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

instance, the flowers he had brought her yesterday morning and this. He'd presented them, saying he was acting his part as thoroughly as he could now, so that he might be more convincing when their guests arrived later. And the lovely, single pink roses were no more than a besotted suitor might bestow upon his beloved, to be sure. Yet the way he had placed them into her hand, his fingers lingering over hers as he had looked into her eyes ...
    She shook her head and looked away from him. She was telling herself tales. Truesdale's interest in her lay no deeper than the bottom of her gem bottle. She wondered if he would have agreed to help her at all if she hadn't had any gems to offer him. Three days ago, she would have rejected the idea, but now . . .
    He had surprised her.
    He was not the gruff, unbending man she'd thought he was at first. Especially toward the ABC's. When they’d come down the stairs in their new frocks an hour ago, twirling and smiling proudly, he’d exclaimed over them, praised them. And she was certain his pleasure was genuine. He knew how long it had been since they’d had new clothes. He knew Alyce hated ruffles, that Beatrice loved them, and that Eleanor always mispronounced them “rough pulls.” He even knew that the sashes on the frocks were the girls’ favorite colors.
    Nothing in Marianna’s education—or her upbringing—had led her to expect a gentleman to take such an active interest in children.
    She doubted her own papa, who loved her excessively, knew her favorite color even now. He’d told her a thousand times that he wanted only what was best for her, yet he hadn't had much contact with her. Taking an interest in one’s children simply wasn’t normal behavior for a proper gentleman.
    As she watched, Truesdale began playing blind man’s buff with the girls. He was forcing Marianna to re-examine her views. Either Truesdale Sinclair was an unconventional man, or ideas of child rearing had changed since her parents left England some twenty-five years before.
    She sighed and began weaving flower crowns to surprise the girls with. She wondered if anyone had ever taught them how to make daisy chains. Perhaps Truesdale had shown them. Three days ago, she’d have doubted it, and if she’d not been living as a schoolteacher this past year, perhaps she’d have missed gathering any intelligence to the contrary. But where the girls were concerned, Marianna didn’t Miss much.
    Each day, the neglected condition of his late brother's estate demanded more time than the Viscount had to devote to it. Yet, as busy as he was, Trowbridge still took time out to speak with the girls whenever they asked, and he made it a point to breakfast with them each day. He loved them. Of that Marianna was certain. And so were the ABC’s. They’d told her even tucked them into bed at night, kissing their brows and smoothing their hair and telling them silly stories of sea monsters with sore tentacles or mermaids who forgot how to swim.
    She sighed, missing her own papa and wondering what sorts of bedtime stories he would have told her if ever he'd had the time. Poor Papa, he worked so hard when she was small. Too hard. She gave a guilty flinch, for she knew all his toil had been for her, and here she was, perpetrating a ruse to fool him into thinking she was going to marry the Viscount Trowbridge. She finished one daisy crown and began the next, dwelling upon her reasons for the ruse.
    She wanted to marry for love. She wanted it so badly that she’d foolishly ignored the fact that her parents might very well insist upon staying in London rather than returning post-haste to the West Indies after her false engagement to the Viscount Trowbridge was broken. She didn’t think they would be that disappointed. Not at first, anyway. No doubt they would expect a flood of eligible partis to suddenly appear. They might even be happy that she and the Viscount Trowbridge had cried off their engagement. Marianna’s