Free Miss Grantham's One True Sin (The Regency Matchmaker Series Book 2) by Melynda Beth Andrews

looked lost at sea. "But I am dressed."
    "No, I meant that we will wait for you to don your new gown. Mrs. Robertson informed me that new gowns take extra time. Think nothing of it. Waiting will be a pleasure." He almost meant it. The change she'd wrought in his nieces was nothing short of miraculous, and it would truly be a pleasure to sit and watch them pirouette and preen for the time it would take Miss Grantham to change into her new dress. "Take your time," he said again.
    "Thank you, my lord, but my gowns have not been sent 'round yet. I asked Mrs. Bailey to complete my order for the girls first." She turned. "Out the door, young ladies. And remember, not one dot of dirt on those new frocks, or I shall not let you wear any of the others for two days." She herded the ABC's out the front door.
    Ophelia Robertson chuckled. "Close your mouth, Trowbridge, or you shall have it full of flies." She glanced from Miss Grantham to True knowingly. "Not what you thought she was on first glance, hmm?" She gave a satisfied nod. "Good, because neither are you !" She sailed out the door.
    True frowned. Nothing was going according to plan.
    AN HOUR LATER, Marianna smiled. Everything was going according to plan.
    They’d driven until they’d found a lovely meadow dotted with fine elm trees. There was a quiet brook that had been dammed to build a small, sparkling pond and a gurgling waterfall below. The footmen had set up a several large picnic blankets and a pair of chairs for the ladies—though Marianna had eschewed the chairs to curl up upon the blue blanket, where she sat with a lap full of daisies she’d just gathered. John and Ophelia were strolling amongst the trees. The weather was fine, and a gentle breeze blew over the verdant meadow grass, carrying the children's laughter to her on currents of clean, summer air. She tilted her head back and looked up through the green leaves of the ancient elm and listened as they played. Their uncle was with them, shepherding them on their hunt for tadpoles.
    Marianna smiled. Yes, everything was going according to plan, and Ophelia deserved a medal for directing her to Truesdale Sinclair.
    Though the beginning of their acquaintance had not been promising, the Viscount's behavior ever since had been nothing short of perfect. It had been three days, and he hadn’t displayed any bad manners since. Surely, if he was a habitual drunkard or philanderer or wastrel or any other sort of blackguard, she’d have seen evidence of it by now. But she’s seen none, not since the night she’d arrived, and everyone had a lapse in good judgement now and then, she thought, giving a silent nod to her own transgressions.
    Trowbridge was not perfect, but—except for a few lapses she suspected had more to do with a somewhat fast sense of humor—he’d been a perfect gentleman.
    Though the rumors concerning his stunning good looks hadn’t been exaggerated, Marianna’s steadfast application of logic coupled with well-nigh a week's observation told her that the balance of the Town rumors concerning True Sin had to be complete falsehoods. The very idea of Trowbridge having had hundreds or even dozens of romantic liaisons was ridiculous. He was a gentleman, and gentlemen simply did not behave in such a manner.
    No, the Viscount was everything that was amiable. Polite and attentive, he seemed genuinely glad to be of help to her, and he was eager to learn everything he could about her. Of course, that was only because that was what was required of him according to the terms of their bargain and not because he desired to seduce her. She looked toward the Viscount, who was bent low, peering into Alyce’s cupped hands and bit her lip. As he had pointed out that first day, they had to learn all they could of each other in order to carry out their ruse successfully.
    Still ... there had been moments these past two days when she’d thought his interest ranged beyond that which was strictly necessary. Take, for