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

by Melynda Beth Andrews

  "He has poisoned you," her mother said. "That man has been filling you with nonsense."

  Marianna pulled herself up to her full height and faced her mother. "The Viscount Trowbridge has set me free."

  She meant it.

  Truesdale was right; she had been enslaved. She'd never tasted freedom before coming to London. Freedom of will, freedom of movement, freedom of choice—even freedom of thought. Now that she knew what real freedom was, she was unwilling to go back under her parents’ yoke. She could not. She would not.

  In the face of her parents' anger, Marianna was filled with a strange calm. Suddenly, she knew what she had to do. It would unleash her parents’ fury, not that it mattered. Not anymore.

  She looked them in the eyes and set her jaw before she spoke what she knew would be her final words to them.

  TRUE HAD BEEN up on the slope in the cornfield with his steward during the morning’s fox hunt, a sport he detested. As soon as he heard the news of Mary's ruination, he galloped his horse down to the manor. Throwing his ribbons to a groom, he had run into the house and taken the stairs four at a time. Poor Mary. She would be like a ship on the rocks. He expected to find her huddled on her bed or hearth, sobbing, and it was all his fault.

  He should never have suggested to his house party guests that she'd been swimming naked in the first place. And he should never have provoked her. He'd claimed she was timid, that she was unadventurous and un-spontaneous and without a personality of her own. And all the time he knew none of it was true. He should have anticipated she might do something like this. Because of him, because of his foolish provocation, she was ruined—unless he could still talk her into marrying him.

  He ran down the hall to her chamber and walked into her room without knocking. He did not care. Propriety be damned! Mary needed protection, needed comfort, and he would be the one to give it no matter the circumstances.

  Her bedchamber was empty. He stilled. Where else would she be?

  With her parents. “Blast it to bloody hell and back!” he cried, bounding out of the room and down the stairs. "Where is Miss Grantham?!" he demanded of a surprised servant.

  "The winter parlor, my lord. With her parents," he added, but True was already half-way down the hall, heading for Mary's side. She was in there, and he could guess what she was going through.

  She’d been found standing stark naked and soaking wet and standing in a tree. The ton would not be kind, and her parents would be even worse! Poor Mary. She did not deserve their scorn. She was good and kind and intelligent and spirited. She deserved so much more than she had. She deserved a love match. She deserved a husband who would cherish her for the lovely person she was, a husband who would recognize her special gifts and her inner beauty. A man like himself, he realized.

  The truth hit him like a wild hurricane.

  He loved her. He wanted her. And he would defend her.

  He surged down the hall, ready to do just that. More than that. He intended to kneel before her and ask for her hand—not because he needed her gems, but because he, True Sin, had finally found the one thing he could not live without, the one thing he could not scorn. His Mary.

  He reached out to yank open the door, but he stilled. He could hear her speaking, loud and clear, through the door. To his shock, Mary's tone was defiant. Laying his hand on the knob, he turned it soundlessly and eased the door open an inch, then two, and looked into the winter parlor. There, Mary stood defiant before her parents. Her tone matched the burning anger in her eyes.

  "Trowbridge and I are not betrothed," she said. "We never were."

  Her parents opened their mouths, but she raised her voice. "I will never marry him!" she said, her voice hard. "And even if you can still find some title desperate enough for funds to take me, I will refuse. I will return to the school forthwith and teach to support myself. I will never be forced to wed."

  True's heart thudded to a stop.

  What a fool he had been! He had thought to charge in and rescue the fair damsel, when the fair damsel was already rescuing herself—from him. Her words were clear. She would rather face a life of near-poverty and subservience than marry him.

  Guilt washed over him. She obviously despised him. And he did not blame her. His seduction of her had ended in her utter ruination. He looked at her, standing so proudly erect before her stony, angry parents.

  She had changed.

  And, he realized, she was not the only one.

  Before she had come into his life, True Sin wouldn't have looked upon her present circumstances with any amount of sympathy. True Sin had believed that the ton was flawed and that anyone who aspired to it was beneath him.

