Tallie's Knight (6 page)

“And, of course, poor
Tish is utterly furious.”

“Naturally, my dear.
Would not you be? After all she’s done for her, and now this! The very
ingratitude.”

“Trapped,
undoubtedly.”

“Oh, undoubtedly!”

Tallie wondered which
of the young ladies Lord d’Arenville had chosen.

It had to be either
Miss Blakeney or Lady Helen Beresford —they were the only two young ladies not
at breakfast. That explained why she could sense such an atmosphere of
hostility in the room —failed candidates seething with frustration and anger.
Tallie tried to close her ears to the vehement mutterings. It would be a relief
when Lord d’Arenville, Laetitia and all their horrid friends had gone back to
London
.

“Thrusting little
baggage. A man of honour… no choice.”

“And that dress last
evening —positively indecent!”

“No other word for
it.”

Tallie began to eat
her breakfast, though her appetite had quite vanished. Her cousin’s friends
were quite unbearable.

“More coffee, Miss
Tallie?” murmured Brooks at her ear.

A friendly face at
last.

“Oh, yes, please,
Brooks.” Tallie beamed up at him and held her cup out for him to refill.

As Brooks poured,
Miss Fyffe-Temple, one of Tallie’s neighbours, roughly jogged his elbow. Hot
coffee boiled over Tallie’s hand and arm. She leapt up with a shriek of pain.

“Oh, Miss Tallie!”
exclaimed Brooks, horrified.

“How very clumsy of
me, to be sure,” purred Miss Fyffe-Temple. “What a nasty red mark it has made.
I do hope it won’t leave a scar.”

“Yes, it’s quite
disgustingly red and ugly. Is it terribly painful?” Miss Carnegie added.

“Oh, how horrid. I
think I’m going to faint,” exclaimed The Honourable Miss Aldercott. The others
immediately gathered around Miss Aldercott, cooing with pretty concern.

Blinking back tears,
Tallie ran from the room and headed for the scullery. She plunged her arm in a
pitcher of cold water and breathed a sigh of relief as the pain immediately
began to ebb. After a few moments she withdrew it and blew lightly on the
reddened skin. It was quite painful, but she didn’t think it was too serious a
burn. But why had Miss Fyffe-Temple done it? Tallie hadn’t missed the gleam of spiteful
satisfaction in her eyes as she had made her mocking apology.

“Are you all right,
Miss Tallie?” It was Brooks, his kindly old face furrowed with anxiety. “I am
so sorry, my dear.”

“It is not serious,
Brooks, truly,” Tallie reassured him. “It gave me more of a fright, really. It
hardly hurts at all.”

“I don’t know how it
happened. She… My arm just slipped.”

Tallie laid a hand on
his arm.

“It’s all right; I
know whose fault it is, Brooks. The thing I don’t understand is why.”

Brooks stared for a
moment, then suddenly looked awkward.

“I think you’d best
speak to your cousin, miss,” he said. “She’s still abed, but I have no doubt
she’s expecting you.”

Tallie frowned.

“I shall go up to
her, then, as soon as I have put some butter and a piece of gauze over this
burn,” she said slowly.

Judging from Brooks’s
expression, something was amiss. She could not think what it was. No doubt her
cousin would enlighten her.

“Me?” Tallie’s voice
squeaked. She stared at her cousin, her jaw dropping in amazement. The effects
of her indulgences the night before had kept Laetitia in bed, and from the
sounds of things she was still inebriated. Or demented.

“Me?” repeated
Tallie, stunned. “How can you possibly say such a thing, Cousin? He does not
even know my name.”

“Ha!” spat Laetitia,
holding her delicate head. “I’ll wager he knows you in other ways, you hussy!
In the Biblical sense! Why else would he choose a wretched little nobody?”

Tallie gasped, first
in shock and then in swelling outrage. It was one thing to be asked to swallow
such a Banbury tale —Lord d’Arenville wishing to wed Tallie Robinson, indeed!
But to be accused of immorality! She was not entirely sure what knowing ‘in the
Biblical sense’ meant, but she was very certain it was immoral. Tallie was furious.
She might be poor. She might be an orphan, shabbily dressed and forced to live
on other’s generosity. But she was not immoral.

