Tuscan Sunrise (Tales from the Grand Tour Book 4) Read online

  Tuscan Sunrise

  Merry Farmer

  TUSCAN SUNRISE

  Copyright ©2020 by Merry Farmer

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your digital retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Erin Dameron-Hill (the miracle-worker)

  ASIN: B084LS2L59

  Paperback ISBN: 9798643741596

  Click here for a complete list of other works by Merry Farmer.

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  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  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.

  “Not even Lord Wentworth,” she replied to Heather, saving the rest of her thoughts for herself.

  “If not him, then what sort of man are you looking for?” Sage asked, curious and sweet.

  Hattie’s lips twitched into a mischievous grin. She wanted a man who could make her come several times a night, one with a cock that would make her feel as though she were being split in two. Lordy, it had been so long she’d considered dragging one of the gorgeous footmen who didn’t speak a word of English at the villa where they were staying into her bedroom just to satisfy her itch.

  “I want a man who will take me as I am,” she said, warming all over. “One who will not try to turn me into something I am not.” She would not be tamed, no matter how much that flew in the face of society’s expectations.

  “Of all the stuff and nonsense I have ever heard,” Miss Sewett said with a sniff. “Every woman is turned into a wife when she marries. That is as it should be.”

  “Not with me,” Hattie insisted. “I will never—”

  Her words were cut short with the terrifying sound of horses screaming, men shouting, and an ear-splitting crash before the carriage careened onto its side, sending them all flying.

  It was a disaster. The entire night had been a disaster, as far as Adrian Fairfax, Earl of Whitemarsh, was concerned.

  “And how much did you lose?” his friend, Gianni Rossi, asked with a teasing smirk.

  “More than I care to say aloud,” Adrian said, slouching deeper into his seat in the jostling carriage. He propped his feet up on the opposing seat where Gianni sat, and Gianni did the same. The two of them looked every bit the reprobates they probably were.

  “Ah, my lord,” Gianni chuckled sleepily. “You’re going to have to stop giving in to the temptation to play cards. You’re terrible at it to begin with.”

  “I am not terrible,” Adrian protested with more energy than he actually felt. “I’ve simply had a run of bad luck is all.”

  Gianni continued to chuckle and shook his head. “A run of bad luck that chased you out of England and landed you on these tempting shores?”

  “Me leaving England had nothing to do with money,” Adrian grumbled, crossing his arms and pouting like the child his father seemed to think he was.

  “Did you ruin some fair maiden, then?” Gianni asked with a flicker of his eyebrows.

  “Most certainly not,” Adrian protested. Though if he were honest with himself, the danger of doing just that had certainly been there. He’d grown far too careless in his affairs for his own comfort. But women were like honey, as far as he was concerned, and who was he to resist the temptation to buzz around them? Especially when their favors were offered so freely. Thank God above for modern women and their determination to have as much fun as men had always had.

  “So if money is your primary concern,” Gianni continued with a typically Italian nonchalance, “why not write to your father and have him send you more?”

  Adrian hunched in on himself. “Father has put his foot down. I am once again a disappointment to him, even from afar.”

  Gianni looked sympathetic in the early morning light streaming in through the carriage window. “How could a gentleman as refined and accomplished as you possibly be a disappointment to a father?”

  Adrian laughed. “By following the same path that so many gentlemen of our class have followed,” he said. “But I suppose the usual idleness and lack of any sort of industrious employment is no longer a virtue in my father’s eyes. He’s determined that I should marry, settle down, start a family, and take on the duties that our family has shared in for centuries.”

  “If it fills your coffers.” Gianni shrugged.

  “I suppose I will have to marry,” Adrian grumbled. “I’d hoped that by telling Father I would look for a wife in Italy I could delay the inevitable. It worked for a year, at least.”

  “And it has stopped working?” Gianni asked.

  Adrian looked as sullen as ever. “He cut me off last month,” he confessed. “Which is why tonight’s loss at the card table hit particularly hard. He’s made it abundantly clear that his patience is at an end, and if I don’t find a bride immediately, I can forget ever returning to England, much less getting another farthing from him.”

  “So it is clear what you must do, then,” Gianni said.

  “I don’t want to marry.” Adrian hunkered down even farther into his seat.

  He knew his stubbornness was immature and unattractive, but every fiber of his body rejected the notion of giving up who he was and what he loved to become a man no different from his father or his uncles, or any other stuffy, stiff noble that sat ramrod straight in the House of Lords, debating issues that simply didn’t matter to him. He’d seen far too many of his chums from Eton and Cambridge disappear into duty, lose their youth and vitality under a mantle of responsibility, and become the sort of man they’d all sworn they would never become.

  He glanced out the carriage window with a sigh, trying to find some joy in the sunrise as it illuminated the Tuscan landscape. The trouble was that he knew who he was and he knew who he wasn’t. He was the man who brought smiles to the faces of his friends—and even complete strangers—when they were feeling down. He was more inclined to play the role of sun than moon. But the world he’d been born into didn’t take kindly to sunshine, not in rainy old England. His father failed to see that, though. The old man would see him tied down to a respectable woman, living a stodgy life with a passel of pale-faced children who had been taught to be seen and not heard.

  But Adrian knew there was so much more to life than that.

  “You don’t have to resign yourself to your father’s wishes, you know,” Gianni said, shaking him out of his thoughts.

  “I will if I marry the sort of woman he wants me to,” Adrian said.

  “And who’s to say you have to marry the kind of woman he wants you to? He merely said to marry, not that he has to pick your bride.”

  Gianni had a point. One that made Adrian sit up slightly and consider the possibilities. His father hadn’t said anything about whom he should marry, only that she be English, of noble birth, and—

  His thoughts were cut short as the carriage crashed to a stop, tipping over and throwing him against the side. Pain shot through his arm, and his vision went black for a moment at the impact of his head against the carriage’s padded side. The crack of wood and metal breaking and the scream of horses and men pierced the darkness. He knew in an instant that they’d crashed.

  “Gianni?” He pushed himself out of the crumpled heap he’d fallen into, blinking to clear his head, and struggling toward his friend.

  Gianni groaned and pushed himself up as well. Their carriage was on its side, light peeked through a large crack
in the ceiling, and one of the windows—which was now directly above them—had shattered. But beyond that, Adrian heard a woman screaming.

  He leapt immediately into action, muscling himself to stand as well as he could in the overturned carriage and reaching for the door above him. He managed to turn the handle and push the door up, then climbed out into the dewy morning.

  It took him a moment to assess himself and the situation once he jumped down onto the grass. He was bruised and scratched, his arm had taken a particularly hard hit, but it didn’t seem broken. He moved his arms and legs to make sure he was hale and hearty, then turned his attention to the scene around him.

  The carriage he and Gianni had hired to take them back to Sienna had collided with a far nicer carriage, though how the two had crashed together wasn’t immediately clear. The horses must have been spooked somehow. That matter was irrelevant when he saw the state of the other carriage. It had not only tumbled to its side, it looked as though the whole thing had been flipped over entirely. The driver was wailing over one of the two horses who had been pulling it, which meant he wasn’t answering the cries of more than one woman that came from inside the crushed carriage.

  “Help! Help!” a woman called.

  “I’m coming,” Adrian shouted in return, leaping around scattered wreckage to reach the overturned carriage.

  The body of the carriage was so mangled that for a moment, Adrian wasn’t certain how he would open the door. The frame had warped, and it took several tugs and all of his strength to wrench it open enough for a person to fit through. In the scant early morning light, he was just able to make out four sets of terrified eyes inside the wrecked carriage.