by Anna Gracie
in expressing her feelings--they would be gone soon,
and she would be left in peace again with the children and Brooks and
Mrs. Wilmot. It should be simple enough for her to ignore the spite
of a few ill-bred aristocrats.
The pale young marquise held her chin high, ignoring the vile insults
flung at her by the ignorant canaille, as the tumbrel rolled onwards.
She was dressed in rags, her lovely gowns stolen by the prison guards,
but her dignity was unimpaired. Tallie slipped unobtrusively to the
edge of the terrace and looked out over the stone balustrade to the
closely scythed sweep of lawn and the woods beyond. It was a truly
lovely view. "Aaargh! Get down, you filthy beast!" Laetitia's
screeches pierced the air.
"Get it off me, someone! Aaargh!"
Tallie hurried to see what had occurred. She wriggled between some of
the gathered guests and let out an exclamation of distress.
Her cousin's small son, Georgie, had obviously escaped from the nursery
and gone adventuring with the puppy that Tallie had given him several
weeks before. He stood in front of his mother, a ragged bunch of
snowdrops held pathetically out towards her. His shoes and nankeen
pantaloons were covered in mud, as was the puppy. It was the cause of
the trouble--muddy paw prints marred Laetitia's new jonquil silk
gown.
Laetitia, unused to dogs, screeched and backed away, hysterically
flapping her fan at the pup, who seemed to think it a delightful
game.
He leaped up, yapping in excitement, attempting to catch the fan in his
jaws, liberally spattering the exquisite gown in the process.
Tallie was still attempting to wriggle through the press of guests when
Lord d'Arenville grabbed the pup and handed him by the scruff of its
neck to the little boy. Tallie reached the child just as his mother's
tirade broke over him.
"How dare you bring that filthy beast near me, you wicked boy! Do you
see what it has done? This gown is ruined} Ruined, I tell you!"
The small face whitened in distress. Mutely Georgie offered the
wilting bunch of snowdrops. Laetitia dashed them impatiently from his
hands.
"Do not try to turn me up sweet, Georgie! See what you have done? Look
at this dress! Worn for the first time today, from the finest of
London's modistes, and costing the earth Ruined! And why? Because a
wicked boy brought a filthy animal into a civilised gathering. Who
gave you permission to leave the nursery? I left the strictest
orders.
You will be punished for such disobedience! And the animal is clearly
dangerous! It must be shot at once! Someone call for a groom--' The
little boy's face paled further. His small body shook in fright at the
venom in his mother's voice. His face puckered in fear and distress
and he clutched the puppy tightly to his chest. It whimpered and
scrabbled for release.
Magnus watched, tense in a way he hadn't been since he himself was a
small boy. He fought the sensation. His eyes darkened with sympathy
and remembrance as he observed the frightened child and his puppy. He
felt for the boy, but it was not his place to interfere with a mother
disciplining her child. And anyway, he supposed it was how it had to
be. It was certainly how his own childhood had been.
It would be hard for the boy to lose his beloved pup, but it was
probably better for Georgie that he learn to toughen up now, rather
than later. Pets were invariably used as hostage to one's good
behaviour. Once the boy lea mt not to care so much, his life would be
easier. Magnus had certainly found it so. although the learning had
been very hard. Three pets had died for his disobedience by the time
he was eight. The last a liquid-eyed setter bitch by the name of
Polly.
Polly, his constant companion and his best friend. But Magnus had
taken her out hunting one day instead of finishing his Greek
translations and his father had destroyed Polly to teach his son a
lesson in responsibility.
Magnus had learned his lesson well.
By the age of eight Magnus had learned not to become attached to
pets.
Or to anything else.
"I am sorry for the unfortunate accident. Cousin." It was the shabby
little poor relation. Magnus watched as she interposed her body
between the cowering small boy and his infuriated mother, her calm
voice a contrast to Laetitia's high-pitched ranting.
"You are sorry?" Laetitia continued.
"Yes, I'll make sure of that! The children are in your charge, so how
was it that this child was allowed to escape from the nursery? I gave
strict instructions..."
Magnus leaned back against a large stone urn, folded his arms and
coolly observed the scene. He noted the way the dowdy little cousin
used her body to shield the child, protecting him from his own
mother.
It was an interesting manoeuvre--for a poor relation.
The little boy pressed into her skirts, the muddy pup still in his
arms. Magnus watched as the girl's hand came to rest unobtrusively on
the nape of the child's neck. She stroked him with small, soothing
movements. Magnus noticed the little boy relax under her
ministrations, saw his shivers die away. After a few moments Georgie
leaned trustfully into the curve of her hip, resting his head against
her. She held him more fully against her body, all the time keeping
her cousin's rage focused on herself. Her words were apologetic, her
body subtly defiant.
Fascinating, thought Magnus. Did the girl not realise what she risked
by defying her cousin? And all to protect a child who was not even her
own.
"The accident was my fault, Cousin," she said.
"You must not be angry with poor Georgie, here, for he had my
permission to be out of the nursery--' The little boy's start of
surprise was not lost on Magnus.
"And I am sorry for the soiling of your gown. However, I cannot allow
you to have the puppy destroyed--' " You? You cannot--' spluttered
Laetitia.
"No, for the pup belongs neither to Georgie nor to you."
The child stared up at the girl. Her hand soothed him, and she
continued.
"The pup is mine. He... it was a gift from... from the Rector, and I
cannot allow you to destroy a gift because of a little high
spirits..."
"You cannot allow--' Laetitia gasped in indignation.
"Yes, puppies will be puppies, and small boys and puppies seem to
attract each other, don't they? Which is why I was so very grateful to
Georgie here." She turned a warm smile on the small boy.
"Grateful?" Laetitia was astounded. Georgie looked puzzled. Magnus
was intrigued.
"Yes, very grateful indeed, for I have been too busy lately to exercise
the puppy, and so Georgie has taken over that duty for me, have you
not, Georgie dear?"
She nodded encouragingly down at him and, bemused, Georgie nodded
back.
"Yes, so any damage the puppy has done to your gown you must lay at my
door."
"But--' The girl was not paying attention. She bent down to the
child.
"Now, Georgie, I think you and my puppy have had enough excitement for
one night, but would you do one more thing for me, please?"
He nodded.
"Would you please returner ... Rover--' " Satan," Georgie corrected
her.
Her eyes brimmed with amusement, but she continued with commendable
control.
"Yes, of course, Satan. Would you please take, er, Satan, to the
kennels and wash the mud off him for me? You see, I am dressed for
dinner, and ladies must not go to the kennels in their best gown."
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.
Chapter Two
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 halfheartedly 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
i
nsufferable 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.