by Anna Gracie
done to prepare for Cousin Laetitia's house party. Tallie hurried
downstairs.
The Russian Prince cracked his whip over the arched necks of his
beautiful grey horses, urging them to even greater speed. The curricle
swayed dangerously, but the Prince paid no heed--he was in pursuit of
the vile kidnappers. No! Lord d'Arenville was not a prince, Tallie
told herself sternly. She patted her hair into place and smoothed her
hands down her skirts. He was real. And he was here to be with his
intended bride. He was not to appear in any of her silly fantasies.
But Mrs. Wilmot was right--he certainly was handsome. Tallie waited
for her cousin to call her forward and introduce her to the guest of
honour. He had arrived only minutes before, clad in a caped driving
coat and curly brimmed beaver, sweeping up the drive in a smart
curricle drawn by two exquisitely matched greys. Tallie knew nothing
at all about horses, but even she could tell his equipage and the greys
were something out of the ordinary.
She'd watched him alight, springing lightly down from the curricle,
tossing the reins to his groom and stepping forward to inspect his
sweating horses before turning to greet his hosts. And thus, his
priorities, Tallie told herself ironically--horses before people.
Definitely not a prince.
He was terribly handsome, though. Dark hair, thick and springy, short
cropped against a well-shaped head. A cleanly chiselled face, hard in
its austerity, a long, straight nose, and firm, unsmiling, finely
moulded lips. His jaw was also long, squaring off at the chin in a
blunt, uncompromising fashion. He was tall, with long, hard horseman's
legs and a spare frame. And once he'd removed his greatcoat she could
see that the broad shoulders were not a result of padding, but of
well-developed musculature. A sportsman, not a dandy. A pirate king.
No! A haughty guest of her haughty cousin.
Tallie watched him greet Laetitia--a light bow, a raised brow and a
mere touch of lips to hand. No more than politeness dictated. He was
not one of her . cicisbeos, then. Tallie heaved a sigh of relief. It
was not to be one of those house parties. Good. She hated it when her
cousin used Tallie and the children to cover up what she called her
'little flirtations'.
Laetitia turned to introduce him to those of the staff whose names he
might need--the butler, the housekeeper and so on. Tallie watched him,
noting the way his heavy-lidded grey eyes flickered indifferently over
Brooks and Mrs. Wilmot.
"And this is a distant cousin of mine, Miss Thalia Robinson, who
resides here and keeps an eye on things for me." Insignificant poor
relation who hangs on my sleeve, depending on my charity, said her
tone, dismissively.
Tallie smiled and curtsied. The cold grey eyes rested on her for a
bare half-second and moved on. Tallie flinched, knowing that in a
single glance Lord d'Arenville had noticed the freckles, the pointy
nose and the crooked tooth, and despised her. He hadn't even glanced
at her nice nails. No gallant knight,
he, but a cruel count, coldly plotting the heroine's downfa-Enough!
Tallie watched his progression into the house with rueful
disappointment. Mrs. Wilmot was right. The man acted as if he
expected the whole world to fall at his feet, while he would not so
much as notice if it crumbled to dust right under his long,
aristocratic nose!
She wondered which of the young ladies was his intended. She had not
taken to any of them, but she could not imagine anyone wishing to wed
this arrogant Icicle.
"Thalia!" Her cousin sounded annoyed. Tallie hurried inside.
"You called. Cousin Laetitia?" She did not allow herself to look at
Lord d'Arenville, although she was very aware of him standing close
by.
"I thought I made myself clear!" Her cousin gestured crossly.
Tallie looked upwards and repressed a grin. Three small heads were
poking through the railings in complete defiance of the orders which
Laetitia had issued to the nursery. Children were neither to be seen
nor heard during the house party.
"I'll see to it at once, Cousin."
"Your children, Tish?" His voice was deep and resonant. In a
warmer-natured man it could be very appealing, thought Tallie
irrelevantly as she gathered her skirts to run up the stairs.
"Do they not wish to come down?" he added.
Tallie paused and looked at him in surprise. The Icicle was interested
in her cousin's children? No, for he seemed wholly engrossed in
removing a speck of fluff from his sleeve.
"No, they do not," said Laetitia quickly.
"It is high time they went to bed, and it is one of Thalia's little
duties to see that they do so. Thalia! If you please!"
