But logic also told her that if there were people amongst the ton like Orion Chase, Baroness Marchman, Ophelia, John, and their niece and nephew, Lord and Lady Blackshire, then there must be more people like them. All societies had their good and bad aspects. There were no absolutes.
She awakened frequently all through the night and kept a candle burning. She had only a few hours at Trowbridge Manor left to her; she could not bear to lose them to the obscurity of darkness, even if all she had to look at was her own chamber.
Sometime before dawn, she looked over at her mother's emeralds, which lay gleaming in the candlelight on the dressing table along with the rest of the jewels her mother had abandoned. Sent by Trowbridge to Marianna's chamber around evensong the previous day, the jewels were not a vast fortune, but they would be enough to live well on. Or, she realized, they would make a tidy dowry—though they likely would not be enough of a dowry to compel any of the Trowbridge bachelors to marry her, not after her disgrace at the brook. They were all titled, wealthy, young, and handsome—and Marianna no longer had a vast fortune to inherit, for she had no doubt her parents would cut her out of their will as neatly as she had cut them out of her life.
Still, not all of the gentlemen of the ton were titled. If she were willing to settle for a man of meager means and fewer prospects, then she might yet marry into the ton in spite of her infamous past. After all, True Sin was a part of the ton in spite of his own scandalous exploits. And so was his natural mother in spite of her equally outrageous behavior. Perhaps Marianna could be like them. Still very much a part of the ton, yet ... different. If that’s what she wanted. But for the first time in her life, Marianna wasn’t sure what she wanted.
She inhaled deeply and stretched her arms above her head. She could go where she wished, do as she wished, think, act, and feel as she wished. She should have been bounding about the room in paroxysms of joy. Instead, she was miserable, and as the first rays of the sun painted the sky blue, she at last recognized why. The prospect of achieving a respectable, unremarkable, highly placed and titled social position held little appeal for her now. She didn't want to be a duchess. She didn't want to be a regular patron of Almack's. She didn't want to spend her time hurrying from one ball to another in smoky, crowded London.
“What I want is Truesdale Sinclair,” she whispered into the darkness.
What nonsense! She chided herself. True Sin was a libertine, a reckless gambler, a fortune hunter. Had he not admitted to attempting to seduce her for her fortune? Had he not abandoned her in order to hie off to London to gamble money he did not have—her money? And when fortune smiled upon him so that he did not need her anymore, had he not set their bargain to naught and then walked away without a backward glance?
And yet ... and yet he had said he'd sought her hand in marriage not for himself, but for his nieces' sake. And he had behaved quite gallantly yesterday and as a friend might, all along. He had forced her to see the truth even when it was difficult, even when she was difficult, calling him callous and cruel. He had been kind to Ophelia and John, to the servants and to the ABC's. And even to Marianna.
And—oh!—he had kissed her with passion. Passion and tenderness. She brushed the backs of her fingers against her cheek, where he had kissed her yesterday, and closed her eyes. She could not believe he felt nothing for her. She did not want to believe it.
The logical thing to do was to go and ask him how he felt, but for once Marianna tossed logic willingly aside. She needed to talk with someone, all right, but what she needed was a mama—something, she understood now, she'd never really had. She tugged on her night-rail and stole into the hall, seeking the next best thing: Ophelia. She knocked on the door softly as the clocks chimed five o' the clock.
"Enter," Ophelia called.
Marianna peeked inside. "It is I, Marianna."
"Come in, dearling." Ophelia sat upright in her bed A single candle illumined the room. "I have been waiting for you."
"Where is John?"
"The stables, as is usual for him at this ungodly hour. Sit, child, and warm your feet." She patted the pillow beside her, and Marianna curled up against the old woman’s shoulder. Ophelia pulled a blanket over her and tucked it in "Tell me," she said, "have you forgiven him?"
"For deceiving me?"
Ophelia nodded. "For lying, for intending to seduce you into marriage from the start."
"You knew?"
"I have known from the first day. I knew very well your bottle of gems was not enough to satisfy his debts. I knew he would have a go at luring you into marriage. I ask again: can you forgive him?"