  The moment stretched into a brittle silence. His heart ached, for he knew she would never accept him now, no matter how he had changed. She would not believe him, and he couldn’t expect her to. He’d been as rigid and as narrow-brained as her parents. He didn't deserve her.

  Even though she'd said she would never accept him, True didn't withdraw from the scene. He knew her parents were too cruel or too obtuse—or both—to give Marianna her freedom. She was going to have to fight for it, and, for all her courage, she would need True there.

  "Where is our jewelry?" her father demanded.

  "Your jewelry?" Marianna asked. "Is it not in your chamber?"

  "Do not be stupid, girl," Mrs. Grantham snapped. "He means the jewelry we sent with you to London. It was a large fortune, and you have not worn a bit of it. Did you sell it?"

  "Where is the blunt?" Her father curled his lip. "Or have you spent it already? Hand it over—or whatever goods you bought with it—or I swear, by God, that I will call the magistrate and have you taken to Ludgate for theft!"

  True stepped into the room affecting a lazy calm he did not feel. All three looked at him in surprise.

  "You," he said, looking from Gerald to Violet Grantham, “will both leave Trowbridge. Now. Or I will personally see to it that you are never received in Polite Society. Ever."

  "No one has that kind of power," Mrs. Grantham said. "Not even the Prince."

  True leaned insolently against the back of the sofa. "Try me. Believe me, I would enjoy the sport."

  "Oh, so would I!" Ophelia Robertson’s voice sang from the doorway. She slid onto the seat across from Mrs. Grantham and smiled at her. "Do test it, won't you?"

  Mrs. Grantham opened her mouth as though to say something but shut it again. She flicked a glance at her husband but got back nothing but a frown. They were outnumbered and outgunned. They clearly did not know how to proceed, what to say. So they said nothing at all.

  Mary looked from True to Ophelia. She could see they were both ready to do battle for her, and she was filled with a strange elation. Tears formed in her eyes. "How could I have ever thought either of you disloyal?" she murmured.

  "Because we were," True answered her, his clear, strong voice steady and warm.

  OPHELIA’S NODDED, HER expression resolute as she stared the elder Granthams down. The pair looked uncertain, and they seemed smaller of a sudden, as though they had shrunk.

  Truesdale gave them a look of distaste and then, appearing to come to some sort of grim decision, drew her father aside and spoke—too softly for Marianna to hear.

  "What is he saying, Gerald?" her mother asked sharply.

  Ignoring his wife and still listening to Truesdale, Mr. Grantham's eyes went wide. A smile split his features, and he turned to his wife. "Take off your jewels."

  Mrs. Grantham's hand went to her throat. "What?"

  "Take them off. Now. Give them to the Viscount here."

  "I will not!" she sputtered. "What can you possibly mean by this, Mr. Grantham? What did that vile creature say to you? How can you ask me to—"

  "Take them off, wife, or so help me I will strike you!"

  Mrs. Grantham's mouth dropped open, and she sputtered—but she took off the heavy emerald necklace she wore and laid it on the end table.

  "All of it," Truesdale said.


  "Do it," Mr. Grantham ordered.

  She complied with a growl. Three rings, two bracelets, a brooch, and ear drops joined the necklace on the table, and without a word, Mr. Grantham pushed his sputtering wife through the doorway. To Marianna's astonishment, they didn't go upstairs but walked right out the front door and down the lane.

  Marianna turned to Truesdale to ask what he had said to her father, but Ophelia spoke before Marianna could say anything. “Marianna, I have something to confess. And unless I Miss my guess, the Viscount does, too.” She turned to him and he nodded. "Would you like to offer your confession first, or shall I?" Ophelia asked.

  Truesdale bowed low. "Forgive me, Mrs. Robertson, but what I have to say to Marianna should be offered privately."

  Ophelia inclined her head. "Very well, Trowbridge. I shall speak first, for what I have to say should be said in front of both of you." She gave a tremulous smile, and her hands fluttered nervously. She patted the sofa next to her, and Marianna sat. Truesdale settled, a little reluctantly, it seemed to Marianna, on the sofa opposite theirs.

