Philomena Wright, Marchioness of Arlingview, is universally admired for her intellect, good sense and charitable efforts on behalf of widows and orphans. A woman with every advantage, she also has a guilty secret: in truth, she is Philomena’s twin sister, Penelope. Dreading spinsterhood, she attends a masquerade ball in the hope of finding a suitor before admitting the truth—only to encounter a gentleman who stirs her like no other…
Garrett Wright misses the purpose—and the peril—of his work as a spy during the war and is bored with his disguise as a reckless rake. When he agrees to help unveil a jewel thief preying upon London society, he is beguiled by a beauty who awakens a dream—and becomes determined to unveil the truth, whatever the cost.
When he finds stolen gems in her possession, Garrett fears his lady has a more dangerous secret than her identity. Forced to choose between honor and unexpected love, how will he both fulfill his duty and secure a happy future with the woman who has captured his heart forever?
Genre: FICTION / Romance / RegencyThis is the second book in my Regency romance series: since the books must be read in order, please do not offer on this book before The Christmas Conquest.
“No one will believe it, Philomena.” Penelope sat at her sister’s bedside, striving to persuade her twin of good sense and not for the first time. She should have known that such an endeavor was an exercise in futility.
She had come to Arlingview Manor at her sister’s behest, puzzled that Philomena would have chosen to retreat to her husband’s country home when she was ill. Her sister might have remained in London and summoned any number of competent physicians, as well as saved Penelope an arduous journey of her own.
But Philomena had never been one to change her thinking once she had resolved upon a path.
Now she was resolute that Penelope must assume her place and pretend to be the marchioness. They had traded places often as children, as a jest, always at Philomena’s insistence, but this was of too great an import to be considered a jest.
The sisters argued mightily, to no avail, yet never spoke of one old secret.
The manor was old and draughty, its furnishings from an earlier era, and on this night, the weather was foul. Penelope had never seen such rain or heard a wind so determined to whistle in the cracks. Her sister’s chamber remained chilly, no matter how the fire was fed on the hearth, for it had large windows that overlooked the gardens. On this night, the wind made the glass panes rattled and seemingly found every chink.
Though Penelope had been told her sister had a fever and an ague in her lungs, she had arrived to find the chamber filled with the scent of blood and the linens stained. No one in the household attended Philomena, at that lady’s instruction, all fearful of the supposed infection. Only Philomena’s lady’s maid, Sara Underwood, tended to her, that woman’s expression grim.
This illness, though, was not contagious. Philomena clearly intended that the truth of her circumstance should remain a secret.
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Italian
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Already translated.
Translated by Letizia PIPERO and Alessandra Elisa Paganin
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Portuguese
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Already translated.
Translated by Evelyn T M Martins
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Spanish
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Already translated.
Translated by Nieves Llorente
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