Tallie's Knight (2 page)

“Not at all,” he said
slowly. “It’s been a pleasure.”

And, to his great surprise, Magnus realised he meant
it.

London, February 1803

“I want you to help
me find a wife, Tish.”

“Oh, certainly. Whose
wife are you after?” responded Laetitia flippantly, trying to cover her
surprise. It was not like her self-sufficient cousin Magnus to ask help of
anyone.

His chill grey stare
bit into her.

“I meant a bride. I
find my own amours, thank you,” said Magnus stiffly.

“A bride? You? I don’t
believe it, Magnus! You’ve hardly even talked to a respectable female in years.”

“Which is why I
require your assistance now. I wish the marriage to take place as soon as
possible.”

“As soon as possible?
Heavens! You will have the matchmaking mamas in a tizzy!”

Laetitia sat back in
her chair and regarded her cousin with faintly malicious amusement, elegantly
pencilled eyebrows raised in mock surprise.

“The impregnable Lord
d’Arenville, on the scramble for a bride?” Her rather hard blue eyes narrowed
suddenly. “May I ask what has brought this on? I mean, seeking a bride is unexceptional
enough —you will have to set up your nursery sometime soon— but such unseemly
haste suggests… There is no… ah… financial necessity for this marriage, is
there, Magnus?”

Magnus frowned
repressively.

“Do not be
ridiculous, Tish. No, it is as you have suggested —I have decided to set up my
nursery. I want children.”

“Heirs, you mean,
Magnus. Sons are what you need. You wouldn’t want a string of girls, would you?”

Magnus didn’t reply.
A string of girls didn’t sound at all bad, he thought. Little girls with big
clear eyes, ruining his neck cloths while telling him long, incomprehensible
stories. But sons would be good, too, he thought, recalling Freddie’s
sturdy-legged boy, Sam.

The issue of getting
an heir was, in fact, the last thing on his mind, even though he was the last
of a very distinguished name. Until his journey to
Yorkshire
it had been a matter of perfect indifference to Magnus if his name and title
ended with him. They had, after all, brought him nothing but misery throughout
his childhood and youth.

However, far easier
to let society believe that d’Arenville required an heir than that a small,
sticky moppet had found an unexpected chink in his armour. It was ridiculous,
Magnus had told himself a thousand times. He didn’t need anything. Or anyone.
He never had and he never would. He’d learned that lesson very young.

But the chink
remained. As did the memory of a sleeping, trustful child in his arms. And a
soft little finger curiously tracing a line down his cheek.

It was a pity he’d
had to ask Laetitia’s assistance. He’d never liked her, and saw her only as
often as duty or coincidence demanded. But someone had to introduce him to an
eligible girl, damn it! If he wanted children he had to endure the distasteful
rigmarole of acquiring a wife, and Laetitia could help expedite the matter with
the least fuss and bother.

He returned to the
point of issue.

“You will assist me,
Tish?”

“What exactly did you
have in mind? Almack’s? Balls, routs and morning calls?” She laughed. “I must
confess, I cannot imagine you doing the pretty, with all the fond mamas looking
on, but it will be worth it, if only for the entertainment.”

He shuddered inwardly
at the picture she conjured up, but his face remained impassive and faintly
disdainful.

“No, not quite. I
thought a house party might do the trick.”

“A house party?” She
shuddered delicately. “I loathe the country at this time of year.”

Magnus shrugged.

“It needn’t be for
long. A week or so will do.”

“A week!” Laetitia
almost shrieked. “A week to court a bride! Lord, the ton will never stop
talking about it.”

Magnus clenched his
jaw. If there had been any other way he would have walked out then and there.
But his cousin was a young, apparently respectable, society matron —exactly
what he required. No one else could so easily introduce him to eligible young
ladies. And she could help him circumvent the tedium of the dreaded marriage
mart —courting under the eyes of hundreds. He shuddered inwardly again.
Laetitia might be a shallow featherbrain with a taste for malicious gossip, and
he disliked having to ask for her assistance in anything, but she was all he
had.

“Will you do it?” he
repeated.

Laetitia’s delicately
painted features took on a calculating look.