  Ophelia sighed. "I do not know how to say this without being direct." She chuckled. "I do not know how to say anything without being direct, it seems." Her eyes held each of their gazes in for a long moment in turn before she spoke again at last

  "I ... did not marry Mr. Robertson this past spring, as most of the ton thinks I did." She smoothed one parchment hand over her pink feathered gown. "No, I married him thirty years ago. I was ... with child." She looked down at her hands. "The babe was not his, but Mr. Robertson gallantly offered to marry me. Foolishly, I agreed and soon discovered that Mr. Robertson and I did not suit."

  She looked down at her lap and a tear rolled down her cheek. She did not bother to wipe it away. "We parted company. I gave my babe to a woman who could have no more children, and then I worked as a companion to a lady who—as all the ton knows—left her entire fortune to me. I was rich beyond my dreams. I lived grandly, and for a time I thought I was happy, but the novelty of riches wore thin soon enough. The time came when I realized I could never wed again. I had lost my only child and alienated my husband. I paid dearly for my foolishness!” She dabbed at her face with her sleeve, and Truesdale offered her his handkerchief, which she accepted as though it were made of glass and drew a heavy sigh.

  "As my position in Society solidified, I was able to make limited contact with my baby's new mother. She and I even became friends. She needed a friend. Her husband was cruel to her—when he bothered to pay her any attention at all, that is. He was always racing about Town or country with his high-flying set, and he wasn't in attendance at the birth of their baby. He never knew it had died. She'd been too afraid to tell him for fear of his blame and cruelty. She was able to keep the poor babe's death a secret—a fact I was then grateful for, for my own infant was accepted without a wrinkle, and I thought everything would turn out well. I even thought I might have some contact with my child, since his new mother and I had become quite close, but it was not to be, for my friend died, and I was cut off from all contact with the child. When next I saw him, he was grown close to manhood, and I was sick at heart because he had become just like his father and the other men in his family."

  "You speak of me," Truesdale whispered. "My God ... I am your son."

  She nodded, misery in her eyes. Tears flowed freely down her face now. "You'd grown up so wild. And then I watched you reject the ton—of which I was so firmly a part—I was certain you would reject me, too. I could see the anger in your beautiful eyes. I was afraid to tell you. Afraid of how you would react."

  "Mrs. Robinson ... Mother, I—"

  A sob burst forth from Ophelia, and she held her fist to her mouth. “How I have longed to hear you call me that ... my son ... my boy.”

  Truesdale drew a breath to respond, but Ophelia held up her hand, interrupting him. "Let me finish—while I can." Truesdale subsided with a nod of acquiescence, and Ophelia went on. "You have made no secret amongst the ton of your determination never to wed."

  He sat heavily. "I did not want any children. I thought ...

  "You thought your wickedness was in your blood."

  He nodded. "I was determined that True Sin would be the last Sin."

  "I am afraid your particular flavor of wildness did not come from the Sinclairs, but from me, my boy. You can now rid yourself of the notion that you are a Sin."

  "I emulated my father's example brilliantly enough," Truesdale said and gave a bitter laugh.

  "For a time," Ophelia agreed. "Even better than his own true son, I daresay. Yet you always felt different, somehow, did you not?"

  Truesdale nodded.

  "I know. I watched you grow more and more apart from your family, more and more apart from the ton. And I ached for you, my boy." She closed her eyes. "My boy," she whispered, her voice catching. "You deserved so much more. More than I had wrung from my own miserable life. Watching you make your lonely way in life broke my heart. You deserved a loving wife, a family." She shook her head. "And then I met Marianna ... and I thought ... " She bit her lip. "Please. Can you forgive me? Can you both forgive me?"

  Truesdale didn't hesitate. He walked to Ophelia, knelt, and embraced her. Ophelia sobbed into his shoulder.

  Marianna dashed tears from her eyes and glided soundlessly toward the door, intending to leave mother and son to their reunion, but Truesdale stopped her. "Please, Marianna, wait. Ophelia ... Mother," he said, "pray wait here. I will return."

