Miss Grantham's One True Sin (The Regency Matchmaker Series Book 2)

by Melynda Beth Andrews

  Chapter Eight

  MARIANNA

  avoided Truesdale the next day, fleeing from their argument into the company of one of their guests, Orion Chase, the Earl of Lindenshire, a handsome young man who hadn’t an unkind word for anyone. He hadn’t sought her out to probe her relationship to the Viscount Trowbridge, and neither had he offered any gossip concerning the Viscount’s outrageous public behavior—which pleased Marianna for she was certain the fashionable man knew all about it.

  All of the Trowbridge bachelors were impeccably dressed, but Lindenshire was perfectly attired. His attention to detail bespoke a heightened sensibility where others' opinions were concerned.Clearly, he knew the importance of appearances—though his good manners, she was sure, were not made up, but natural.

  Attentive and soft-spoken, Lindenshire squired her about the estate all day quite amiably. They were both surprised and delighted to discover they shared a scholarly interest in natural history. The Earl was especially interested in insects, and he was eager to hear of the ones she’d encountered in the West Indies. The roved over the grounds most of the afternoon, collecting interesting specimens to take with them into the library to look at under the spying glass, which was kept there for peering at the atlas. Lord Lindenshire seemed a good man, a kind man, and if Marianna's thoughts had not been preoccupied with her argument with Truesdale and upon how her parents would react when they found out she was betrothed to a rake, she would have been quite content to pass the time in his pleasant company.

  He did not seem to think she was starched-up or stiff-rumped.

  "Do you think I am odd for my interest in such things?" she said suddenly as they sifted through a trellis of wisteria, searching for beetles.

  "Yes," he said, smiling, "I do. And I am most grateful. I expected the Viscount's house party to be deadly dull." He brushed his wispy, straight brown hair from his startlingly clear and intelligent brown eyes and smiled at Marianna. "I was wrong. I have found lovely company."

  He gazed at her so earnestly, Marianna looked down at her hands. "Why did you agree to attend?" she asked uneasily.

  "Curiosity, I suppose." He shrugged. "And you?"

  Marianna flushed guiltily. She was certain the studious earl had formed a quick and fragile tendre for her, but she would be announcing her engagement to Trowbridge that evening at supper. She hoped. It seemed wrong not to confess that to Lindenshire right then. And yet it seemed wrong to confess any such thing, for Marianna was not engaged at all! In spite of her misadventures, Marianna was possessed of an honest nature, and she especially hated to lie to someone like Lindenshire. There was a kindness about him, a gentle nature that made her trust him.

  She gave a guilty flinch, knowing that he could not trust her in return.

  "What is wrong?" he asked suddenly, genuine concern in his eyes. "Is there some way I can help you? Something involving Trowbridge, perhaps?"

  "Your intuitiveness is admirable," she said evasively.

  He shook his head. "You flatter me."

  You flatter me. The same words she'd heard Trowbridge say not twelve hours before. How different they sounded when uttered with kindness and sincerity!

  Suddenly, the thought occurred to Marianna that Lord Lindenshire might make a good husband. Love grew from seeds of friendship and trust, did it not?

  How different he was from True Sin! He cared about the ton. He would never be seen without a cravat. Walking beside him brought her a sense of comfort rather than unease. When she was close to True Sin, she was aware of every movement of his body. With Lord Lindenshire, she was completely relaxed. She had known him for less than a day, and already she felt as though she had known him a lifetime, while even a fortnight of True Sin's constant acquaintance could not uncover his secrets.

  Lud! It was no wonder she was so at sixes and sevens. Anyone would be confused under these circumstances. Marianna dreaded going through with the announcement of her betrothal, but it could not be avoided. It was the only way to convince the ton she wasn't True Sin's blasted mistress.

  Saints and sinners! Did Lord Lindenshire think she was a bird-of-paradise, too?

  She felt sick at the thought. Without thinking, she turned to him and opened her mouth to offer a denial, then thought better of it and bit her lower lip. She could hardly tell him the truth, but the only other thing to do would be to tell him she had an understanding with Trowbridge. And what would he think of her if she confided her engagement? A lady just did not do such a thing. Did she?

