Tallie's Knight
Page 2
"A house party?" She shuddered delicately.
"I loathe the country at this time of year."
Magnus shrugged.
"It needn't be for long. A week or so will do."
"A week!" Laetitia almost shrieked.
"A week to court a bride! Lord, the ton will never stop talking about
it."
Magnus clenched his jaw. If there had been any other way he would have
walked out then and there. But his cousin was a young, apparently
respectable, society matron--exactly what he required. No one else
could so easily introduce him to eligible young ladies. And she could
help him circumvent the tedium of the dreaded marriage mart--courting
under the eyes of hundreds. He shuddered inwardly again. Laetitia
might be a shallow featherbrain with a taste for malicious gossip, and
he disliked having to ask for her assistance in anything, but she was
all he had.
"Will you do it?" he repeated.
Laetitia's delicately painted features took on a calculating look.
Magnus was familiar with the expression; he usually encountered it on
the faces of less respectable females, though he'd first learnt it from
his mother. He relaxed. This aspect of the female of the species was
one he knew how to deal with.
"It might be awkward for me to get away--the Season may not have
started, but we have numerous engagements..." She glanced meaningfully
at the over-mantel mirror, the gilt frame of which bore half a dozen
engraved invitations.
"And to organise a house party at Manningham at such short notice..."
She sighed.
"Well, it is a great deal of work, and I would have to take on extra
help, you know... and George might not like it, for it will be very ex
pens--' " I will cover all expenses, of course," Magnus interrupted.
"And I'll make it worth your while, too, Laetitia. Would diamonds make
it any easier to forgo your balls and routs for a week or two?"
Laetitia pursed her lips, annoyed at his bluntness but unable to resist
the bait.
"What?"
"Necklace, earrings and bracelet." His cold grey eyes met hers with
cynical indifference. Laetitia bridled at his cool certainty.
"Oh, Magnus, how vulgar you are. As if I would wish to be paid for
assisting my dearest cous--' " Then you don't want the diamonds? "
"No, no, no. I didn't say that. Naturally, if you care to present me
with some small token..."
"Good, then it's decided. You invite half a dozen girls--' '--and
their mamas."
A faint grimace disturbed the cool impassivity of his expression.
"I suppose so. Anyway, you invite them, and I'll choose one. "
Laetitia shuddered delicately.
"So cold-blooded, Magnus. No wonder they call you The Ic--' His
freezing look cut her off in mid-sentence. He stood up to leave.
"You cannot intend to leave yet, surely?" said Laetitia.
He regarded her in faint puzzlement.
"Why not? It is all decided, is it not?"
"But which girls do you want me to invite?" she demanded through her
teeth.
Magnus looked at her with blank surprise. He shrugged.
"Damn it, Tish, I don't know. That's your job." He walked towards the
door.
"I don't believe it! You want me to choose your bride for you?" she
shrieked shrilly.
Faint irritation appeared in his eyes.
"No, I'll choose her from the girls you pick out. Lord, Tish, haven't
you got it straight yet? What else have we been talking about for the
last fifteen minutes?"
Laetitia stared at him in stupefaction. He was picking out a bride
with no more care than he would take to buy a horse. Less, actually.
Magnus was very particular about his horseflesh.
"Are... I mean, do you have any special requirements?" she said at
last.
Magnus sat down again. He had not really thought past the idea of
children, but it was a fair request, he supposed. He thought for a
moment.
"She must be sound, of course... with good bloodlines, naturally. Umm
good teeth, reasonably intelligent, but with a placid temperament...
and wide enough hips--for childbearing, you know. I think that about
covers it."
Laetitia gritted her teeth.
"We are talking about a lady, are we not?
Or are you only after a brood mare? "
Magnus ignored her sarcasm. He shrugged.
"More or less, I suppose. I have little interest in the dam, only the
offspring."
"Do you not even care what she looks like?"
"Not particularly. Although I suppose I'd prefer someone good-looking,
at least passably so. But not beautiful. A beautiful wife would be
too much trouble." His lips twitched sardonically.
"I've known too many beautiful wives not to realise what a temptation
they are--to others."
His subtle reference was not lost on Laetitia, and to her annoyance she
found herself flushing slightly under his ironic gaze. She would have
liked to fling his request in his even white teeth. However, a diamond
necklace, earrings and a bracelet were not to be looked in the mouth.
Even if Lord d'Arenville's bride was.
