by Anna Gracie
by giving them some bauble or other, but then all the women he'd ever
known had cried at him, not taken themselves into the middle of a maze
on a damned cold day and sobbed their little hearts out in absolute
solitude.
Magnus was sure he wouldn't know how to deal with someone who wept like
that.
"Tish, I intend to withdraw my offer. She cannot refuse me if there is
no offer, so you need not worry about any insult to the family pride.
No one will know of it. I will speak to the girl before any irrevoc--'
He faltered for a moment, recalling those cheeky last words: make no
irrevocable arrangements. Thalia Robinson had not realised she was
sounding her own doom.
"Before any irrevocable steps have been taken.
Have her sent to me at once, if you please. "
"But, Magnus--' " At once, Tish. "
"Oh, very well. But it will make no diff--' But Magnus had left.
Laetitia pulled the bell cord to summon Brooks.
Magnus decided to receive Miss Robinson in the library. He would speak
kindly to her, show her he bore her no grudge for her poor judgement.
She would have no idea that she had, somehow, got under his skin. He
would be casual, relaxed, indifferent. He would not receive her in
formal dress, as a gentleman would normally do when receiving a lady's
answer to his proposal of marriage. His offhand manner would be
conveyed by the silent message of his riding buckskins. It would
appear to be a spur of the moment chat, the outcome of which held only
lukewarm interest for him.
His brow furrowed as he tried to recall every detail of their previous
conversation. A cold smile grew on his face as he realised he had not
actually asked her to marry him. Not in so many words. He had spoken
of an intention to organise a ceremony. Had used the conditional
tense. Thank heavens. He might be able to fudge it. He would make
Miss Robinson understand she was mistaken, that he'd made her no actual
offer.
It was not an honourable solution, but it should smooth things over
with Laetitia--enough to stop her throwing the wretched girl into the
streets. And then he would get the hell out of this appalling house
party and never have to set eyes on the blasted girl or his blasted
cousin ever again!
He leant against a high, leather-covered writing desk, one leg crossed
casually over the other, awaiting her entrance with an expression of
bored indifference on his face. The whip snapped fast and furious
against the glossy leather of his boot.
"Lord d'Arenville?"
She'd entered the room so silently that Magnus was caught unaware. He
stared, mesmerised, at the red-rimmed eyes which failed to meet his,
the drooping mouth and the woebegone little face, and it was as if he
could hear every choking sob again. With an effort, he gathered
himself and began to speak, feeling dishonest and uncomfortable as he
did so.
"Miss Robinson, I gather from my cousin that you are under the mistaken
impression that I off--' " Lord d'Arenville, I accept your offer of
marriage," she said at the same time.
There was a long, tense moment of silence in the room.
What happens now? wondered Magnus. In all honour, he could not
continue with his reluctant pretence that he had made no offer. There
was no need--she had accepted him. So that was it. An offer had been
made and was accepted. The rest was inevitable. Irrevocable. Ironic,
that. She could call the wedding off, but there was no question that
he could do the same. Lord d'Arenville was to wed Miss Thalia
Robinson. Thalia Robinson, who looked more like a martyr going to the
stake than a blushing bride.
The realisation was like a kick in the teeth. Until this mo's Knight
menthe'd half believed that Laetitia was mistaken in saying the girl
was going to refuse him. But this miserably bleak acceptance of his
offer had convinced him as a thousand explanations could not.
It could not be said that Thalia Robinson actually preferred poverty to
himself, but it would be clear to a blind man that it was a damned
close race. The girl might be going to her execution, the face she was
wearing. Magnus stared at the downcast face, the red-tipped nose, the
resolute chin and the trembling lips and felt his anger rising. It had
clearly taken a great deal of anguish and resolution for her to decide
between abject poverty--or marriage to Lord d'Arenville.
Starvation and misery--or Lord d'Arenville!
The gutter--or Lord d'Arenville!
And finally, by a nose, or a whisker, or a hair's breadth, Lord
d'Arenville had won. Lucky Lord d'Arenville!
Lord d'Arenville was furious. He could not trust himself to speak
another word to her. He bowed stiffly, turned and stalked out of the
room. Tallie watched him leave, blinking in surprise.
"Magnus, what?" -- Laetitia was standing in the hallway, speaking to
the vicar. Her voice died as she saw the look on his face.
"You may wish me happy!" he snapped.
"What?"
"She has accepted me." He broke his whip in half and flung the pieces
into a corner.
