Read Online Miss Grantham's One True Sin (The Regency Matchmaker Series Book 2) by Melynda Beth Andrews - Free Book Online
Authors: Melynda Beth Andrews
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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
"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
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