Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

The road to Luton, Bedfordshire

March, 1818

S carlett Margrave was a lady meant to live in vibrant colours. She was sure of that, despite the fact that so far, the majority of her life had been lived in dull hues of ivory and grey that always appeared to have been laundered too much.

But here she was at last in a gown of cornflower blue silk with her fair hair having been removed from its usual severe chignon and curled and teased and plaited into something vaguely resembling what her dear friend, Miss Bess Leighton, had shown her in one of her fashion magazines. Bess, a plump young lady whose inherent sweetness marked her every feature, had also loaned her the gown; it was not quite long enough for Scarlett's taller, more slender frame, but her friend had assured her that showing one's ankles was not at all scandalous and, in fact, quite in fashion. Once they had tied the sash more tightly about Scarlett's waist, it almost looked as if it had been made for her. For the millionth time, she smoothed her skirts with her gloved hands, marvelling at the satisfying manner in which the fine materials moved against one another.

No piece of the evening was her own. The gown belonged to Bess, the carriage belonged to Bess's mother, Lady Leighton, and the assembly they travelled to was on the invitation of Bess's elder brother, Mr Oliver Leighton. Scarlett had been included in the scheme on the basis of the friendship—or perhaps the charitable impulses—of the Leighton family. Bess and Lady Leighton both thought it was high time that Scarlett went to a proper assembly. Scarlett thought so too. To have arrived at the age of eighteen without ever having danced with anyone save for Oliver!

Leighton , she reminded herself. We are no longer children, and I must remember to call him Leighton.

She glanced at the well-fed young man of twenty-three who was very nearly a brother to her. Leighton was a reasonably appealing fellow, even though he did tend towards being rumpled. He had asked her to dance the first with him, which was excessively generous of him, even if she suspected his mother had made him do it.

Although it was a borrowed evening in every sense, she felt more at ease than she ever had before. Having only just smoothed her skirts, she now fluffed them a little, causing Bess, across the carriage, to roll her eyes and grin at her. Bess had kindly volunteered to sit on the backwards-facing seat, knowing that Scarlett sometimes became ill if she did .

"You look very well, Scarlett," Lady Leighton, who sat beside her, said with a reassuring pat on the arm.

"Of course she does." Bess leant forwards and smiled encouragingly. "She is shockingly beautiful, and I daresay if we had borrowed a grain sack from the farmers to dress her, she would make it look like haute couture . I should despise her heartily if she was not so dear to me."

"I appreciate you letting me wear your gown," Scarlett said quickly, not wishing to dwell on the subject of her looks. "I shall take good care of it and not get it dirty."

"If it gets dirty, we shall have it washed," Lady Leighton declared. "All in the course of a young person's enjoyments, I say."

Scarlett smiled, though such sentiments embarrassed her a bit. She had recently become aware of her status as A Project .

As the only daughter of a widowed parson, Scarlett was accustomed to a life heavy with obligation and stricture; she was more the reverend's helpmeet than his daughter, beginning each morning with a full slate of parish duties to occupy her every waking moment. Though the neighbours all smiled and nodded approvingly when they saw her trudging about the parish in her hated dull muslins and sensible but ugly boots, she knew they worried about her.

Scarlett had overheard more than one matron cluck that at eighteen she ought to have more diversion—to be doing something tonight, as she was, for no more reason than diversion was discomfiting to say the least!—and perhaps even a suitor or two. A suitor! The very idea made her laugh. Though she had never dared broach the subject with him, something within her just knew the reverend was in no hurry to see her married. Perhaps he intends to keep me at the parsonage, forever his spinster daughter with nothing more to do but tend to his parish for him.

The thought of being entrapped in such a way sent a hot, itching flush all over her body. To imagine that nothing would ever change, that day after day, year after year, she would move along just as she was, growing older, her chances at happiness steadily diminishing…

Stop that! she scolded herself. Not for tonight, these glum notions. For tonight, she would laugh until her cheeks ached, drink ratafia, flirt with gentlemen, and enjoy herself.