"Oh, Magnus, how dreadf--' " I am ecstatic'. " he snarled.
"The wedding will be in three weeks' time. Make all the arrangements.
Spare no expense." He laughed, a harsh, dry laugh.
"Nothing is too good for my bride!" He noticed the vicar, standing
there, jaw agape and added, "You, there--Parson. Call the banns, if
you please. I will return in three weeks for the ceremony."
He stormed out of the door and headed for the stables. She 1
tit ia trailed after him, pleading with him to slow down, to explain,
but to no avail. Lord d'Arenville mounted his horse, and with no
warning, no preparations and no baggage, set off for d'Arenville Hall,
a good two days' journey away.
Chapter Four
-Diast and bother! " Tallie glared at her reflection. She'd brought a
mirror up from one of the salons and propped it against the wall. It
told her what she had already suspected-that she was the worst
seamstress in the world and that her wedding dress looked like a dog's
breakfast.
She tugged at the recalcitrant sleeves, pulling them this way and that
in an effort to make them appear balanced. It was hopeless. One
sleeve puffed beautifully whilst the other, which should have been an
exact twin, sagged and drooped. She'd put the sleeve in and taken it
out a half-dozen times and still it looked uneven--and slightly grubby
from all the handling.
Tallie had no idea what arrangements had been made for her wedding.
She'd tried several times to speak to her cousin, but Laetitia was
still furious and had ordered Tallie to keep out of her sight or she
would not be answerable for the consequences.
No one, not the servants, Laetitia nor Lord d'Arenville, had seemed to
recall that the bride had not a penny to her name. Hopefully someone
would remember the bride needed a suitable gown, but as the dreaded day
grew closer Tallie decided she had better make alternative
The attics contained dozens of trunks and bandboxes, filled with old
dresses and ball gowns relegated there over the years. She and the
children had rummaged through them frequently,
searching for dress-up materials. Tallie had found a lovely pale amber
silk ball gown hopelessly outmoded, with wide panniers and yards of
ruching, but with enough good material left, when it was unpicked, to
make a wedding frock. Using one of her old dresses as a pattern, she
had cut and sewn it laboriously, wishing she had been more diligent in
Miss Fisher's sewing class.
In another trunk she had found an almost new pair of blue kid slippers,
which only pinched her feet a little, and a stained pair of long white
satin gloves. The stains were impossible to remove, so she'd dipped
the gloves in coffee until they almost exactly matched the amber
silk.
She smiled at her reflection and pirouetted several times. It was not
so bad after all. Oh, the neckline was a trifle crooked, to be sure,
but Tallie was convinced only the most critical would notice it. And
if the gathers she had made at the back were slightly uneven, what did
that signify? It was only obvious when she was motionless, so she
would be sure to keep moving, and if she had to stand still for any
reason she would keep her back to a wall.
She examined her reflection in the mirror again as she tugged on the
long satin gloves. She had never worn anything so fine in her life.
She frowned at the sleeves. A shawl! she realised in a sudden flash
of brilliance. Laetitia's spangled gauze scarf would hide the
sleeves!
It was not precisely a bridal mode, but perhaps observers would think
it a new fashion. After all, she was wedding a man well-known for his
elegance. Tallie's mouth grew dry as she stared at her reflection.
She was not just wedding a man. she was wedding The Icicle. Tomorrow
morning. And afterwards he would take her away from the children she
loved so much--the only living creatures in the world who loved her.
Tomorrow she would belong only to him, swear before God and witnesses
to love, honour and obey him. A man she barely knew and certainly
didn't like. A cold man, who was famed for caring nothing for the
feelings of others. Who wanted a wife he need not dance attendance on,
a wife he could get with child and then abandon in rural fastness while
he enjoyed himself in London, awaiting the birth of his heir. Tallie
shivered. What did it mean, get with chilcF. She knew women bore
children, of course, but' how it came about she had no idea.
She'd lived virtually her entire life in Miss | Fisher's Seminary for
the Daughters of Gentlemen, and the subject had certainly never been on
that prim spinster's curriculum.
It had, however, been a subject of much speculation and whispering in
the dormitories. But none of the various theories put forward by the
Daughters of Gentlemen had convinced Tallie that any of her
schoolfellows were more enlightened than she on the subject. Some had
insisted that women carried a baby around in their stomach, for
instance. Well, if that was so--how did they get the baby out? Cut it
out? Vomit it?
In any case, how did a baby get in there in the first place? The man
planted a seed in the woman? A seed? Babies didn't grow from seeds!
