Tallie's Knight (5 page)

Her words had the
unfortunate effect of drawing all attention to her ‘best gown’. There were a
few sniggers, which she ignored with a raised chin. Georgie, however, stared at
her, stricken.

“What is it, love?”
she said.

Guiltily, he extended
a grubby finger and pointed at the mud which now streaked her dress, liberally
deposited by himself and the squirming puppy in his arms. She glanced down and
laughed, a warm peal of unconcern.

“Don’t worry about
it, my dear, it will brush off when the mud is dry.”

She ruffled his hair
affectionately and said in a low voice, “Now for heaven’s sake take that
wretched pup and get it and yourself cleaned up before any other accidents
happen.”

Relieved, the small
boy ran off, his puppy clutched to his chest.

“You’ll not get off
so easily—” began Laetitia, incensed.

“Do you think it is
quite safe for you to be out in the night air in a damp and muddy dress,
Cousin?” interrupted Tallie solicitously. “I would not want you to take a
chill, and you know you are extremely susceptible.”

With a stamp and a
flounce of jonquil silk Laetitia left the terrace, calling petulantly for her
maid to be sent to her at once. The guests drifted in after her, and Brooks
began to circulate with a silver tray.

Tallie bent down and
gathered up Georgie’s scattered flowers. She straightened a few bent stems,
gathered the shawl more tightly around her shoulders and stepped towards the
French doors, then noticed Lord d’Arenville, who had remained on the terrace.

His expression was
unreadable, his grey heavy-lidded eyes observing her dispassionately. The hard
gaze made her shiver. Horrid man, she thought. Waiting to see if there is any
more entertainment to be had.

She raised her chin
in cool disdain, and marched past him without saying a word.

“Well, Magnus, how do
you like my candidates? Any take your fancy?”

Tallie froze. Partway
into writing the events of the day into her diary, she’d run out of ink. She’d
slipped down the servants’ stair to the library, secure in the belief that the
guests were all in the ballroom, dancing, or playing cards in the nearby
anteroom.

Concentrating on the
tricky task of refilling her inkwell, she hadn’t heard her cousin and Lord d’Arenville
enter the library. She glanced around, but they were hidden from her view by
the heavy velvet curtains pulled partly across the alcove where she was seated.

She stood up to
announce her presence, but paused, recalling the shabby dress she wore. If she
emerged, she would have to leave by the public route, enduring further sniggers
and taunts. She’d had enough of that at dinner. Laetitia, still furious about
the way Tallie had confronted her over Georgie and the puppy, had encouraged
her guests to bait Tallie even more spitefully than before, and Tallie could
endure no more of it.

Lord d’Arenville
spoke.

“You know perfectly
well, Tish, that my fancy does not run to society virgins. I am seeking a wife,
not pursuing a fancy.”

Tallie swallowed,
embarrassed. This was a terribly private conversation. No one would thank her
for having heard that. Perhaps she should try to slip out through the French
doors onto the terrace.

She edged quietly
towards them. Stealthily she slid the bolt back and turned the handle, but it
didn’t budge —the catch was stuck.

“Well, dearest coz,
which one has the teeth, the hips and the placid temperament you require for
the mother of your heirs? They all have impeccable bloodlines, be assured of
that.”

Tallie gasped at
Laetitia’s effrontery and waited for Lord d’Arenville to give her a smart
set-down for speaking of his intended bride with such disrespect. It was far
too late to declare her presence now, and besides, she was fascinated. She
edged back behind the curtains and wrestled half-heartedly with the door catch.

“As far as those
requirements are concerned, most of your candidates would do, although Miss
Kingsley is too narrow-hipped to be suitable.”

Tallie’s jaw dropped.
Requirements? Candidates? Those young women out there had been assembled as
candidates? Miss Kingsley eliminated because of her hips? Laetitia hadn’t been
joking when she’d referred to teeth, hips, placidity and bloodlines!

Tallie was disgusted.
What sort of man would choose a wife so coldly and dispassionately? No wonder
he was called The Icicle. Mrs. Wilmot was right —he was as handsome as a Greek
statue but he obviously had a heart of stone to match. Tallie passionately
hoped he would select Miss Fyffe-Temple as his bride.

