Miss Grantham's One True Sin (The Regency Matchmaker Series Book 2) (27 page)

Epilogue

T
HE

coach lumbered along the country road in the quiet sunshine of the late summer afternoon. Autumn's chill nipped the air, and Marianna sighed. They were homeward bound. Home to Trowbridge Manor, where their family— the ABC's, Ophelia, and John—would be waiting for them.

Marianna had a family.

She smiled. Family was whoever truly cared about what happened to you. The people who loved you, stood by you, and guarded your heart. They were the people who mattered in life. No one else mattered—not the
ton
, not even one's biological parents. She was eager to get back home. She and True, Marianna knew, would be welcomed with genuine pleasure. She hugged herself. It felt good to belong. She was truly happy for the first time in her life.

Marianna and True had been gone for almost a month. There had been one delay after another. The road back from Gretna had been blocked by a rock slide, the road to London wet. Once there, the negotiations for the sale of her jewels and the payment of their debts had taken longer than they'd anticipated. And then they'd had to journey to Portsmouth and wait there an extra two days in order to settle True's lost cargo and free his ships from impoundment.

In spite of the delays, however, they had not been bored or unhappy for even a second. Newlyweds, they had found, did not suffer for lack of diversion.

Marianna looked over at True, twirled one long, loose curl in her bare gloveless fingers, and smiled.

He smiled lazily back.

She reached under her the hem of her gown.

His dark eyebrow rose.

Slowly, she pulled off one of the blue stockings she’d fashioned for Lady Marchman, who had arrived at Trowbridge Manor just before they’d left for Gretna Green. Marianna had given the Baroness the outrageous stockings, but Agnes had insisted that they were perfect for Marianna's "something blue" and that she must keep them for her trip to Gretna.

Marianna reached slowly under her gown for the second stocking, knowing she had True's full attention now. A stocking in each hand, she shook the tiny silver bells, which jingled merrily, and then she tossed one stocking out the window of the coach and looked at True, mirroring his raised eyebrow.

"
Here?
" he asked. "
Now?
Will you not be cold?"

She shook her head and laughed, gaily tossing the second stocking out the window. "True Sin will keep me warm." She curled onto his lap and, filling her lungs with the cool, crisp air, Marianna Sinclair, the Viscountess Trowbridge, began singing “
Greensleeves
."

And now, please enjoy this excerpt from the next book in the

Regency Matchmaker Series,

LORD LOGIC AND THE WEDDING WISH.

Wherein our poor, heartbroken Orion—the logical, studious, yet ultra-fashionable Lord Lindenshire—meets his own true love, a stubborn, exasperating, and irresistible Gypsy who insists it’s their destiny to wed. The outrageous blue stockings play a part in their story, too, and you haven’t heard the last from clever Ophelia Robertson, whose story continues to unfold in this not-to-be-missed sequel to
The Blue Devil
and
Miss Grantham’s One True Sin.

A National Reviewer’s Choice Award finalist and Best Regency Nominee!

“Lord Logic and the Wedding Wish is a fresh and inspiring romance, from the magical beginning all the way to its perfect and masterfully thought-out conclusion.
—Diana Tidlund,
Writers Unlimited

“A wonderful, sweet love story that will warm your heart and tickle your toes. You have got to read this story. Every page is packed full of romance and fun. I can’t wait to read another!”
—
ARomanceReview.com

PROLOGUE

West Sussex, England 1799

H
E

had waited a
ll year for this.

The idea had come to him one day last summer, when he was still but seven and his governess was making threats concerning the eating of peas. Orion had thought about his idea all summer, all autumn, as he waited for the first good snowfall. Today was the day. There were six and three-quarters inches on the ground. It was cold. Cold and windy.

As he plowed—
chuff-chuff
—through the white, his nose hurt and his eyes felt dry, but his feet still carried him gladly toward the river. There wouldn’t be anyone else outside in weather like this. No, they’d all be inside, singing and smiling and draping green stuff all over the place.

That’s what was going on back at Stonechase Manor, and that’s what would be going on throughout the countryside. All the children would be inside, making kissing boughs or ivy wreaths. All the adults, too.

But not Orion. He couldn’t wait to escape all that buffle-headed nonsense. He couldn’t wait to be by himself, to be outside. Today, the outside belonged to Orion. No one around to stare or snicker. He could turn over stones and logs all he wanted, and no one would even know.

Beneath his green woolen scarf, he smiled.