"Scarlett?" Lady Leighton said, suddenly looking worried. "You do know the dances—do you not?"

Scarlett turned her head to smile at her. "Thanks to Bess and Leighton, I do."

"Oh good." Her ladyship settled back into the squabs. "I should not have liked you to feel awkward in any way."

"No, ma'am, I assure you, I am all anticipation and nothing less."

"Well, 'tis time to stop anticipating and start dancing," Bess announced. "For here we are!"

The horses stopped walking and the carriage came to a halt with a lurch that matched the one in Scarlett's heart. She waited patiently while Leighton exited and handed down his mother and sister; then it was her turn to very gently lay her hand against his and step down, feeling herself the very picture of elegance and refinement .

The assembly rooms were on the second floor of the coaching inn, and Scarlett felt her anticipation mount with each step they ascended. The deep inhalation she drew upon reaching the ballroom was as much to steady her nerves as it was to catch her breath.

The ballroom was surprisingly commodious, consisting of a series of three rooms with little to demarcate between them, and surprisingly well-appointed. A multitude of standing chandeliers cast the room in a warm glow, and the wood floors had been chalked with the crest of the family who had sponsored the party. The musicians were at their posts, beginning to rehearse their instruments, and pale blue curtains fluttered at the open windows. A very charming setting , Scarlett thought. Not London, to be sure, but likely as close as I shall ever be.

Lady Leighton excused herself immediately, warning the girls to stay with her son. "Take good care of them," she said sternly to him before gliding away to where a cluster of matrons had already gathered.

"Ah, her ladyship's minions await," Leighton said with a grin. Bess replied with a sharp elbow to his ribs. He gave a little yelp, then instructed them, "Let us not commit to any particular position just yet. Let us take some time to walk about first."

Scarlett glanced at Bess who was looking around at the gentlemen who gathered along the edges like an ostentation of peafowl. She hid a small smile; Bess was likely seeking Mr Beamish, her current beau and the man who she hoped would soon offer for her. Whether Lady Leighton and Sir Humphrey approved of the match was less certain, but Scarlett knew her friend's wishes lay in that quarter.

The rooms were only about half-full as they had arrived early, but those present made up for it with loud chatter and laughter. Both Leighton and Bess knew a fair number of the partygoers and stopped occasionally to introduce Scarlett; to Scarlett's very great pleasure, she soon had partners for three dances besides the one promised to Leighton.

By the time they had made a complete perambulation of the rooms, the crowds had thickened considerably. "I could just sit and stare," Scarlett murmured to Bess, watching the spectacle—young ladies of all variations of beauty preening and flirting while the young bucks and dandies blustered and swaggered about.

"It is you everybody is staring at," Bess said with a proud smile on her sweet, rounded face. "I just knew you would be much admired."

"They are not staring at me. Or, if they are, it is your gown that is doing it."

"It is because you are quite the most handsome girl here. If you have not received an offer of marriage by the end of the evening, I shall think every man here has gone blind, mad, or both!"

Scarlett looked at the floor. "Can you even imagine some man coming to call on me at the parsonage? The reverend would have fits. I am quite certain he intends to keep me forever at home, his spin?—"

"If you say ‘spinster' I shall kick your shin, and that will ruin my gown, so you had better not!" In a kinder tone, Bess added, "I wish you would give up on this idea that you will never be able to leave home. He cannot keep you there forever!"

It was easier to smile as though she agreed than continue to argue, and the subject was soon dropped in favour of enjoying the spectacle unfolding before them. The dancing was soon to begin, and the noise and bustle were reaching a fever pitch; no one wanted to be left on the fringes, and those without dance partners were actively trying to secure one.

All at once, it seemed to Scarlett that things went very still. Everyone stopped walking and talking and indeed, seemed almost to hold their collective breath.