They did, Amanda Forrest had said. Her mother had told her so. Well,
how did they plant the seed- swallow it? Tallie suspected it was an
old wives' tale--like that which said if you swallowed pumpkin seeds,
pumpkin vines would grow out of your ears. Tallie had proven that one
wrong by eating more than twenty pumpkin seeds--no hint of a vine had
appeared from her ears, though she'd been a little anxious for a week
or two!
No, Amanda hadn't been sure how the seed was planted, but it was much
the same as animals did, she believed. Tallie had scoffed at that
one--animals planting seeds? Ridiculous.
One girl, Emmaline Pearce, had spoken ghoulishly of wedding nights and
blood and screaming, but everyone had known Emmaline Pearce was a
shockingly untruthful girl who made up all sorts of deliciously scary
tales. Miss Fisher had forever been punishing her for it.
Get with child. Surely she had the right to be told how it was done.
Had her mother lived, she could have explained, but all Tallie's mother
had left her was a few letters. And possibly-But there was no time to
think on that. She had a wedding night to worry about first.
Tallie decided to ask Mrs. Wilmot. She sought her out in the linen
room and, with much beating around the bush, blurted out her
question.
"Lord love you, Miss Tallie." The housekeeper blushed.
"I'm not the one you should ask about such matters. I've never been
wed, my dear."
"But--' " All housekeepers are called Missus, dearie, whether they're
wed or not. But Wilmot is my maiden name. " She patted Tallie on the
hand.
"You go ask your cousin, miss. She'll set you right." The kindness
shone so warmly from the elderly housekeeper's face that Tallie didn't
have the heart to explain how very hostile Laetitia was.
Then she thought of the scullery maid, Maud, who was, according to
rumour, no better than she ought to be. Surely Maud would know. But
when Tallie asked her, Maud shrieked with laughter, tossed her apron
over her face and ran from the room giggling, leaving Tallie red to the
ears.
Finally she decided to approach her cousin about it.
Laetitia took one look at Tallie's blushing embarrassment, and snapped
impatiently, "Oh, God deliver me from pulling virgins! Don't look so
mealy-mouthed, girl--I'll tell you all you need to know about your
wedding night." She pulled Tallie down beside her and whispered
detailed instructions in her ear. After a moment she sat back and
pushed Tallie away.
Horrified, but too mortified to ask questions, Tallie turned to leave,
but as she reached the door Laetitia hissed after her, "Be sure you do
not disgrace my cousin or your family. Remember, a lady endures it in
silence--without moving or flinching. Do you hear me, girl?" She
turned back to her mirror, a knowing smile on her face.
They were the last words Laetitia spoke to her, and the more she
thought about them, the more nervous Tallie became. Endure it? What
was if! Endurance sounded most unpleasant. And in silenced Why would
she wish to cry out? Or flinch. It sounded painful. She thought
briefly of Emmaline Pearce, then shook her head.
"Miss, miss, he's arrived!" Lucy, the maid, put her head around the
door, her face lit with excitement.
"Your betrothed, miss--Lord d'Arenville--he's here!"
Tallie's heart seemed to stop for a moment, and then began to beat in
double time. He was here. She would be able to speak to him,
then--about Italy--before the wedding. It was what she had been hoping
for. In the three weeks since he had galloped off so in temperately
she'd kicked herself often for not having sorted out e
verything to her
satisfaction. She had to speak with him, get the whole thing settled
before the wedding, for afterwards there would be little likelihood of
him agreeing to the demands of a woman who'd sworn in church to obey
him.
"I must see him at once." Tallie started towards the door.
"Oh, miss, miss, you can't! It's bad luck, no matter how eager you are
to see your handsome gentleman again!" Lucy beamed in fond
indulgence.
The entire household had reacted to the news of Tallie's wedding as if
it was a fairy tale come true for her, and Tallie found she didn't have
the heart to disillusion them.
"Bad luck? Why?"
Lucy gestured to Tallie's gown.
"For the groom to see the bride in her wedding dress, a'course." She
looked more closely at the wedding dress, and, frowning, reached out to
tug one sleeve into place.
"Are you sure this?"
"Oh, never mind that," said Tallie.
"I'll change my dress, Lucy, since you say it's so important, but will
you please take a message to Lord d'Arenville and tell him I must speak
to him as soon as possible? In private."
Realising she was to be Cupid's Messenger, Lucy beamed and said
dramatically, "Of course I will, Miss Tallie. I'll go straight away,