The wind had subsided by the time he reached the river, and he knelt next to one of the huge, bare lindens that had been planted all over the estate long ago by one of his ancestors, the first Earl of Lindenshire. Orion pushed his spectacles higher onto the bridge of his nose and pulled from under his coat a hand spade he’d purloined from the gardener a few days ago. With it, he cleared the snow within the V of two great black roots, taking care not to disturb the earth beneath.

As he worked, he thought about the inherent injustice in an earl being made to eat those wretched peas.
Nasty tasting things!
He’d had to eat them last week, too. What did it matter that he was only eight years old? An earl still shouldn’t have to eat such things if he didn’t want to.

He was so intent upon what he was doing that he didn’t notice the girl near him until her head of dark, glossy curls popped up out of the blanket of white snow a few yards away, nearly scaring the bubble-and-squeak out of him. Orion’s heart leapt into his throat, and he almost gave a scream.

A girlish scream.

In front of her—
Artemis.

That
would have been a disaster. He gripped his spade tighter and pretended not to have noticed her. She sat up. He turned his head until she was almost-but-not-quite out of his line of sight, way off to one side. She watched him for a moment and then spoke.

“Hello, Orion.”

He pretended not to have heard her.

“I
said
, ‘Hello, Orion.’”

Orion looked up into the tree, as though he’d heard an owl or perhaps a dead leaf rasping against the bare boughs.

“
Hmmph!
” She stood up and walked a few paces away. Orion thought she was going to leave, and he was sorry without really understanding why he should be. But then, quite suddenly, she sat down and lay back in the snow once more.

He stopped what he was doing and stared. Her black clothes stood out against the snow, and as he watched, she extended her arms and legs and waved them parallel to the ground.

“What are you doing?” he asked, forgetting he wasn’t supposed to have noticed her.

“Making snow angels.”

“I can see
that,
” he said, irritated. “But this,” he said, gesturing around him, “is my experiment place. Why are you doing that here? And why now?”

She shrugged. “Don’t know. Destiny, I guess.”

“Destiny?” Orion frowned.

“Fate.”

“Fate!” Orion scoffed.
Destiny ... fate ... what rubbish!
Gypsy rubbish, he supposed. He’d heard the servants talking about her grandmother. The old woman was a Gypsy, a fortune-teller. She could read palms and see omens, they said. Orion didn’t believe in all that nonsense, and he didn’t understand how the adults could, either. He knew he was just a little boy, but he also knew what made sense and what didn’t.

Artemis stood and moved to another location, lay down, and waved her arms and legs again. Orion’s fingers clenched and unclenched around his spade.

“
There,
” she said. “
Ten. Should be enough,” she added, getting up and brushing the snow from her ugly black mourning clothes. Her father, a nice man who had taken the two of them fishing once or twice and taught them both to play chess, had died a month ago.

“Enough what?”

“Enough angels. They are going to watch over my boat.”

“
What
boat?” Orion said, getting really irritated now. She wasn’t making sense—not that
that
was anything unusual. Artemis didn’t usually make sense, but she didn’t usually laugh at him, either, which is why he put up with her silliness. While she sometimes poked fun at him for other things, she was the only one who didn’t laugh at him for thinking too much. She never laughed at his experiments, and she liked to listen to the songs he made up.

“I am launching this boat,” she said, picking up what appeared to be little more than a bundle of sticks. “What are
you
doing?”

“I am digging to see if there are any insects crawling around under the snow in the winter.”

“Oh,” Artemis said with a polite nod, though he knew she didn’t have any interest in his bugs. “Well? Are there?”

Orion shrugged. “Don’t know. Haven’t looked yet. You disturbed me,” he accused.

“Sorry.” Artemis knelt at the side of the river. It had begun to freeze over, and she broke apart the thin layer of ice near the edge with a fallen branch. Then she pulled from her pocket a small packet made of paper folded into a neat, white square.

“What’s that?” Orion asked, coming closer, unable to stem the tide of his own curiosity.

“An envelope.”

“I can see that! What’s in it?”

“A wish.”

“Huh?”

“I wrote a wish and put it inside.” She tucked the envelope between two sticks and then pushed the little boat into the current and watched it float off.

“What did you wish for?”

“I can’t tell you that,” she said, turning and crinkling her nose up and giving him a look that suggested he was the stupidest boy in all England. “If anyone but me finds out what my wish is before the boat makes it to the sea, the wish won’t come true. Don’t you know
anything?
”

“Rubbish.” Orion scoffed again. “Superstitious rubbish. How can you believe in all that Gypsy nonsense?”

“It’s not nonsense.”

“Is too.”

“Orion Chase, you
are
smart, but you don’t know anything.”