Scarlett craned her neck to see what was going on, only to see that two gentlemen had entered the room. Untrained though she was in such matters, she knew at once that these were men of superior birth. While both were handsome men—brothers, or perhaps cousins, she surmised—one in particular drew her notice and made her pulse quicken. He was slightly taller than his companion and had rich, dark curls arranged in the fashionably haphazard way. His clothing was modish, but not dandyish, and somehow Scarlett just knew he smelt of deliciously manly things—sandalwood and leather or something of that sort. He nodded to the people around him as he and his companion made their way through the thick crowd, and his eyes crinkled in a friendly way whenever he spoke to someone.

"Ollie, is that…?" Bess asked her brother from behind her fan.

"Jonathan Ashley, the Earl of Worthe and master of Ashworthe Park," Leighton said discreetly. "I believe it is in Hertfordshire. The other is his younger brother, Mr Edward Ashley."

"Are you much acquainted with Lord Worthe?" Scarlett asked.

Leighton shrugged. "It is up to him to decide how well we know one another. I have been introduced to him, but I am not on such terms as to presume on the acquaintance."

Evidently most of the others had not Leighton's scruples, for they all surged forwards, eager to claim friendship with the noble personages. It did not seem to trouble the two men; elevated though they were, they did not appear to be the high-in-the-instep type.

"He is certainly handsome," she murmured to Bess.

With a giggle, her friend said, "His lordship has lips that look like they were made for kissing."

"Bess!" Scarlett hissed back in a scandalised whisper.

"Well, he does!"

In fact, Scarlett did not disagree. There was something about the softness of them, the shocking pinkness in the countenance of a man that was quite enchanting. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine standing in front of such a man, tilting her face towards his, her gentle smile soon covered by his…

Good heavens! No wonder the reverend has always prohibited me from coming to these things. I have not even danced yet and look where my mind has gone.

She shook her head and continued to watch the slow progress of the two brothers, assuming all the protection of obscurity would hide her frank interest. Then, just as they reached the middle of the room, an excessively strange thing happened—Lord Worthe appeared to take notice of her. Their eyes locked into one another, a pulse of recognition thrumming between them.

"Oh!" Scarlett said in a faint whisper and immediately dropped her gaze. When she raised her eyes again, Lord Worthe was still looking directly at her, but speaking to his brother. His brother, too, seemed interested, narrowing his gaze to peer at her and then saying something to his lordship that caused them both to quicken their steps in her direction.

For a moment, Scarlett froze, feeling as if time itself had ceased to move. Then she laughed quietly at herself. Obviously, they are not coming to me! No doubt there was something behind her that drew them near. She glanced over her shoulder, seeing only a wall, a flat, yellowish-grey wall that could be of no interest to any sane person.

And yet—they came closer, in quick paces no less, or at least the quickest paces permitted by the crowd that thronged about them. Scarlett did what she could to recover her wits by the time Lord Worthe came to a stop directly in front of her. Her heart first stopped, then stuttered, and then began a rapid staccato within her chest. She heard, dimly, Bess's gasp and glanced around her, seeing frank astonishment in the surrounding countenances as his lordship bowed to her. Bess's gentle tap on her wrist reminded her to sink into a curtsey just in time to avoid being rude.

"How delightful to see you!" he and his brother beside him cried out. He then asked, "What do you do here? "

"M-me?" The word emerged in a little squeak, and Scarlett felt herself blushing.

He looked at Bess and Leighton, and then all about them. "Is Kem with you?"

"I-I, um?—"

"I should have imagined that London and the wedding had you more than busy enough without coming up here!" He smiled broadly, one hand resting on his hip. Some dim part of her mind registered what a very nice smile it was, revealing straight, white teeth.

"The wedding?"

"Mr Leighton, is it not?" Lord Worthe had turned to Leighton and bowed, and Leighton, looking himself a bit shocked, returned it. His lordship asked to be introduced to Bess, and although Bess looked like she might faint, she conducted herself admirably.

"And it seems you are already acquainted with Miss Margrave," Leighton said, "so?—"

"Miss Margrave?" Both Lord Worthe and Mr Ashley exclaimed simultaneously and returned to peering intently at Scarlett.