  She wished she could ask Ophelia's advice, but the old lady was still missing, and Marianna wasn't entirely certain she could trust Ophelia anyway, not after she'd misled Marianna so disastrously about True Sin's suitability for her plot.

  Talking to John would not help. He had been a family servant until Ophelia married him. The man was sweet, but he knew little of the ton and cared even less.

  Wasn't there anyone she could confide in?

  Even if her parents, who were to arrive any day now, came immediately, she couldn't speak to them of her trouble. And Truesdale ... he was her trouble. Not that she could speak to him if she wanted to, since he seemed to be avoiding her today.

  She had no one. She was completely alone.

  It was not the first time Marianna had been left to her own company, her own advisement. She'd been by herself a year ago, too, when she’d first come to London. Only things had been much simpler then. Her goal was clear: find a titled husband to love. But that was before she'd discovered she was plain as a post, so plain no man gave her a second look. Before she'd lied to her parents. Before she met True Sin. Everything was complicated now, and Marianna had never felt more alone.

  Bells in Heaven, if she did not have anyone to confide in for the next month, she knew she would go mad. She looked over at Lord Lindenshire, took a deep breath, exhaled forcibly, and filled her lungs again. "There is something you can do for me," she said.

  "Name it."

  "I ... need a friend."

  AS MARIANNA WALKED into Trowbridge Manor's parlor that evening, where everyone—except for the Viscount and Ophelia, drat them!—were gathering before supper, she felt the Earl's eyes upon her, felt bolstered by his very presence. It had been so easy to unburden herself to him. As soon as she had requested his friendship, the young man had vowed to keep her secrets and offered her comfort and understanding. She needed both tonight.

  Her stomach was in knots.

  True Sin hadn't shown his face all day, though all of Trowbridge knew he was in attendance. The servants said he was in his bedchamber. She had sent two requests asking to see him in the library, with neither result nor reply. He and Marianna had been so angry with each other last night, said such ugly things—not that Marianna hadn’t meant every word!—that she was afraid of how he might behave when he appeared at last. They were supposed to have announced their betrothal at last night's supper. Of course, that had not happened, and Marianna could only assume the Viscount would announce their betrothal this evening instead—unless he were planning to stay in his room until his guests just drifted away for lack of a host.

  She thought about stealing up to his bedchamber and trying to discuss things with him, but she rejected the idea. It had been one thing to walk him to his chamber—or hers, she still wasn't sure which—in the dead of night with no one about. But the manor was full of guests and their servants now. She couldn't risk it.

  No. He needed her gems, and for that he needed to fulfill their bargain. That was that. He would show soon. Probably tonight, and probably in a rage. She’d thrown her shoe at him! It would not be a towering rage, it would be a smoldering one, but Marianna dreaded it just the same. She steeled herself to sit at table with the man, a benign smile upon her face no matter what happened. It weighed heavily upon her mind that the scene would be the backdrop for her formal introduction to the ton. She was not optimistic—until her betrothed strolled into the parlor a few minutes before supper was announced.

  Insta
ntly, everyone's attention—including Marianna's— fixed upon him. True Sin was gone. In his place stood Truesdale Sinclair, the Viscount Trowbridge. Impeccably dressed from his starched and expertly folded cravat to his formal white stockings and polished shoe buckles, Trowbridge appeared to be the perfect gentleman, complete to a shade. Marianna's eyes grew dry from not blinking as she stared at him.

  She soon found it was not just his clothing that had undergone a change, but his manner as well. As he greeted each of his guests, he executed a perfectly crisp formal bow. He uttered correct and courteous welcomes in a voice that was even and soft-spoken, cultured and pleasant.

  Marianna stood motionless in the corner as Trowbridge moved clockwise about the room until he finally came to her. All eyes in the room were fixed upon them. It took every shred of Marianna’s self-control not to bolt.

  He bent low over her hand. "Your servant, my lady," he intoned.