“Hah! Do so. I know you’re silly to believe in all that wish and destiny and omen and fortune-telling rot,” he said smugly.

“It isn’t rot. Mama told me it’s real. She pretends she doesn’t believe in it because Papa’s family would be cross if she didn’t, but she really does believe, and she’s right. It
is
real. It’s real, and I will
prove
it!”

“Never in a thousand years. Silly girl.”

She scowled. “Ooo! You ... you ... “ she sputtered, casting about for a suitably despicable insult.

“Earl?” he supplied with a smug grin, knowing it would enrage her. Waving his title in front of her nose always did. Her mama was the daughter of an earl and a Gypsy, and Artemis was always complaining about how unfair it was that her mama—an only child—couldn’t inherit the title.

“I was thinking
prig,
” she answered.

“Shouldn’t that be, ‘I was thinking prig,
my lord
’? You Gypsies are all alike—always forgetting your place.”

She looked daggers at him for a moment and then curtsied. “I beg your pardon,
Lord Logic
,” she finished and stomped off, her breath leaving behind little clouds of warm vapor as she walked, her feet squeaking against the snow with every angry step.

Orion grinned and watched her disappear over the hill. He always enjoyed provoking her, and he was sure he’d not seen the last of her that day. Her mama and his were friends, and they always saw a lot of each other. Their houses were perched atop neighboring hills. If he looked hard enough, Orion could see the light in Artemis’s window at night Yes, with all the Christmas festivities, he’d be seeing more of her later on, he was sure.

Thinking no more of her, he turned back to his experiment.

First, he cleared a new hole in the snow, reasoning that the old one had been exposed to the cold too long; any insects there would have crawled or flown away by then. Carefully turning over some dead leaves, a branch, and some rocks, he discovered several insects, but they appeared dead.

The loamy smell of the exposed earth filled his nostrils as he gently put the insects into a small, clear glass bottle. He corked the bottle, then set out for home. Were the insects dead? Or were they only sleeping, like bears did in the winter? Would they come back to life as soon as he got them warm by the fire?

He paused to tuck the little bottle into the deepest pocket of his brown woolen coat. It wouldn’t do to have one of the adults see it on the way to his room. They’d confiscate it, he was sure.

He almost missed the wish-boat.

At the last moment before he cleared the steep bank, he glanced down at the half-frozen river, where a patch of darkness stuck out against the background of snow. It was Artemis’s boat. It had run aground against the near bank a hundred feet downstream, caught in a tangle of dead plants like a fly in a spider’s web.

Orion frowned. The puny little stick boat would never make it to the sea. Likely, the thing wouldn’t make it any farther than right where it was. But Artemis didn’t know that.

He looked down at her footprints, where they led off through the winter woods toward her father’s land. What if she came back to check on her boat? She’d be disappointed that her stupid wish couldn’t come true, wouldn’t she?

Orion rolled his eyes. “Silly girl,” he said, but he scrambled back down the sloping bank and trudged downstream to pluck the boat from its sticking place. He looked at the thing, taking note of its too-low prow and too-narrow beam. There was nothing to keep the boat parallel with the current. No keel and no rudder. No ballast, either.

Artemis didn’t know the first thing about shipbuilding. If the boat hadn’t become stuck, it would definitely have capsized. Orion shook his head, and, tucking the boat under his arm, headed for home. No, the boat would certainly never make it to the sea, but Artemis didn’t have to know that. He liked her—not that he wanted to, well, to
kiss
her or anything—and he reckoned this wish nonsense would vex her. It might even make her cry.

Girls cried a lot.

Back at Stonechase Manor, Orion sneaked up to his bedchamber with his precious insects. Ridding himself of the boat, which he carelessly tossed onto his dressing table, he pushed his spectacles higher onto the bridge of his nose, sat upon the gray stone hearth and pulled the insect bottle from his pocket, his fingers trembling with excitement.

And Artemis’s wish-boat? It lay forgotten until a maid noticed the mess of dirty twine and sticks the next morning and disposed of it in the fireplace.

The wish envelope, however, escaped the boat’s grim fate. The envelope had skidded across and over the edge of the polished surface of the dressing table and fallen into an open trunk, where it lay lodged out of sight behind the trunk’s green satin lining.

Orion didn’t even realize the little square of paper was missing. There were too many other mysteries to occupy his logical, ordered eight-year-old mind. Yes, he forgot about the little boat and the wish envelope entirely, though he never quite forgot Artemis.

The little girl with the black curls moved from her father’s estate and away from the neighborhood that very day, quite suddenly and without farewells, but the memory of her laughing eyes and teasing mouth stuck with him through the years.