Again, she froze; the men did likewise. They appeared unduly shocked, and she had no idea what to do about it. Part of her wished to apologise—they evidently were not expecting a Miss Margrave. Perhaps stupidly, she said, "H-how do you do?"

The two men did not reply, both simply staring at her, until his lordship threw up his hands and said, with a little laugh, "I do beg your pardon! This is dashed awkward!"

"Dashed awkward indeed!" Mr Ashley repeated .

"A Miss Margrave, you say?" His lordship shook his head, seemingly lost in wonderment of her name.

"Yes, sir," Scarlett replied hesitantly. "My father is Reverend Margrave in Stanbridge."

"Stanbridge!" Lord Worthe looked at his brother who shook his head, also seeming amazed. "A striking resemblance—do you not think so, Eddie?"

"Uncanny," his brother agreed. "You must be some relation to the Richmonds, then?"

Feeling increasingly confused, Scarlett looked at Bess. Her desperation must have been evident, for Bess hurriedly offered, "Do you mean the family of the Earl of Tipton?"

Both brothers nodded and Mr Ashley said, "Yes, of course."

Scarlett shook her head, barely managing to restrain her nervous giggle. "I am afraid not. My mother's people were from Wales, and the reverend has always been in Stanbridge, the second son of a very small line."

"Booker, then?" Lord Worthe glanced at his brother.

"Now Miss Adelaide Richmond," Mr Ashley supplied.

The pair looked at Scarlett expectantly as if they thought these names might have some effect. They did not.

"I cannot account for it," Lord Worthe said faintly. Then, more assuredly, he said, "I know of a lady in London, a lady lately engaged to my friend Lord Kemerton, and she is quite literally your twin."

"Perhaps a bit more stout," Mr Ashley added.

"A very little bit," Lord Worthe agreed. "Likely due to the change…but never mind that. You never heard of the lady?"

"Forgive me, but no, I do not know anyone by the name of Booker or Richmond or Tipton."

"I have heard it said that everyone has a twin." Leighton had decided to enter the conversation.

How I wish I did , Scarlett thought with a quick intake of breath. Just as quickly, she warned herself, pray do not be a fool!

Some years ago, likely after one of the reverend's infamous stern lectures, Scarlett had come across a letter in her father's study. Come across , she scoffed. No, you were snooping around in his drawer!

No matter how she had found it, the letter—which had remained in its original place in the time since—pertained to an orphan called Scarlett. An orphan who might or might not have been her namesake but otherwise had absolutely nothing to do with her. She had entertained certain fancies before, of course, childish dreams wherein some family, perhaps one like the Leightons, was out there looking for her, wanting her, wishing to love her above all things.

For better or for worse, she knew who her family were. If some lady out there looked like her, it was nothing more than a coincidence, or some exceedingly distant relation.

"In this case, it is surely true, for a more faithful likeness I do not think I have ever seen," Lord Worthe agreed with a hearty laugh, giving Leighton a clap on the back.

The familiarity inspired Leighton to make one of his famous, ill-timed jests. "Then we must hope the lady in London is pretty, else you would just have served Scarlett here quite the veiled insult!"

"Good lord!" Lord Worthe looked appalled. "Yes, I should have…the lady is quite handsome—as is Miss Margrave. In fact, I daresay Miss Margrave is even more handsome."

Scarlett, who had finally stopped blushing, felt her face heat anew. "I thank you, sir, and pray you will forgive Mr Leighton who has fished for a compliment on my behalf."

"Thank me? And when I have so clearly made this uncomfortable situation all the more uncomfortable for you." He smiled, revealing a slight dimple on one cheek. "I suppose asking for a dance on top of that would be too impertinent, even for me?"

"Dance?" Scarlett asked.

He smiled again, his dark eyes twinkling. "If you are not otherwise engaged?"

It took Bess's quick but sharp nudge to her side to shake Scarlett from her astonishment enough to reply. "Thank you, sir. Yes, I am pleased to accept."