Marianna stared at the candle. "He deceived me in order to provide for the ABC's. He was in danger of losing his ships and Trowbridge Manor. He did not want the girls to be torn away from the only home they have ever known. He said they have lost too much. How could I not forgive so noble a purpose?"
Ophelia closed her eyes, and a smile softened the lines around her mouth. "Indeed." Her eyes opened and fixed upon Marianna. "Do you love him?" she asked.
Marianna hesitated. Did she? Could she really have given her heart to such a rogue? "It would not matter if I did," she averred, "for he clearly does not love me. He said he does not need me or my fortune and has released me from our bargain."
"He has?"
Marianna nodded.
"But what about his ships?"
"What about them?"
"They are still impounded. He stands to lose everything unless he can find a buyer."
"A buyer?"
"Did he not tell you? He has put his remaining ships up for sale. It is the only way he can save Trowbridge Manor. He refuses to take any money from me, though I know he needs the blunt quite urgently. He shall need every last farthing the ships can bring. Why, one of his solicitors came to dun him here at Trowbridge just today. Nasty little man. He said he would be just the first of a mob of creditors who will be descending upon Trowbridge this week. He loudly demanded immediate payment and then threatened the boy with imprisonment!" She thumped the counterpane angrily. As though he could. Can you imagine? I am one of the richest ladies in London. Wait until they find out he is my son! Wait until they realize I could—Marianna?" she said, her voice filled with concern, for Marianna's eyes were brimming with unshed tears. "Marianna, whatever is wrong, dearest?"
"He has lied to me again." Her words tumbled out as she repeated Truesdale's parting words to her. "He told me he was out of debt and that his shipping business was safe. Why?" She searched Ophelia’s eyes. “Why would Trowbridge lie to me about that?”
Ophelia laid one hand aside of her wrinkled cheek. "I do not know."
Marianna sighed. "Come now, dear friend, we both know there can be only one conclusion. Your son does not want me. After coming to know me, he has decided he would rather sell his beloved ships than be forced to marry me."
"No, Marianna. There must be some other explanation," Ophelia reasoned.
But Marianna shook her head. "Can you think of one?" she asked.
Ophelia bit her lip and frowned. "I wish I could," she said finally.
Marianna gave her a sad smile and kissed her withered cheek. "Thank you, dear lady, for everything." She rose. "Please thank John for me."
"Where are you going?"
"To my chamber to pack my things."
"Oh ... Marianna! Dearling, you are welcome at our house in Grosvenor Square. Why, you may stay as long as you like. Forever. I have come to think of you as my daughter, and I will treat you as such in spite of my witless son's lack of a proposal."
Marianna smiled sadly. "Thank you, dear lady, but I believe I shall return to Lady Marchman's School—at least for a time. It seems I have a talent for handling children, and I might do some good there." And if I am busy at the school, I will not have as much time to pine away for True Sin.
“My dear,” Ophelia said gently, “I am afraid that will not be possible. Your reputation in London ... ” She trailed off.
Mariann
a blinked. “I have a reputation now.” Ladies with reputations were not welcome as schoolmistresses.
Ophelia nodded sadly.
“Very well. I shall travel to Exeter ... or Plymouth ... or ... or Edinburgh. There has to be a school somewhere that will take me. If I travel far enough away, I can assume a name as I did before.”
“Or you could stay with John and I.”
Marianna knew in her heart she would avoid Ophelia and John's grand mansion, even for a visit. She was sure that Truesdale and the ABC's would be spending time there from now on, and seeing them would be too painful for her. It would be a reminder of all she had lost. A reminder of all she never had—and of all she never would have. No, she would never go there.
Ophelia sighed. "I had so hoped . . ." Ophelia smiled sadly. "You will visit us, won't you? John is excessively fond of you. We both are."
Marianna hugged and kissed Ophelia, then slipped from the room at last. As the door clicked shut, she heard a soft intake of air and then a forlorn sob from within.
She fled down the hall.
