Miss Grantham's One True Sin (The Regency Matchmaker Series Book 2) by Melynda Beth Andrews Page B
Authors: Melynda Beth Andrews
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love the ring, just as his mother would have, she knew. She looked up into her own eyes’ reflection, nodded, and then quickly changed out the teal hair ribbon for one the shade of the ruby.
La , she was mad!
She went downstairs at first light, where she knew she would find him at breakfast with the ABC's. Her heart pounded. She had made a decision. She would ask him. She would ask how he felt about her. There was no other way to be certain. She preferred plain speaking, and so did he. It was best to get their feelings—however nascent—out into the open before their guests began to arrive tomorrow.
She swept into the morning room, where the ABC's sat looking morose. Three places were set upon the table. Three places, not four.
"Good morning, lovely ladies. Where is your uncle?"
"Gone," Alyse said in a sulky voice.
"Gone where?" Marianna asked.
Eleanor shrugged. "He left while we were asleep."
"Yes," Beatrice said. "The coach is gone—”
“Which means a long trip!” Alyce interrupted.
“—and they will not tell us where he went or when he's coming back."
Chapter Seven
L ONDON
was wretched.
The streets were muddy from the recent rain, fog had shrouded the church spires deep into the afternoon, and the fetid odors drifting in from the Thames seemed to cling to everything. The air was too still. True wished a breeze would blow in from the North Sea. By Jove, how he missed the open ocean!
True hadn't even seen the sea in two months.
It wouldn't be long before he returned to that life, he thought as his coachman maneuvered the vehicle into fashionable St. James's Street. He patted the pocket of his waistcoat and, withdrawing an envelope, threw it onto the seat opposite him. It was a special license, and it was one of the two things he’d come to London to procure. With it, he could wed Marianna Grantham wherever and whenever it was convenient.
Not that True cared where or when—only that the deed were done.
He rapped on the ceiling of the coach, signaling he wished to debark. Out on the street, he made his way to a nondescript shop with a small sign at the top.
"Chancellor and Gale," the sign read. "Jewelers."
Their wares were overpriced, but True didn't mind. The shop traded in discretion as much as it did in jewels. Not many of the baubles purchased there ever made it onto the hands or neck or ears of a wife.
Leaving the shop a half-hour later, True ordered his coach to his town house in Silver Street. The afternoon sun slanted low across the rooftops, and people scurried here and there, heading home for the evening like birds heading to roost. He'd hoped to make it back to Trowbridge before now, for his house guests would already have begun arriving, but the delay could not have been helped. His order from Chancellor and Gale could not be made ready before then, and, with the roads as sodden and rutted as they were, it would take him a good four hours of neck-or-nothing riding to make the journey back to Trowbridge Manor. He would not start until morning.
It was no matter.
Truesdale suspected that his betrothed would take his absence gracefully, as she did most everything. She would give some excuse or other and carry on with her activities as though nothing were amiss. He honestly didn't think she'd mind much. Like a cat, clever and quick, Marianna Grantham would always land on her feet.
He stared out the window as the carriage wove through the crowded, rain-soaked streets. He knew with an experienced certainty that his seduction had been successful. She'd blushed in his arms last night, and she'd run from the room as though the soles of her feet were on fire.
A growl of frustration cleared his lips. Thank God she'd run.
The truth was, when she had finally relaxed against him and begun to kiss him back, True nearly abandoned his wits. Though it was obvious she'd never been kissed, Marianna Grantham had proved to be as apt a pupil at kissing as she was at everything else. Too apt! He snorted.
La , she was mad!
She went downstairs at first light, where she knew she would find him at breakfast with the ABC's. Her heart pounded. She had made a decision. She would ask him. She would ask how he felt about her. There was no other way to be certain. She preferred plain speaking, and so did he. It was best to get their feelings—however nascent—out into the open before their guests began to arrive tomorrow.
She swept into the morning room, where the ABC's sat looking morose. Three places were set upon the table. Three places, not four.
"Good morning, lovely ladies. Where is your uncle?"
"Gone," Alyse said in a sulky voice.
"Gone where?" Marianna asked.
Eleanor shrugged. "He left while we were asleep."
"Yes," Beatrice said. "The coach is gone—”
“Which means a long trip!” Alyce interrupted.
“—and they will not tell us where he went or when he's coming back."
Chapter Seven
L ONDON
was wretched.
The streets were muddy from the recent rain, fog had shrouded the church spires deep into the afternoon, and the fetid odors drifting in from the Thames seemed to cling to everything. The air was too still. True wished a breeze would blow in from the North Sea. By Jove, how he missed the open ocean!
True hadn't even seen the sea in two months.
It wouldn't be long before he returned to that life, he thought as his coachman maneuvered the vehicle into fashionable St. James's Street. He patted the pocket of his waistcoat and, withdrawing an envelope, threw it onto the seat opposite him. It was a special license, and it was one of the two things he’d come to London to procure. With it, he could wed Marianna Grantham wherever and whenever it was convenient.
Not that True cared where or when—only that the deed were done.
He rapped on the ceiling of the coach, signaling he wished to debark. Out on the street, he made his way to a nondescript shop with a small sign at the top.
"Chancellor and Gale," the sign read. "Jewelers."
Their wares were overpriced, but True didn't mind. The shop traded in discretion as much as it did in jewels. Not many of the baubles purchased there ever made it onto the hands or neck or ears of a wife.
Leaving the shop a half-hour later, True ordered his coach to his town house in Silver Street. The afternoon sun slanted low across the rooftops, and people scurried here and there, heading home for the evening like birds heading to roost. He'd hoped to make it back to Trowbridge before now, for his house guests would already have begun arriving, but the delay could not have been helped. His order from Chancellor and Gale could not be made ready before then, and, with the roads as sodden and rutted as they were, it would take him a good four hours of neck-or-nothing riding to make the journey back to Trowbridge Manor. He would not start until morning.
It was no matter.
Truesdale suspected that his betrothed would take his absence gracefully, as she did most everything. She would give some excuse or other and carry on with her activities as though nothing were amiss. He honestly didn't think she'd mind much. Like a cat, clever and quick, Marianna Grantham would always land on her feet.
He stared out the window as the carriage wove through the crowded, rain-soaked streets. He knew with an experienced certainty that his seduction had been successful. She'd blushed in his arms last night, and she'd run from the room as though the soles of her feet were on fire.
A growl of frustration cleared his lips. Thank God she'd run.
The truth was, when she had finally relaxed against him and begun to kiss him back, True nearly abandoned his wits. Though it was obvious she'd never been kissed, Marianna Grantham had proved to be as apt a pupil at kissing as she was at everything else. Too apt! He snorted.
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