of course not! Not that Matteo didn’t want to.
He is ravenous for me. But I’m not that kind of girl.
I told him we would have to wait until our wedding night.
Don’t you worry. I am not going to give the honey away until I’m crowned Queen Bee.
And besides, it’s already decided. I’m leaving with Matteo. ”
“To be married.” It was a statement and no longer a question. Ashlyn took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Your parents will be arriving in London at the end of the month—you cannot elope without telling them.”
“You can tell them, Ash. They always listen to you, anyway.” Elizabeth had given a little shrug. “Matteo assured me that his father, Conte Angelo Russo, will welcome me to the family with open arms. I am certain Mother and Father will be pleased…eventually.”
“Oh, Elizabeth! This is not a good idea. Uncle William will be furious. He’ll probably send runners after you. And when he finds you, you’d better have suffered some sort of amnesia,” Ashlyn finished. Her own parents would be shocked if they found out she had gone along with such a thing.
Uncle William was Ashlyn’s mother’s brother.
He’d always counted on Ashlyn to be the levelheaded one and had never minced words about it.
Usually, whenever Elizabeth got one of her outrageous notions in her head, Ashlyn could convince her to see things differently.
But maybe not this time. It seemed Matteo had already convinced her beyond the point of reason, but Ashlyn couldn’t stop trying to change her cousin’s mind.
“We’re supposed to be here for the Season, and the day after tomorrow, we’ll be traveling to Mrs. Bessie Dove-Lyon’s house party.
” The party was being held at a friend of Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s home outside of Bath, and Ashlyn was looking forward to attending with Elizabeth.
She wanted her cousin to meet and fall in love with someone truly worthy of her.
But this artist… Ashlyn had a strange feeling about him—that he was not the man Elizabeth thought he was.
“Mrs. Dove-Lyon is expecting both of us,” Ashlyn said, hoping her tone was calm enough to hide her inner anxiety. “What will happen when I show up without you?”
Elizabeth gave a sudden squeal of delight.
“That’s it! You’ve just given me the most divine idea!
You can be me!” she said, grabbing Ashlyn by the shoulders and pulling her in for a hug.
“You must do it, Ash! Think of it. No one will know you aren’t me.
We are practically twins by different parents! ”
“Twins? What are you talking about, Elizabeth?” Ashlyn pulled away from her cousin’s embrace, her heart pumping as hard as if she’d just run up a hill.
“Relax, dear cousin. We look alike. And we sound alike,” Elizabeth said, ticking off her points with her fingers. “People have always mistaken us for the other, our entire lives. We could pass for twins, and you know this.”
“But Elizabeth, we aren’t alike in everything,” Ashlyn insisted, becoming more furious with her cousin by the minute, and feeling the argument slipping from her grasp. There was no way she would allow herself to fall for a man in a matter of days. Such foolishness!