Magnus was familiar
with the expression; he usually encountered it on the faces of less respectable
females, though he’d first learnt it from his mother. He relaxed. This aspect
of the female of the species was one he knew how to deal with.

“It might be awkward
for me to get away —the Season may not have started, but we have numerous
engagements…” She glanced meaningfully at the over-mantel mirror, the gilt
frame of which bore half a dozen engraved invitations. “And to organise a house
party at Manningham at such short notice…”

She sighed.

“Well, it is a great
deal of work, and I would have to take on extra help, you know… and George
might not like it, for it will be very expens—”

“I will cover all
expenses, of course,” Magnus interrupted. “And I’ll make it worth your while,
too, Laetitia. Would diamonds make it any easier to forgo your balls and routs
for a week or two?”

Laetitia pursed her
lips, annoyed at his bluntness but unable to resist the bait.

“What?”

“Necklace, earrings
and bracelet.” His cold grey eyes met hers with cynical indifference. Laetitia
bridled at his cool certainty.

“Oh, Magnus, how
vulgar you are. As if I would wish to be paid for assisting my dearest cous—”

“Then you don’t want
the diamonds?”

“No, no, no. I didn’t
say that. Naturally, if you care to present me with some small token…”

“Good, then it’s
decided. You invite half a dozen girls—”

“—and their mamas.”

A faint grimace
disturbed the cool impassivity of his expression.

“I suppose so.
Anyway, you invite them, and I’ll choose one.”

Laetitia shuddered
delicately.

“So cold-blooded,
Magnus. No wonder they call you The Ic—”

His freezing look cut
her off in mid-sentence. He stood up to leave.

“You cannot intend to
leave yet, surely?” said Laetitia.

He regarded her in
faint puzzlement.

“Why not? It is all
decided, is it not?”

“But which girls do
you want me to invite?” she demanded through her teeth.

Magnus looked at her
with blank surprise. He shrugged.

“Damn it, Tish, I don’t
know. That’s your job.” He walked towards the door.

“I don’t believe it!
You want me to choose your bride for you?” she shrieked shrilly.

Faint irritation
appeared in his eyes.

“No, I’ll choose her
from the girls you pick out. Lord, Tish, haven’t you got it straight yet? What
else have we been talking about for the last fifteen minutes?”

Laetitia stared at
him in stupefaction. He was picking out a bride with no more care than he would
take to buy a horse. Less, actually. Magnus was very particular about his
horseflesh.

“Are… I mean, do you
have any special requirements?” she said at last.

Magnus sat down
again. He had not really thought past the idea of children, but it was a fair
request, he supposed. He thought for a moment.

“She must be sound,
of course… with good bloodlines, naturally. Umm good teeth, reasonably
intelligent, but with a placid temperament… and wide enough hips —for
childbearing, you know. I think that about covers it.”

Laetitia gritted her
teeth.

“We are talking about
a lady, are we not? Or are you only after a brood mare?”

Magnus ignored her
sarcasm. He shrugged.

“More or less, I
suppose. I have little interest in the dam, only the offspring.”

“Do you not even care
what she looks like?”

“Not particularly.
Although I suppose I’d prefer someone good-looking, at least passably so. But
not beautiful. A beautiful wife would be too much trouble.” His lips twitched
sardonically. “I’ve known too many beautiful wives not to realise what a
temptation they are —to others.”

His subtle reference
was not lost on Laetitia, and to her annoyance she found herself flushing
slightly under his ironic gaze. She would have liked to fling his request in
his even white teeth. However, a diamond necklace, earrings and a bracelet were
not to be looked in the mouth.

Even if Lord d’Arenville’s
bride was.

“I’ll do my best,”
she said sourly.

The black knight
reached down, caught her around the waist and lifted her onto his gallant
charger, up and away, out of reach of the slavering wolves snapping at her
heels.

“Begone you vicious
curs!” he shouted in a thrillingly deep, manly voice. “This tender morsel is
not for you!”

His arms tightened
around her, protectively, tenderly, possessively.

“Hold on, my pretty
one, I have you safe now,” he murmured in her ear, his warm breath stirring the
curls at her nape. “And now I have you, Tallie, my little love, I’ll never let
you go.”