Tallie ran quickly up the stairs, biting her lip to prevent the retort
she knew would escape if she stayed a moment longer. Time they were in
bed, indeed! At five o'clock in the afternoon? And one of her little
duties? Amongst the other hundred or so her cousin daily required of
her in exchange for bed and board. She reached the second landing
where two little girls and a boy were sitting. Watched by two pairs of
eyes, she lifted up the toddler, took the other little girl by the hand
and headed for the nursery, the small boy jumping and hopping on
ahead.
"Now, Magnus," said Laetitia, "Brooks will show you to your room, and
you can prepare yourself to meet my other guests in the drawing room at
about six. Brooks, have hot water sent to his lordship's room
immediately. And ... brandy, Magnus? Or would you prefer a cup of
tea?"
"A refreshment tray has already been sent up, madam, with hot tea and
coffee, sandwiches and brandy," said Brooks.
"And the hot water is awaiting his lordship."
"Oh, er, good. Well-done, Brooks," said Laetitia.
"Miss Tallie saw to it all, madam. She does the same for all the
guests," said Brooks, hiding a smile. Just another of her little
duties. He felt the cold gaze of Lord d'Arenville on him and his face
poke red up into its usual butlerish impassivity.
"If you would care to follow me, your lordship. Madam has put you in
the Blue Room, as usual."
"Thalia, you must dine at table this evening. That wretch Jimmy
Fairfax has brought two friends with him and we have a shortage of
ladies. And did you tell Cook that we must have goose as well as the
capons? I have no time to discuss the menu with her so you must check
it. And see that the extra guests have beds made up for them. I am
utterly exhausted and need to repose myself before dinner. Lord, I
hope Magnus is grateful for the efforts I am making on his behalf. I
shall be glad when it's all over."
Tallie mentally agreed. The last ten days had been exhausting and
frustrating, and she was counting the hours until the guests
departed.
Still, she flattered herself that everything was going off quite
smoothly.
This was, however, one order she felt unable to carry out. I hav
e
nothing to wear to dinner, Cousin. "
"Lord, girl, as if anyone will care what you wear. No one will take
any notice of you--you are just there to make up the numbers. Any old
thing will do."
"I have only one evening dress, Cousin, the one you gave me several
years ago, and as you must know it does not fit me."
"Then alter it, for heaven's sake! Or wear a shawl or something over
it. I cannot be expected to think of everything! Now leave me at
once, for if I do not get some peace and quiet I fear I will have the
headache by dinnertime."
"Yes, Cousin," Tallie murmured between her teeth. It went very much
against the grain to submit so tamely to her cousin's rudeness, but
poverty had taught her to take a more pragmatic view. In the short
term, it was unbearable to be treated in this fashion. On the other
hand, Laetitia was rarely here, and for most of the year at Manningham
there were just Tallie and the children and servants. In truth, she
told herself severely, she had a delightful life. An orphan with not a
penny to her name ought to be grateful to have a roof over her head.
That she didn't feel grateful was, no doubt, a deficiency of
character.
Tallie hurried downstairs. She consulted with Cook about the menu,
Mrs. Wilmot about the arrangements for the unexpected guests and
Brooks about the wines for dinner, then hurried back upstairs to see to
her dress.
Ten minutes later she was in despair. Laetitia was a smaller woman
than she, with a dainty, sylph like figure. The pale green muslin gown
was designed to sweep low across the bosom and shoulders and fall
loosely from a high waistline. On Tallie the deeply scooped neckline
clung, causing her bosom to bulge embarrassingly. The waist was too
tight and her ankles were scandalously revealed. Tallie went to her
wardrobe and glanced through it again, desperately hoping that by some
magical process an alternative would present itself. Two winter day
dresses, two summer day dresses, all rather worn and out of date. She
sighed and returned gloomily to the green muslin.
She was no needlewoman, and even if she were she could not make larger
that which was too small in the first place. After some
experimentation she managed to fill in the neckline with a piece of old
lace, so that it covered her decently at least, even if it was still
too tight. She tacked a frill along the hem. It looked quite
ridiculous, she knew, but at least it covered her ankles.
Finally she draped herself in a large paisley shawl to disguise the
tightness of the dress. It would surely suffice to get her through
dinner. She glanced at herself in the glass and closed her eyes in
momentary mortification. The green colour did bring interesting
highlights to her brown hair and eyes, and her curly hair was neat for
once, but--she looked a perfect quiz! Still, she told herself
bracingly, Laetitia was right. No one would take any notice of her.
She was just an extra female--the poor relation--and she would slip
away the moment dinner was over. In any case, she didn't like her
cousin's guests, so what did it matter what they thought of her?