Miss Fyffe-Temple was
one of the prettiest of the young lady guests and the sweetest-spoken —in
company. In truth she was a nasty-tempered, spiteful little harpy, who took her
temper out on the servants, making impossible demands in a shrill voice, and
pinching and hitting the younger maids in the most vicious fashion. The
below-stairs members of the household had quickly labelled her Miss
Foul-Temper, and in Tallie’s opinion that made her a perfect wife for the great
Lord d’Arenville!

“Actually, I have
come to see, on reflection, that my requirements were rather inadequate,” said
Lord d’Arenville.

Perhaps she was too
hasty in judging him, Tallie thought. She did tend to make snap judgements, and
was often forced to own the fault when she was later proved wrong.

“Strong hocks,
perhaps, Magnus?” Laetitia had clearly imbibed rather more champagne than was
ladylike. “Do you want to check their withers? Get them to jump over a few
logs? Put them at a fence or two? Or ask if they are fond of oats? I believe
Miss Carnegie has Scottish blood —she will certainly be fond of oats. The
Scots, I believe, live on little else.”

Tallie shoved her
fist against her mouth to stop herself from laughing out loud. Heavens! To
think she would be in such sympathy with Cousin Laetitia.

“Very funny, Tish,”
said Lord d’Arenville dryly. “I have no interest in the culinary preferences of
anyone north of the border, nor do I wish to concern myself with any additional
physical characteristics of the young ladies you selected for me.”

Tallie’s eyes
widened. Laetitia had selected the young ladies? Did he simply expect to choose
one? Without the bother of courtship? What an insufferable man! To be so puffed
up in his own conceit that he need not consider the feelings of any young lady,
assuming she would be flattered enough by his offer!

Well, if a spineless
ninny was what he wanted, she hoped he would choose The Honourable Miss
Aldercott. Already she showed what Tallie considered to be a very sinister
preference for gauzy drapery and sonnets about Death and Lost Love. The
Honourable Miss Aldercott had fainted five times so far, had had the vapours
twice and made recourse to her vinaigrette a dozen times a day. With any luck,
thought Tallie viciously, Lord d’Arenville would think The Honourable Miss
Aldercott charmingly fragile —then find himself leg-shackled to a clinging, lachrymose
watering-pot for the rest of his life!

“So, Magnus, what
other criteria do you have for the mother of your heirs?”

“It has occurred to
me that most of your candidates are rather spoiled and used to being indulged.”

“Well, naturally they
are a little petted, but that is only to be expected…”

“You miss my point,
Tish. Most of these young ladies have found it an almost intolerable hardship
to come to the country.”

“Well, of course they
have, Magnus!” Laetitia snapped acerbically. “Any woman would. Who in their
right mind would moulder away in the country when they could have all the
delightful exhilaration of
London
society? Is that your latest requirement?”

“Yes, actually —it
is. I wish the mother of my children to reside with the children, and
London
is no place for a
child.”

“What rubbish!”

“You know it’s true,
Tish, for you yourself keep your children here in the country all year round.”

“Yes, Magnus, the
children live here all year round, not me. And that is the difference. Why, I
would go into a decline if I were buried here for an entire year!”

“And the children —do
they not miss their mother’s care?”

Tallie had to stifle
another laugh at that. Laetitia, a doting mother!

The children would
love her if she would let them. As it was, they tiptoed around on their best
behaviour during their mother’s visits, hoping to avoid her criticisms and
sharp temper and heaving sighs of wistful relief when she left.

“Naturally I spend as
much time as I can with my darlings, but I have my needs also, Magnus. And I
have responsibilities as George’s wife, and they take place in
London
, which is no fault of mine. But you
need not think I neglect my children, for I leave them in the best of care.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed
that.” Lord d’Arenville’s voice was thoughtful. “Your sturdy little cousin.”

Sturdy! How dared he?
Sturdy? Tallie was mortally insulted. She might not be as sylph like as
Laetitia, but she was not sturdy!

“You’re wandering off
the point, Magnus.”

Sturdy! Insensitive
beast!