  The footman-turned-newly-appointed-butler announced supper, and Trowbridge offered her his arm. Gasps and murmurs echoed across the room, for protocol demanded that couples enter the dining-room in pairs according to rank. It was an acknowledged ritual, and Marianna had been prepared to be among the last to parade into the dining-room, on John Robertson’s arm. Breaking protocol—especially dressed as he was—meant something, and the guests knew it. As she allowed him to lead her into dinner, Marianna caught several speculative looks traded among the guests. They couldn't be any more eager to know what would happen next than Marianna herself!

  Ophelia appeared in the diningroom just as Marianna was seated. The old woman studiously avoided Marianna’s gaze.

  “Feeling better, Mrs. Robertson?” Marianna asked from across the table.

  “Much,” Ophelia answered without meeting Marianna’s eyes and then turned away toward the young man to her left. “How do you find the weather, my lord?” she asked. “Is not the countryside lovely this time of year?”

  Marianna narrowed one eye and vowed to corner Ophelia as soon as possible after supper. Answers were owing, answers to questions such as, “Why the devil did you steer me toward a rakehell like True Sin?” Marianna sighed and tried to be patient, but it was impossible. Her stomach was tied in knots. What was the rakehell going to do next?

  For the first half of the long meal, Marianna waited for True Sin to surface, her heart threatening to beat its way out of her chest. But Trowbridge was the perfect host, never saying or doing anything beyond what was strictly proper. An hour into the meal, Marianna began to relax. For the first time, she actually tasted the excellent dishes set before her.

  She couldn’t believe it. Her tirade had worked.

  Trowbridge was following her order, bowing to her demand that he behave like a gentleman. His perfect display of manners and countenance and conversation would convince the guests that Marianna Grantham had reformed True Sin. She would be the talk of the ton. The tamer of the sea. The soul of propriety. A proper young lady no true gentleman would hesitate to court.

  Tasting nothing but the sweetness of triumph, she popped a bite of fish into her mouth and ventured a glance at her new friend, the Earl of Lindenshire. She'd been aware that the Earl was watching her from the time they sat down. Now she threw him a conspiratorial smile, and he returned it reassuringly, adding a surreptitious wink.

  Marianna looked up at Trowbridge.

  He was staring at Lindenshire, and he was not smiling.

  The look he leveled upon the young man was not one of murderous rage, but it was not exactly amiable—or apathetic. Marianna lost her benign smile. Truesdale was jealous!

  She brought her napkin to her mouth to conceal her surprise. Trowbridge had been making improper suggestions to her since the moment she had arrived ... and he’d almost fooled her, but she’d realized quickly enough that he didn’t actually wanted to make good on his suggestions. Like a lion who has eaten his fill yet still defends his kill, True Sin did not want her—but he did not want another man to have her, either.

  He caught Marianna staring at him and smiled tightly, but she could see that his jaw was still tightly clenched.

  Good. She looked down at her plate and took a bite of fish, exultant. The fact that he was jealous of Lindenshire only added to her triumphant pleasure. She beat down a giggle, contenting herself with the barest of smug smiles. She was even feeling a little sorry for poor, downtrodden Truesdale.

  But then poor, downtrodden Truesdale turned the conversation toward the brook.

  "I was saying to Marianna only a few days ago," he told a dowager countess to his left, "the brook is so vastly refreshing this time of year."

  The dowager put down her fork. "Refreshing, Trowbridge? How is that?"

  "How? Its waters flow gentle and cool and are so invigorating on a hot summer's day—or even at night." He looked over at Marianna. "Is that not correct, my dear?"

  The countess sniffed at her wine goblet. "Have you served us water, Trowbridge?"

  "No." Truesdale laughed. "I refer to paddling in the water, not to drinking it."

  The countess narrowed her corpulent eyes at him. "Do you mean to tell me that you have voluntarily immersed yourself in this ... this ... "

  "Brook," Truesdale supplied, gazing at Marianna intently.

  "—this brook?" the dowager echoed as though hearing the word for the first time. She slid a glance at Marianna.

