Tallie's Knight

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.r />
  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