“Firstly, let me tell
you, Cousin,” Tallie said heatedly, “no man has known me in the Biblical sense,
and I am shocked that you could even suggest such a thing! Secondly, I cannot
help but believe you must have made an error about Lord d’Arenville’s
intentions. Perhaps you misheard him.”

“I did not,” snapped
Laetitia. “Do you think I would imagine such an appalling thing?”

Tallie gritted her
teeth. Imagination indeed! She could imagine no member of the aristocracy, let
alone the arrogant Lord d’Arenville, choosing his cousin’s poor relation for
his bride.

“But I have not
exchanged even one word with his lordship,” exclaimed Tallie.

“I do not believe—”
shrilled Laetitia, holding her head.

“Cousin! I promise
you.” Tallie tried to keep her voice calm, despite her frustration. Her cousin
was very angry.

“Do not lie, girl! He
told me himself he had chosen you.”

A small, cold knot of
fear lodged in Tallie’s stomach. She had never seen Laetitia this furious
before, and she knew her cousin well. There was a hard, ruthless streak in
Laetitia. This foolish misunderstanding —the result of too much champagne, no
doubt, or perhaps a jest on Lord d’Arenville’s part— could have dire
consequences for herself.

“Well, either you
misheard him, Cousin, or else he is playing a nasty joke on you. Yes, that’s it
—it must surely be a jest.” People like her cousin’s friends were always
playing tricks on some poor unfortunate. The joke this time might be on
Laetitia, but Tallie was the poor unfortunate.

“Jest?” Laetitia
snorted. “Magnus does not jest —not about marriage.”

“Perhaps you took a
little too much champagne, Cousin, and did not realise he was hoaxing you,”
Tallie suggested tentatively.

“Nonsense! I know
what I heard!” said Laetitia, but her tone belied the words. It was clear that
she was starting to entertain doubts.

Tallie felt a trickle
of relief.

“I will speak to his
lordship, shall I, and clear the matter up once and for all?”

Tallie rose to her
feet. It just had to be some trick Lord d’Arenville was playing on Laetitia.
Tallie was not amused. His little joke had already got her scalded by boiling
coffee, and now it threatened her position in Laetitia’s household. But would
His High-and-Mightiness think of that? Not he!

He who had been given
everything his heart desired, ever since he was born —it would not occur to him
that some people existed on a fine line between survival and destitution. All
that stood between Tallie and abject poverty was her cousin’s good will, and no
careless jest was about to jeopardise that! Lord Look-Down-His-Nose would soon
learn that one person at least was not prepared to have her life wrecked for a
mere lordly whim!

She found him in the
downstairs parlour, idly leafing through a freshly ironed newspaper, lately
arrived from
London
.
Fortunately he was alone for a change.

“Lord d’Arenville,”
she began, shutting the door firmly behind her. “I have just been speaking with
my cousin Laetitia, and she seems to be under the impression that you—”

He laid the paper
courteously aside, stood up and came towards her.

Tallie’s voice
dwindled away. Heavens, but he was so very tall. She’d noticed it earlier, of
course, but now, when he was standing so close, looming over her.

“Ah, Miss Robinson.
Good morning. Is it not a pleasant day? Will you be seated?”

Miss Robinson? He
remembered her name? She could have sworn he hadn’t taken a whit of notice of
her the day they were introduced. Or since.

“Er, thank you.”
Tallie allowed herself to be led to a low divan.

He drew up a chair
opposite, a look of faint enquiry lifting his dark brows.

“You wished to speak
with me?”

To her great
discomfort Tallie felt a blush rising. It was one thing to storm out of her
cousin’s boudoir, declaring she would soon clear up this whole silly mistake,
and quite another to confront this immaculate, gravely polite aristocrat with a
wholly impossible tale.

“Laetitia seems to be
under the impression—”

“Yes?” he prompted.

Tallie felt her blush intensify. The whole thing was too
ridiculous. She had to escape. She could not ask this man whether there was any
truth in the rumour that he wished to marry her. It was obviously a mistake.
She knew she was being cowardly, but she could not imagine this coldly serious
creature considering her —even for a jest— as an eligible bride. On the other
hand, Tallie would not put it past her cousin to set her up for a humiliating
fall. In fact, it would be very like her. Tallie could just imagine Laetitia
entertaining her
London
friends with the joke.
Imagine, that
plain, foolish lump of a girl actually believing that Magnus wanted to marry
her! When he has the pick of the ton at his fingertips! Oh, my dears, I laughed
until the tears ran down my cheeks! But there, “tis not kind to laugh at one’s inferiors.
But really, if you could have seen Magnus’s face when the girl confronted him, Lord,
he thought he was being pursued by a lunatic!
And gales of laughter would
follow.