Returning to her bedchamber, Marianna blindly stuffed her new clothing and other belongings into her trunk, thinking to leave as soon as possible. Saying good-bye to Ophelia was horrible enough, but a moan escaped her at the thought of saying good-bye to the ABC's. Why hadn't they come to see her? She was sure they'd been purposely kept away. If they saw her before she departed Trowbridge, they would ask her when they would see her again. Marianna knew it would be a very long time—or never. She couldn’t tell them that.
It would be kinder to the girls if she just let their memories of her fade into the obscurity of their pasts. It would be kinder to them if she were simply to slip away into the thick morning fog.
She took the time to write a carefully worded letter to them and then dressed in a faded blue-flowered calico that reminded her of her meadow of bluebells. She would never see that meadow again. She waited until just after dawn, and then, with a last look around, she quit her chamber, a small portmanteau in hand. She would leave Trowbridge Manor immediately and send for her trunk later. She intended to walk to the next village and wait there for the mail coach. She could hardly carry the trunk away with her.
She walked down the stairs to the grand entry hall for the last time. There would be other meadows, she told herself, and other little girls. But she did not believe it.
There was only one thing left to do. She ducked into the parlor and, taking down the little porcelain box from the mantel, replaced the Trowbridge ruby, the ring Truesdale's adoptive mother had worn, the ring that would never be Marianna’s. She had only to walk out the front door and down the lane now, and her time at Trowbridge—no, her entire youth, she realized— would be done with. Her hand lingered upon the box, upon her past, for a few last, precious seconds, and she stood there, remembering how tenderly Truesdale had held her hand when he'd placed the ring on her finger.
And then a movement reflected in the gleaming surface of the box caught her eye. A figure entered the room behind her. A man. Truesdale! Her heart pounded, and her knees went weak, and she chided herself for such a reaction. There was no reason for her to feel that way. She did not love him, after all. She would not love him. What did it matter that he was here to witness her leave-taking? He would wish her well. Perhaps he would shake her hand. He certainly would not sweep her into his arms and kiss her as he had done before. There was no need for that now. He'd been deceiving her then, trying to make her think he truly wanted her. He'd been bent upon seduction. But no longer.
She affected a pleasant smile and turned to face him.
It was Lord Lindenshire.
"My—my lord!" she stammered
"Did I frighten you?"
She nodded. "I did not expect—"
"I have been waiting for you to come downstairs," he interrupted her and nodded toward her portmanteau. "Are you leaving now?"
She nodded.
"May I have a word with you first. In private?"
"Certainty."
Lindenshire turned to close the parlor doors, and mild shock coursed through Marianna. What could he have to say to her that required such an impropriety? She willed her heart to stop beating so fast.
It was easy to see why she had mistaken him for Truesdale. Lindenshire was well-nigh the same size as True Sin, and he was dressed much as Truesdale had been the previous morning, in buff-colored trousers and a dark brown coat. But Lindenshire was wearing a perfectly tied cravat, a smart, striped and embroidered black satin waistcoat buttoned all the way, and black Hessians that were polished to a shine, while a pair of spectacles sat atop the bridge of his nose and curled over his ears.
"I did not know you wore spectacles."
"I do not, if I can get away with it. I detest the blasted things, and I wear them as little as possible. But a quizzing glass, while quite fashionable," he said, lifting the single lens that hung from a cord fastened to his coat, "is not the best at helping one see clearly, and I cannot afford to indulge my vanity this morning. Did you not wonder at my seeming fascination with the library spyglass? Pray, sit," he said, not waiting for an answer to his question, and Marianna took a place on the sofa.
Lindenshire sat in the adjacent wing chair. "Miss Grantham, Lord Trowbridge sought me out last evening. He told me what had transpired between you and your parents. He told me everything, in fact."
She looked down at her hands. "I do not know what to say.”
“Have you guessed what he told your father?"
Marianna shook her head. “I have no idea. Did Trowbridge tell you?”
“Indeed.” Lindenshire nodded. "He told your father that I wished to marry you."