Taking a deep breath, she headed downstairs to check on the
arrangements for dinner.
Magnus took another sip of armagnac and wondered how much longer he
could endure the girlish flutterings going on around him. His temper
was on a knife-edge and he had no one to blame but himself. The house
party had been a disaster.
Ten days of the unalleviated company of high-bred young women would
have been bad enough--he'd nerved himself for that ordeal. But he
should have realised that Laetitia would select a gaggle of young
ladies most like herself--spoiled, vain, vapid and silly. Magnus was
almost rigid with boredom.
And exasperation--for he'd hoped to observe the young ladies
unobtrusively, make a discreet selection and quietly arrange a
marriage. Ha! What a joke! His wretched cousin had about as much
discretion as a parrot! That had been made plain to Magnus within
days, when he'd realised he was being hunted--with all the subtlety of
a pack of hounds in full pursuit.
Creamy bosoms were made to heave and quiver under his nose at every
opportunity. Well-turned ankles flashed from modest concealment. And
every time he entered a room eyelashes batted so feverishly there was
almost a draught. He'd been treated to displays of virtuosity on harp,
pianoforte and flute, had folios of watercolours thrust under his nose,
his expert inspection bashfully solicited. His superior masculine
opinion had been sought and deferred to on every topic under the sun
and his every reluctant pronouncement greeted with sighs, sycophantic
titters and syrupy admiration.
They accosted him morning, noon and night--in the garden, in the
drawing room, in the breakfast parlour--even, once, behind the stables,
where a man had a right to expect some peace and quiet. But it was no
use--eligible misses lurked, apparently, in every corner of the
estate.
Yet, despite his overwhelming aversion to the task in hand, Magnus was
still determined to select a wife. The house party had convinced him
it was best to get the deed over with as soon as possible. Any
courtship was bound to be appalling to a man of his solitary tastes, he
reasoned, and if he did not choose now, he would only prolong the
process. And this collection of girls seemed no different from any
others currently on the marriage mart.
The trouble was, Magnus could not imagine any of them as mother to his
children. Not one had two thoughts to rub together; each seemed
completely devoted to fashion, gossip and male flattery--not
necessarily in that order. And, like Laetitia, they despised rural
life.
That was a problem. He had somehow assumed his wife would live at
d'Arenville with the children. Though why he should expect his wife to
live in the country when few women of his acquaintance did so, Magnus
could not imagine. His own mother certainly had not. She hadn't been
able to bear the country. But then he didn't want a wife like his
mother.
Freddie's wife lived, seemingly content, all year round in the wilds of
Yorkshire with her husband and children. The children's obvious
happiness had made a profound impression on Magnus--his own parents had
been virtual strangers who had descended on his home at infrequent
intervals, their visits the bane of his youthful existence.
But Freddie's wife truly seemed to love her children. Magnus's own
mother had appeared to love Magnus--in company. So Freddie's wife
could have been fudging it, but Magnus didn't think so. Freddie's wife
also seemed to love Freddie. But Freddie was, Magnus knew, a lovable
person.
It was not the same for Magnus. He had clearly been an unlovable
child. And was therefore not a lovable man. But he would do
everything in his power to ensure his children had the chance to be
lovable. And therefore to be loved.
Magnus glanced around the room again. He supposed it was possible that
some of these frivolous girls would settle into motherhood, but it was
difficult to believe, especially with the example of his cousin before
him.
"Oh, it is such a delightfully mild evening," cried Laetitia.
"Let us stroll on the terrace before dinner. Come Magnus, as my guest
of honour, you shall escort the lady of your choice."
A dozen feminine gazes turned his way. There was an expectant hush.
Magnus silently cursed his cousin for trying to force his hand.
Clearly she wished the house party concluded so that she could return
to Town and the myriad entertainments there. Magnus smiled. He danced
to no female's tune.
"Then, as a good guest, I must look to the care of my charming
hostess," he responded lightly.
"Cousin, shall we?" He took her arm, allowing her no choice, and they
stepped through the French doors onto the terrace. The other guests
followed.
Tallie trailed awkwardly in their wake. She felt most uncomfortable.
Several of the young ladies had eyed her gown, whispering and tittering
with careless amusement. Their mothers had totally ignored her and two
of the gentlemen guests had made improper suggestions. The guests had
taken their tone from Laetitia--Tallie was an unconsidered encumbrance,
little better than a servant, and in the current mood of thwarted
ambition she was a convenient target.
Tallie was angry, but told herself sternly that there was little point