Tallie's Knight

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.