  "Oh, yes," the Viscount said, his voice well-nigh a caress as he steadfastly held Marianna's gaze. He bent toward the countess. "It is quite exhilarating, especially when one sheds one's“ —someone dropped a knife—" cares," True finished in a whisper anyone could hear, and winked at Marianna.

  "My lord!" the countess gasped.

  "My lord," Marianna said calmly, "you have a spot on your cravat. Here, let me help you with that." Deftly, she scooped her napkin from her lap and brought it to his spotless neckcloth, dragging it in the raspberry sauce on her plate as she did so. Shifting the napkin, she dabbed at the nonexistent spot, which of course only got worse, until Truesdale was forced to excuse himself to change.

  Marianna spent the next ten minutes enduring the obvious speculation on the faces of her guests, who were wondering, as he had to have known they would, if she'd been paddling sans clothing alone in the brook or if she'd been enjoying True Sin's company there. Marianna avoided so much as a glance in Lord Lindenshire's direction. She didn't think she could bear what his expression might hold.

  When their host returned, he sat down and said, "Pardon my lengthy absence. What were we discussing? Ah, yes ... the brook." Their supper guests nearly fell over themselves to change the subject. He let the matter drop, but then he had the audacity to grin at her, his smug expression telling her that he was exacting revenge for the insults she had dealt him last night.

  True Sin was toying with her, and he was enjoying himself, the bounder!

  And he wasn't quite finished.

  Chapter Nine

  TRUE

  heard them before they were even announced.

  Supper was nearly over when their too-loud voices echoed down the hall and through the open dining-room doors. They spoke with an imperiously slow cadence, but their unhurried voices did not match the rapidity of their footfalls as they entered the front hall, commenting on the fixtures and furnishings, their voices booming. As the supper guests traded expectant looks, obviously wondering who the newcomers were, True fixed his eyes on Mary.

  She'd gone still as a standing stone. Her face was ashen. It was not the sort of reaction one would expect to see from a loving daughter upon hearing her parents' voices after more than a year's separation. There was nothing of joy in her expression. On the contrary, her mouth had straightened into a grim line, and she held herself tightly upright. To one unaccustomed to Mary, it might have appeared she was unconcerned, but True could feel panic rolling from her in waves.

  He put down his napkin. "Ah, there are your parents, darling. Shall we go tell them our good news?" His words were tantamount to a
n announcement, and every face at the table registered surprise—including Mary's, though she recovered her wits quicker than most.

  "As you wish," she murmured. She stood and hastened to precede him out of the room.

  In her wake, True addressed the assemblage. "Lovers' quarrels are soon mended. Best not to mention the brook to her." He smiled broadly, and a round of false laughter heralded his departure. He knew the impending betrothal announcement would be discussed minutely while he and Marianna were absent from the table.

  He closed the double dining-room doors behind him, preventing their guests from hearing any more from the Grantham’s, and then took his time following Mary to the entry hall. He thought it polite to give the Granthams a moment of privacy to embrace their daughter, but when he caught up with Marianna, he found her standing erect and still, waiting for the elder Granthams to notice her as they divested themselves of their outerwear twenty paces away. She did not call to them, wave, or approach.

  Behind her, True raised an eyebrow. England was a nation of people known for their restraint, but this was taking things a bit too far. She had not seen her parents in over a year! Something was terribly amiss here, and he wouldn’t learn anything by barging into the scene. Instead, he stepped into a shallow alcove in the darkened hallway, the better to observe the trio.

  The first thing he noted was the elder Grantham's clothing. It would have been difficult to Miss. Though the night was fine, the weather warm and dry, both of the elder Granthams wore heavy coats trimmed in ermine. And, though their garments were obviously made of the finest cloth and tailored to perfection, something in the way they carried themselves suggested they had once been used to wearing something far different. They fussed over the coats, admonishing True's footman to be careful with them as though he were a naughty child—and then they threatened the poor man with dismissal if the items were damaged in his care. True's eyes narrowed.