Miss Grantham's One True Sin (The Regency Matchmaker Series Book 2) (6 page)

" 'At their age.' Do you disapprove of Gretna weddings for the younger set, then, Mary?"

"My name is Marianna—and, yes, a Gretna wedding is most improper."

"Ah. And are you always concerned with what is proper?"

"I am." She looked bemused. "Should I not be?"

"On the contrary," he said, "if you wish to secure a position among the
ton
, it is a necessity." He was unable to keep a note of scorn from creeping into his voice, and she detected it right away.

Her pale eyebrows rose. "You do not approve of the
ton
, my lord?" She looked appalled.

Blast
. True knew he had to tread lightly. As practical, precise, and thorough as Miss Grantham was, she would certainly have learned of his more infamous behavior. She must know he didn't give a fig about what anyone thought of him. But he couldn't very well tell her exactly what he thought of her precious, bloody
ton
now, could he? Not if he wanted her to marry him. No, he'd let her believe his feelings were limited to a singular unconcern for propriety, for if she knew the actual depth and breadth of his contempt for the
ton
, she'd never marry him.

"You may call me True." He threw her a smile. "And no, I have never been excessively concerned with the opinion of Society," he said carefully.

"But surely you agree the opinion of Society—Good Society—is paramount, my lord."

"'Good' Society. I presume you mean the
ton
."

"Of course. What else could I mean?" She looked genuinely perplexed with her pale eyebrows bunched together and her lips slightly pursed.

What else could she mean? Astonished, True realized Miss Grantham's bias ran deeper than he'd thought. It wasn't simply that she held the
ton
in greater esteem than she did other people, it was that the
ton
were the
only
people she held in esteem at all!

True thought of the men who sailed on his ships—hardworking, stalwart men it had been his privilege to know. He thought of the wives and sweethearts who waved to them from the docks, women who'd probably never owned a kerchief of silk, much less an entire gown of it. Those people worked hard, loved hard, lived honestly. They were, as far as True was concerned, the best sort of people, people from the finest society. Surely, in her guise as schoolteacher, Mistress Mary had met many such people. Had she not seen some of them for the good people they were?

"Mary, have you ever considered setting aside your goal of marrying into Society?"

She looked startled. "Well ... yes, I suppose I have. But such thoughts are silly, of course. The only good society—the only society worth being a part of—is the
ton
."

Her response only confirmed his suspicions: to Miss Marianna Grantham, the
ton
was "good" and everyone else was ... beneath her concern. He felt a stab of irritation but shook it off. After all, what else had he expected of her? The heiress had her cap set on securing a place among the
beau monde
, and nothing would steer her from that course. He supposed he ought to be grateful for her shallow bigotry. Was he not counting on it, in part, to secure her regard? That, and a few trinkets and fripperies and fancy words? He glanced at the mantel clock. "Eleven o' the clock," he said. "I've a surprise for you, and it should arrive any minute now."

She blinked at his abrupt change of subject. "What sort of surprise?"

"A dressmaker. You need a new wardrobe."

"Oh, but I cannot afford—"

"I shall give her the emerald you gave me."

"Oh, but I cannot let you make such a—"

"Indulge me, Mary. It is not a strictly altruistic gesture. Your appearance will have a direct impact on my own status," he lied. "You cannot have much in that one little trunk upstairs. Certainly not enough for a month's house party. I wish for my betrothed to be properly gowned. Properly attired," he said, turning a lethal and lazy smile upon her, "a young woman as lovely as you shall be the envy of all of my lady house guests—and I shall be the envy of the gentlemen." The compliment brought a soft pink to her cheeks, and she smiled at him shyly. True felt a corresponding glow of satisfaction. This was going to be very easy.

He'd be wed within a fortnight.

"Well ... I suppose I do need a
few
new things. A schoolteacher has little need for finery. I am afraid that this—" Her delicate fingers lit upon her pale, blue muslin skirt and her blue sash before trailing along the lace that trimmed her neckline. "This is the best I have." Her nose wrinkled, reminding him of Eleanor when something vexed her. "It is not exactly
en vogue
, is it?"

True ignored the question and, leaning back on the sofa, asked, "Why have you been masquerading as a schoolteacher, Mary?"

"Why are you always so blunt?" she countered.

"Why are you so secretive?"

She hesitated, then fiddled with the ends of her blue sash. "I can see no reason not to confide in you, my lord. As you pointed out, we must get to know each other very well and very quickly, and now is as good a time as any to start.” She poured herself more tea and seemed to be collecting her thoughts. "As you know, I came to London alone a little over a year ago. I was supposed to be fired off into Society by a lady my parents hired for the task, the elderly daughter of an earl, Lady Charlotte Cunningham."