Clasping her hard
against his broad, strong chest, he lowered his mouth to hers.

“Miss? Miss Tallie?
Are you all right?”

Tallie jerked out of
her reverie with a start. The buttons she had been sorting spilled out over the
table and she scrabbled hurriedly to retrieve them. Brooks, her cousin’s
elderly butler, and Mrs. Wilmot, the housekeeper, were bending over her,
concerned.

“Oh, yes, yes,
perfectly,” Tallie, blushing, hastened to assure them. “I was in a silly daze —miles
away, I’m afraid. Was there something you wanted?”

Brooks proffered a
letter on a silver tray.

“A letter, Miss
Tallie. From the mistress.”

Tallie smiled. Brooks
still behaved as if he were in charge of the grand
London
mansion, instead of stuck away in the
country house belonging to Tallie’s cousin Laetitia. Tallie took the letter
from the tray and thanked him. Dear Brooks —as if she were the lady of the house,
receiving correspondence in the parlour, instead of a poor relation, dreaming
foolish dreams over a jar of old buttons. She broke open the wafer and began to
read.

“Oh, no!” Tallie
closed her eyes as a sudden surge of bitterness rushed through her. She had
assumed that with Christmas over, and Laetitia and George returned to Town, she
and the children would be left in peace for several months at least.

“What is it, Miss
Tallie? Bad news?”

“No, no —or at least
nothing tragic, at any rate.” Tallie hastened to reassure the elderly
housekeeper. She glanced across at Brooks, and explained. “Cousin Laetitia
writes to say she is holding a house party here. We are to make all the
arrangements for the accommodation and entertainment of six or seven young
ladies and their mothers, possibly a number of fathers also. Five or six other
gentlemen may be invited, too; she is not yet decided. And there is to be a
ball at the end of two weeks.” Tallie looked at Brooks and Mrs. Wilmot, shook
her head in mild disbelief, and took a deep drink of the tea grown cold at her elbow.

Mrs. Wilmot had been
counting.

“Accommodation and
entertainment for up to twenty-five or six of the gentry, and almost twice that
number of servants if we just count on a valet or maidservant for each
gentleman or lady. Lawks, Miss Tallie, I don’t know how we’ll ever manage. When
is this house party to be, did she say?”

Tallie nodded, a look
of dire foreboding in her eyes.

“The guests will
start arriving on Tuesday next. Cousin Laetitia will come the day before, to
make sure everything is in order.”

“Tuesday next?
Tuesday next! Lord, miss, whatever shall we do? Arrangements for sixty or more
people to stay, arriving on Tuesday next! We will never manage it! Never.”

Tallie took a deep
breath.

“Yes, we will, Mrs.
Wilmot. We have no choice —you know that. However, my cousin has, for once,
considered the extra work it will entail for you both and all the other
servants.”

“And for you, Miss
Tallie,” added Brooks.

She smiled. She knew
he meant well, but it was not a comforting thought that even her cousin’s
servants regarded her as one of them, even if they did call her Miss Tallie.
She continued.

“I am empowered to
hire as much extra help as we need, and no expense spared, though I am to keep
strict accounts of all expenditure.”

“No expense spar—” In
a less dignified person, Brooks’s expression would have been likened to a
gaping fish.

Tallie attempted to
keep a straight face. The prospect of Cousin Laetitia showing enough
consideration for her servants to hire extra help was surprising enough, but
for her not to consider expense would astound any who knew her.

“No, for she says the
house party is for her cousin Lord d’Arenville’s benefit and he is to pay for
everything, which is why I am to keep accounts.”

“Ahh.” Brooks shut
his mouth and looked wise.

“Lord d’Arenville?
Lawks, what would he want with a house party full of young ladies —oh, I see.”
Mrs. Wilmot nodded in sudden comprehension. “Courting.”

“I beg your pardon?”
said Tallie, puzzled.

“He’s courting. Lord
d’Arenville. One of those young ladies must be his intended, and he wishes some
time with her before he pops the question. He’ll probably announce it at the
ball.”

“Well, well, so that’s
it. A courting couple in the old house once again.” Brooks’s face creased in a
sentimental smile.