"I'll do my best," she said sourly.
The black knight reached down, caught her around the waist and lifted
her onto his gallant charger, up and away, out of reach of the
slavering wolves snapping at her heels.
"Begone you vicious curs!" he shouted in a thrillingly deep, manly
voice.
"This tender morsel is not for you!" His arms tightened around her,
protectively, tenderly, possessively.
"Hold on, my pretty one, I have you safe now," he murmured in her ear,
his warm breath stirring the curls at her nape.
"And now I have you, Tallie, my little love, I'll never let you go."
Clasping her hard against his broad, strong chest, he lowered his mouth
to hers. "Miss? Miss Tallie? Are you all right?"
Tallie jerked out of her reverie with a start. The buttons she had
been sorting spilled out over the table and she scrabbled hurriedly to
retrieve them. Brooks, her cousin's elderly butler, and Mrs. Wilmot,
the housekeeper, were bending over her, concerned.
"Oh, yes, yes, perfectly," Tallie, blushing, hastened to assure them.
"I was in a silly daze--miles away, I'm afraid. Was there something
you wanted?"
Brooks proffered a letter on a silver tray.
"A letter, Miss Tallie.
From the mistress. "
Tallie smiled. Brooks still behaved as if he were in charge of the
grand London mansion, instead of stuck away in the country house
belonging to Tallie's cousin Laetitia. Tallie took the letter from the
tray and thanked him. Dear Brooks--as if she were the lady of the
house, receiving correspondence in the parlour, instead of a poor
relation, dreaming foolish dreams over a jar of old buttons. She broke
open the wafer and began to read.
"Oh, no!" Tallie closed her eyes as a sudden surge of bitterness
rushed through her. She had assumed that with Christmas over, and
Laetitia and George returned to Town, she and the children would be
left in
peace for several months at least.
"What is it, Miss Tallie? Bad news?"
"No, no--or at least nothing tragic, at any rate." Tallie hastened to
reassure the elderly housekeeper. She glanced across at Brooks, and
explained.
"Cousin Laetitia writes to say she is holding a house party here. We
are to make all the arrangements for the accommodation and
entertainment of six or seven young ladies and their mothers, possibly
a number of fathers also. Five or six other gentlemen may be invited,
too; she is not yet decided. And there is to be a ball at the end of
two weeks." Tallie looked at Brooks and Mrs. Wilmot, shook her head
in mild disbelief, and took a deep drink of the tea grown cold at her
elbow.
Mrs. Wilmot had been counting.
"Accommodation and entertainment for up to twenty-five or six of the
gentry, and almost twice that number of servants if we just count on a
valet or maidservant for each gentleman or lady. Lawks, Miss Tallie, I
don't know how we'll ever manage. When is this house party to be, did
she say?"
Tallie nodded, a look of dire foreboding in her eyes.
"The guests will start arriving on Tuesday next. Cousin Laetitia will
come the day before, to make sure everything is in order."
"Tuesday next? Tuesday next! Lord, miss, whatever shall we do?
Arrangements for sixty or more people to stay, arriving on Tuesday
next! We will never manage it! Never. "
Tallie took a deep breath.
"Yes, we will, Mrs. Wilmot. We have no choice--you know that.
However, my cousin has, for once, considered the extra work it will
entail for you both and all the other servants."
"And for you, Miss Tallie," added Brooks.
She smiled. She knew he meant well, but it was not a comforting
thought that even her cousin's servants regarded her as one of them,
even if they did call her Miss Tallie. She continued.
"I am empowered to hire as much extra help as we need, and no expense
spared, though I am to keep strict accounts of all expenditure."
"No expense spar--' In a less dignified person, Brooks's expression
would have been likened to a gaping fish.
Tallie attempted to keep a straight face. The prospect of Cousin
Laetitia showing enough consideration for her servants to hire extra
help was surprising enough, but for her not to consider expense would
astound any who knew her.
"No, for she says the house party is for her cousin Lord d'Arenville's
benefit, and he is to pay for everything, which is why I am to keep
accounts."
"Ahh." Brooks shut his mouth and looked wise.
"Lord d'Arenville? Lawks, what would he want with a house party full
of young ladies--oh, I see." Mrs. Wilmot nodded in sudden
comprehension.
"Courting."
"I beg your pardon?" said Tallie, puzzled.