“Would you say that
any of these young ladies would be willing to live for, say, ten years in the
country?”

“Ten years?” Laetitia’s
voice rose to a horrified screech. “No sane woman would agree to that! She
would die, rather! Why on earth would you wish to immure anyone in the country
for ten years, anyway?”

There was a short
silence. Tallie craned to hear, but there was nothing. Suddenly Laetitia
laughed —a hard, cynical laugh.

“Good God, you want a
nun, not a wife, don’t you?” She laughed again. “Your father tried that, if you
recall, and stuck to it for all of six months, while your mother cuckolded him
with every groom, stable boy and tenant farmer in the district. And serve him
right, say I. No, you couldn’t possibly think that isolating a wife in the
country would ensure her fidelity, not after that.” She laughed again. “And if
you have any doubts on the matter, dearest coz, ask George.”

Lord d’Arenville said
stiffly, “My decision is nothing to do with either you or my mother. It is
simply that my bride must not mind spending my children’s growing years at my
country seat with them.”

“Well, I wish you’d
told me earlier,” said Laetitia, “for I wouldn’t have bothered wasting everyone’s
time with this ridiculous charade. I am very angry with you, Magnus. I should
have realised you were not serious about wanting a bride—”

“I am quite serious.”

“Well, you certainly
won’t find one here who could accept—”

“But I have.”

“You’ve what?”
Laetitia sounded flabbergasted. “Don’t tell me one has agreed to your
outrageous terms, Magnus! Oh, I cannot believe it. Who is she? No —do not tell
me— let me guess. Lady Helen… no, she is positively addicted to Almack’s. And
it could not possibly be Miss Blakeney —no one so a la mode would agree to be buried
in the country for ten years. Oh, I give up Magnus, who is she?”

There was a long
pause. Tallie waited with hated breath.

Truly, she could
imagine no young lady agreeing to such inhuman terms.

It was a shame his
mother had behaved so shockingly, but not all women were like his mother and
Laetitia, and why should an innocent wife be punished for the things they had
done?

Ten years in the
country indeed! And would Lord d’Arenville confine himself similarly to the
restrictions of country life? Tallie almost snorted out loud. Of course he
would not! It was only his poor wife who would be shut away from society,
breeding his heirs like a good little brood mare.

“Well, Magnus, don’t
keep me waiting all day,” said Laetitia impatiently. “Which bride have you
chosen?”

Tallie leaned against
the door-handle, eager to hear his answer.

“I have decided to
wed—” Suddenly the catch gave, and Tallie tumbled out into the night, missing
his reply. Fearful that her eavesdropping would be discovered, she pushed the
door shut and slipped away. A little irritated to be denied the juicy morsel of
gossip, she hurried towards the kitchen.

Which unfortunate
young lady had Lord d’Arenville chosen for his bride?

She would find out
soon enough, she supposed. Whoever it was, Tallie did not envy her. However, it
was nothing to do with her, except that his choice would signal the end of the
house party. All the unpleasant guests would return to
London
, the children would be released from their
unnatural curfew and she would return to the peaceful life she had led before.
Tallie almost skipped with joy at the prospect.

*
       
*
       
*

When Tallie came down
to breakfast the next morning she was surprised to find many of her cousin’s
guests already arisen. She paused on the threshold, feeling dowdy and
unwelcome. Still, she decided, this was her home, and she had every right to
her breakfast. Chin held high, she entered the breakfast room.

A sudden hush fell.
Tallie ignored it. No doubt they were preparing to make sport of her yet again
—the dress she wore was even shabbier than yesterday’s. She went to the
sideboard and inspected the selection of breakfast dishes, uncomfortably aware
of hostile eyes boring into her back. After a moment, the buzz of conversation resumed.
From time to time a low voiced comment reached her ears as she slowly filled
her plate.

“…done rather well
for herself…”

“…but, my dear, one
wonders what precisely she did to ensure…”

They were talking of
Lord d’Arenville’s bride, Tallie thought. He must have announced his betrothal
at the ball. That would explain why so many had come down to breakfast. No
doubt those who had not been chosen wished to make an early start on the
journey back to Town.