"Cunningham. I thought she was—"

“Dead?” Marianna nodded. "She is. It happened just before I arrived. And just
after
I arrived, my maid deserted me. She was gone as soon as the gangplank was lowered. She was a native of Shropshire ... " She gave a small shrug of her shoulders. "I knew no one in London, and I was utterly alone. I should have sailed home forthwith. But I knew my failure to marry well would disappoint my poor parents."

True thought to point out that the failure could not be construed as hers, but she went on too quickly.

"I decided not to up and sail back home to the islands." She gave a delicate cough. "Instead, I decided to stay in London and find a husband all on my own."

"A titled husband."

Mary nodded. "Of course."

"So you decided that living and working under an assumed name at a girls' boarding school was the best way to snare a husband of the first consequence?"

She threw him a wry look. "Hardly. The school was my only option. As I said, I knew no one in London, and living by myself was out of the question. So I hid the jewels I had brought with me—they were in the ship's safe, fortunately, for my maid stole everything else I had, including most of my clothes, and I took a position under an assumed name—Mary Gant—at Baroness Marchman's School for Young Ladies. At the time, I thought it an ideal solution, for I did not wish to attract fortune hunters who might deliberately conceal their true characters in order to entrap me. Truth to tell, I hoped to make a” —a blush suffused her pale white skin a becoming shade of pink—"a love match," she finished.

Nothing she could have said would have surprised him more. "A love match?"

She nodded. "I know it is ... unusual, my lord, for a woman in my situation to be so inclined, but I assure you that you have nothing to be concerned over. In all other matters, my behavior has been quite unremarkable."

"In all other matters? Such as in masquerading as a schoolteacher, for instance?"

She bit her lip, looking for all the world like a recalcitrant child, and True laughed. She corrected herself: "Most other matters, then."

"Go on with your story. What happened next?"

"There is little more to tell, really. I lived the life of a schoolteacher and wrote to my parents that I was living the life of a
belle
-of-the-
ton
under the wing of a celebrated London hostess
.”

“Ophelia Robertson?”

“I was not specific at first, but they enquired, and by that time Ophelia and I were acquainted and I took her into my confidence and asked if I could ... “

“If you could lie to your parents and tell them Ophelia was your London chaperone and social shepherd?”

Miss Grantham’s shoulders shrugged her guilt. “I told them I was staying with Ophelia, not that I was working at the School.”

"Why not tell them the truth?"

She shook her head. "They would have been sick with worry. No, no, fabricating a story was the only way." She pinched her nose. "You must think I lie as a matter of course. I do not. I wrote every one of those letters with a heavy heart. The only thing that kept me going was imagining my parents' pleasure as they opened and read each one. If only I had been having half as much success as I told them!"

"And then?" He looked at her intently. "What happened then?"

"And then . . ." Her voice trailed off and her eyes fixed on her teacup. "And then the summer wore on, and I did not find a husband," she said quietly, her blush deepening to an alarming shade of crimson. She looked down to finger the sinuous handle of her teacup and hesitated in spite of her spoken resolve to confide in him.

"Why not?"

She looked up suddenly. His question was impertinent and rude, and he expected for her to look him daggers, but her eyes held little more than ... something True couldn't quite put his finger on. Embarrassment? Shame?

"I would rather not talk about it, my lord." She rose. "I believe I am fatigued, after all." Without another word, she quit the room for her bedchamber, leaving behind the faint aroma of starch.

He'd expected nothing less than a blistering set-down, and he felt an odd pang of disappointment. He shook the feeling off. By the devil, what did he want from her? A stern protestation that her personal matters were her own? An indignant display? An argument? Certainly not! The last thing he needed was to quarrel with her.

Blast, True didn't truly give a deacon's arse about why she'd come to London or what she'd been doing since she came. The only details he needed were those to make his seduction easier: what were her favorite foods, colors, amusements, flowers, and gemstones. None of the rest of it mattered.

He wondered at whatever impulse had made him ask such personal questions in the first place. He supposed it was the old warrior's urge to "know thine enemy." Not that he really needed to know anything more. He was certain he knew exactly what sort of woman Miss Grantham was, exactly where her priorities lay.

If seeking a love match had been her first priority, she would certainly have found one by then. Though she was no beauty, she was not entirely without positive qualities. She possessed sound, even teeth and a pleasing figure. She moved gracefully, if a bit stiffly. Her face and hands were expressive and nimble. With her quick mind, she might have found any number of shopkeepers or solicitors to satisfy her heart in spite of her lack of looks. But Marianna Grantham's heart was clearly not her first priority. She'd come to London to marry a title, and True had known in his heart the first time he’d set eyes on her that, given a choice between love and position, she would abandon her heart, as any young woman of the
ton
would do. She was no different from any of them.

She was already one of them.