“Er… Cousin Laetitia
was under the impression…” Tallie’s eye fell on the newspaper, “that the maids
might have forgotten to press the paper for you, but I see they have, so I will
go at once and tell her that everything is organised.”

She stood up to
leave. Lord d’Arenville rose also.

Heavens! He was
looming again, standing so close she could just smell the faint tang of a
masculine cologne. Tallie took a step backwards and stumbled against the divan.
A strong hand shot out and caught her by the arm, holding her until she
steadied, then releasing her.

“Thank you… So clumsy…”
she muttered, flustered, and annoyed with herself for being so.

“Stay a moment, Miss
Robinson. I wish to speak to you.” His hand touched her arm again, a light
touch this time, not the firm, warm grip of before.

Tallie looked up,
puzzled. A faint warning bell sounded in her mind as she saw the purposeful
look in his cold grey eyes, but she quashed it immediately. No doubt he had
some complaint about a servant, or a message he wished her to carry to her
cousin. Outwardly calm, she allowed herself to be seated a second time, folded
her hands demurely in her lap and waited.

Magnus noted the
quiet way she folded her hands. It seemed to him a pleasantly womanly gesture.
Her whole demeanour pleased him. Clearly Laetitia had told her of his decision,
and, whilst he wished she had not, this girl’s reactions bore out the soundness
of his choice. She was neither filled with vulgar excitement nor coy
flutterings. Yes, she would do nicely. He took a deep breath, surprised at how unexpectedly
nervous he suddenly felt.

“You said you had
spoken with Laetitia?”

The cold knot in the
pit of Tallie’s stomach grew. Wordlessly she nodded.

“Yes, I should have
expected she could not keep it to herself.” Without waiting for her reply, Lord
d’Arenville began to explain. “It would be best if the wedding took place
almost immediately —it takes three weeks for the banns to be called. We would
be married from this house and my cousin’s husband George would give you away.
I would prefer a small affair, just my immediate family —Laetitia and her husband—
and of course any friends or relations you wish to invite…”

It could not be true.
She was not sitting here listening to this cold, proud man elaborate on the
arrangements for his wedding.

Her wedding!

His wedding to Tallie
Robinson! A girl to whom he had scarcely spoken two words.

But his cool,
indifferent demeanour, his very seriousness convinced her. It was not a joke,
not a malicious trick to make sport of the poor relation.

But he hadn’t even
asked her if she wanted to marry him!

After a time, Tallie’s
shock wore off, and she realised she was furious. And utterly mortified. She
had known the likelihood of her ever marrying was slim. Living in the country
as Laetitia’s unpaid governess, she came into contact with few eligible men,
and with neither looks nor fortune to recommend her, her prospects were few and
far between. But it was one thing to face the prospect of a lonely and loveless
future, and another to be so little regarded that she did not even merit the
appearance of a courtship. Were her feelings and desires of so little
significance to him?

Tallie stared down at
her knees, flushed and fuming, biting her lip to prevent her rage from spilling
out. Her hands shook, itching to slap the smug condescension off his face. She
clenched them into fists, dwelling on how pleasant it would be to box his
arrogant ears! She took in very little of what he was saying.

Lord d’Arenville rose
from his seat and paced up and down before her, explaining the arrangements. He
noted his bride’s delicate blush, her modestly bowed head, and congratulated
himself again on the excellent choice he had made. No pampered miss, this. She
sat there, meekly listening to his plans for her future. Quiet, submissive, delightful!

How could he ever
have been so foolish as to consider a sophisticated woman of the ton as the
mother of his children? Laetitia’s candidates had been self-centred, selfish,
and far too sure of themselves. Much better to have chosen this sweetly shy
girl with her modest, downcast eyes. Thalia Robinson would be grateful for his
offer —she had no worldly ambition, no highly strung temperament.