"Bells in Heaven!" Marianna could feel her face heat as she blushed crimson.
"He told your father that if he and your mother did not leave Trowbridge Manor immediately, he would stand in the way of our betrothal, but that if they left without further argument, he would do everything in his power to see that we were married as soon as possible."
The cold bite of mortification stung Marianna most savagely. "Pray accept my apologies, my lord. I ... I should never have unburdened myself to you. If I had not, Trowbridge would not have drawn you into this horrible coil." Looking down at her lap, she fiddled with the handle of her portmanteau, unwilling to meet his eyes. "I am sorry."
"Oh, Miss Grantham,” —Lindenshire knelt in front of her—"Do not be sorry, for I am not sorry at all." He tipped her chin up. He was peering at her earnestly through the thick lenses of his spectacles. "Miss Grantham ... Marianna ... I ... I love you, and I” —Marianna gasped and he plunged on—I have been trying to find words fine enough to ask you to marry me since Trowbridge told me last night that he would not stand in my way. He knows my feelings run deep."
"Lord Lindenshire, I—"
"My name is Orion. I give you leave to use it, but please ... for now, just hear me out," he said. "Marianna, I do not care that you are no longer an heiress. You are a lovely young woman. Intelligent, sensible, well-mannered. Certainly, you have had one or two ... misadventures, here at Trowbridge, but the ton will soon forgive you, especially if you are married to me. As you know, I am more interested in insects than I am in the latest on-dits. I am too busy with my studies to get into the sorts of scrapes True Sin gets into. I am known for my steadiness." He matched her fingers with his own. "Marry me, Marianna. My coach awaits. It will take us to London. We shall marry, settle down into a life of scholarship, and the ton will forget your indiscretions. Please ... I love you ... will you marry me, dear heart?"
Marianna looked into his liquid brown eyes. His sincerity gripped her heart. He loved her! She felt tears prick her eyes, and a warmth like a summer's day suffused her consciousness.
Orion Chase, the Earl of Lindenshire, was everything Marianna had ever wished for in a husband. He was steady. Polite. Intelligent. Wealthy. Titled. A catch. He had been a good friend to her these last days, and she felt certain that she could grow
to love him. True love, she thought, grew from seeds of friendship. And a part of her loved him already. Life with him would be filled with pleasant companionship and intellectual fulfillment. He did not need her fortune. He did not give a pin about her reputation or lack of a title. Bells in Heaven, he even thought her beautiful!
A lock of his brown hair had fallen across his eyes, and Marianna lifted her hand to brush it aside. He kissed her palm, closing his eyes as he did so, and then he opened them once more to wait patiently for her answer, his soulful brown eyes vulnerable with hope and longing.
Chapter Nineteen
TRUE
kicked at a stone, sending it skipping into the brook. It landed on a wide, flat, dry rock out in the middle of the water, skittered to the edge, and gave a little wobble before finally falling with a splashing thunk into the water and sinking to the bottom.
How ironic. This whole miserable portion of his life had begun with one sinking, and it was ending with another.
He knew Lindenshire was proposing to Marianna at that very moment. He'd sprinted from the library, where Lindenshire had been waiting for her, just as Marianna had come down the stairs. He hadn't wanted to get in the man's way.
Lindenshire's carriage was waiting on the curved drive, waiting to carry the two of them away to London, should Marianna say yes.
Truesdale hoped she would.
Lindenshire was a good man. Although a member of the ton, and at the pinnacle of fashion, he was too studious, too serious to run in the fastest circles. In point of fact he was considered rather dull, but True knew that was far from the truth. Lindenshire simply cared too much for his fungi and his salamanders to be concerned with who was and was not admitted to Almack's. He was well-heeled and well-respected. And he had fallen arse over instep for Marianna Grantham. Any fool could see that.
True wanted desperately for her to be happy, and if she could not love him, then perhaps she could love Lindenshire. She had seemed to enjoy the Earl's company.
Miss Grantham's One True Sin (The Regency Matchmaker Series Book 2) Page 22