  Ophelia nodded her understanding and smiled tremulously. "I know."

  Truesdale ushered Marianna into the library, where she had first met him. That day seemed like a lifetime ago now.

  "What did you tell my father?" she asked.

  "It does not signify."

  He was right. It did not matter. She would likely never see her father again. She felt a profound sadness, but she also felt an equally profound relief. She stuffed such emotions away. She would take them out to examine them later. "What do you wish to say to me, my lord?"

  His broad chest rose and fell. She could see his pulse beating at the side of his neck.

  TRUE LOOKED INTO her wondering eyes and fought to keep himself from falling to his knees before her and begging her to marry him.

  He knew she loved the ABC's. And when he’d spoken those hushed words to her father, True had done so knowing that Marianna would do anything to secure the girls’ futures, to keep them from losing their home, even if that meant marrying him in order to get him to accept her bottle of gems. She would sacrifice her own security, her own dreams and marry him, a man she did not love, for the happiness of the ABC's. And, as much as he loved her, as much as he fervently wished to be her husband, True would not ask her. He had to make her leave Trowbridge Manor willingly, with her jewels, and without delay.

  He had to lie to her once again.

  "Marianna," he began, "I have deceived you. I attempted to seduce you to secure your fortune. I needed the money to rescue my ships and thus the ABC's. But I no longer need your gems.”

  He poured himself a whiskey and took a sip. “When I left here a week ago, I went to London to gamble. Luck was with me, and I have word this morning that my shipping business has more than recovered. I am before the wind and free of debt. I do not need you anymore."

  He smiled. "So. I release you from our bargain. Your parents' gems—all of them—are yours to keep." He hesitated for a moment and then kissed her cheek and walked from the library and out of her life. He did not look back.

  Chapter Eighteen

  MARIANNA

  was on her own. She was free.

  Isn't that what she wanted?

  She retired to her chamber to pack but soon heard the guests beginning to take their leave. Unwilling to interact with any of them, she stayed in her room all day as the exodus proceeded. She slept off and on, took meals in her room—which Cook delivered herself with a worried smile and a pat on the shoulder. She half expected Orion Chase, Earl of
Lindenshire, to ask to speak with her, and she didn't know whether to hope for it or to dread it, but in the end she needn't have fretted either way, for she received no such request. No one else came to speak with her, either. Not True Sin, Ophelia, John, nor even the ABC's.

  As the sun's rays slanted low over the verdant hills surrounding Trowbridge Manor, Marianna realized she was an outsider here now. She would leave at first light, return to London, and get on with her life—wherever that might be.

  Truesdale would keep their bargain secret, she was certain. He had proved today that she could trust him to protect her as much as he was able. To Society he would convey that they'd cried off their engagement amicably. She shook her head, silently imagining the expressions of intrigued speculation the on-dits would elicit amongst the ton, and then an image of Mrs. Smith's kind face filled her mind. Marianna sighed.

  Unlike the ladies of the ton, Eliza Smith would not find anything amusing about a broken engagement. No, she and the other women of Trowbridge Village would feel nothing but dismay when they heard Marianna was not to be the new viscountess after all. They had all been so kind to her on the day of the cottage raising. They'd wished her happy so earnestly that Marianna knew they truly meant it in spite of all the trouble she caused them. She'd thought their hearts truly glad for her and the Viscount Trowbridge.

  A pang of regret suffused Marianna with sadness. She would never see the women of Trowbridge Village again. The memory of the day she spent in their company would fade in time, along with everything else that had happened there, like a pleasant dream, yet she would never forget what they taught her.

  One short afternoon had changed Marianna into a person quite different from the one who had come to Trowbridge Manor. Without the villagers—and Truesdale—she might always have had a distorted image of the ton's worth. She might have thought being a part of the ton the only way to be happy. She knew now that the ton was not the only good society, nor even the best society. She knew now that the ton's image of respectability and decorum was only a veneer.