"He's courting. Lord d'Arenville. One of those young ladies must be
his intended, and he wishes some time with her before he pops the
question. He'll probably announce it at the ball."
"Well, well, so that's it. A courting couple in the old house once
again." Brooks's face creased in a sentimental smile.
"Lord, Mr. Brooks, you're a born romantic if ever I saw one," said
Mrs. Wilmot.
"I can no more see that Lord d'Arenville lost in love's young dream
than I can see me flying through the air on one of me own sponge
cakes!"
Tallie stifled a giggle at the image conjured up.
"And why is that, Mrs. Wilmot?" she asked.
"Why?" Mrs. Wilmot turned to Tallie in surprise.
"Oh, yes, you've never met him, have you, dearie? I keep forgetting,
you're related to the other side of madam's family. Well, you've not
missed out on much--a cold fish if ever I saw one, that Lord
d'Arenville. They call him The Icicle, you know. Not a drop of warm
blood in his body, if you ask me."
"But I thought all you females thought him so handsome," began
Brooks.
"He had you all in such a tizz--' " Handsome is as handsome does, I
always say," said the housekeeper darkly.
"And though he may be as handsome as a statue of one of them Greek
gods, he's about as warm and lively as a statue, too!" She shook her
head and pursed her lips disapprovingly.
Intrigued though she was, Tallie knew she should not encourage gossip
about her cousin's guests. And they had more than enough to do without
wasting time in idle speculation. Or even idol speculation, she
giggled silently, thinking of the Greek god.
"Well, then," she said, 'it is fortunate that we need not concern
ourselves with Lord d'Arenville except to spend his money and present
him with a reckoning. And if we need not worry about expense, the
servants may be billeted in the village. I suppose we should begin to
make a list of what needs to be done. " She glanced at the clock on
the mantel.
"I am expected back in the nursery in half an hour, so we will need to
hurry."
Later that evening, as she walked slowly out of the nursery, leaving
her three charges yawning sleepily in their beds, their loving
goodnight kisses still damp on her cheeks, Tallie decided she would
have to take herself more firmly under control. She could not go on in
this fashion.
The degree of resentment she'd felt this morning had shocked her. And
it was not Laetitia's thoughtlessness Tallie resented, but the mere
fact that she was coming home.
It was very wrong of her to feel like that; Tallie knew it. She ought
to feel grateful to Laetitia for the many things she had done for
her--giving her a home, letting her look after her children. And it
was Laetitia's home, Laetitia's children. Laetitia was entitled to
visit whenever she wished.
The problem lay with Tallie. As it always did. With her foolish
pretences and silly, childish make-believe. It was getting out of
hand, pretending, day after day, that these three adorable children
were hers. And that their father, a dashing and romantic if somewhat
hazy figure, was away on some splendid adventure, fighting pirates,
perhaps, or exploring some mysterious new land. She had dreamed so
often of how he would arrive home on his coal-black steed, bringing
exotic gifts for her and the children. And when they had put the
children to bed he would take her in his arms and kiss her tenderly and
tell her she was his pretty one, his love, his little darling. No. It
had to stop. She was no one's pretty one, no one's darling. The
children's father was bluff, stodgy George, who drank too much and
pinched Tallie's bottom whenever she was forgetful enough to pass
within reach. He never came near the children except at Christmas,
when he would give them each a shilling or two and pat them on the
head. And their mother was Laetitia, beautiful, selfish, charming
Laetitia, ornament of the London ton.
Tallie Robinson was nothing--a distant cousin with not a penny to her
name; a plain, ordinary girl with nothing to recommend her; a girl who
ought to be grateful to be given a home i
n the country and three lovely
children to look after.
There would never be a dashing knight or handsome prince, she told
herself savagely. The best hope she had was that a kind gentleman
farmer might want her. A widower, probably, with children who needed
mothering and who would notice her in church. He would look at her
plain brown hair and her plain brown eyes and her plain, sensible
clothes and decide she would do. He would not mind that her nose was
pointy, and marred by a dozen or so freckles--which no amount of lemon
juice or buttermilk would shift. He would not care that one of her
front teeth was slightly crooked, nor that she used to bite her nails
to the quick.
Tallie looked down at her hands and smiled with pride at her smooth,
elegant nails. That was one defect, at least, she had conquered since
she left school. Her kindly gentleman farmer would be proud. Drat
it--she was doing it again. Weaving fantasies with the slenderest of
threads. Wasting time when there were a thousand and one things to be