Tallie's Knight (7 page)

His eyes ran over her
figure. It was difficult to tell in that frightful dress she wore, but she
seemed sturdy —certainly robust enough to survive the rigours of childbirth.
And this girl, he believed, had the capacity to love, and he needed that —for
his children. He recalled the tender way her hands had caressed young Georgie.
He wanted that for his child. Yes, for his child. Her hands were trembling, he
realised. Magnus watched approvingly as she clenched her fingers tightly
together in an effort to control her emotions. Excellent. Self-control was a
good thing in a wife.

He gentled his voice.
Doubtless such disparity in their respective stations in life made her a little
nervous, a little eager to oblige.

The thought did not
displease Magnus. He intended to treat her kindly —her nervousness would pass
with time and she would no doubt be grateful for his forbearance. It would be a
start. She would find him a good husband, he hoped. He would look after her,
protect her, take care of all her needs. He continued to pace the floor,
describing d’Arenville, the family seat, and how much she would like living there.

Tallie fumed
silently, letting his words wash over her. So she was to be his quiet,
compliant little brood mare, was she? The wife he intended to keep immured in
his beastly d’Arenville for ten years or more!

In a pig’s eye she
was!

The nerve, the
arrogance, the presumption of the man! He must have decided a plain, poor woman
would give him the least trouble, a woman without prospects but with the hips
and teeth and bloodlines to bear his heirs! A sturdy woman!

She longed to leap
up, to fling his proposal of mar… No —Tallie Robinson, poor relation, did not
merit a proposal, for he had not even waited for her reply. He’d presented his
prospective brood mare with an assumption of marriage!

Well, whichever it
was, she would fling it in his teeth! That would bring a shocked look to that
insufferably complacent face. And how she would enjoy snapping her fingers
under that long, proud nose! She would wait until he had finished describing
the wonderful treats that marriage to him would bring her! What was he talking
about now? The view of the lake from the summerhouse at sunset? Hah!

I’m sooo sorry, Lord
d’Arenville, she would tell him, but even the delightful prospect of viewing
the d’Arenville duck pond at dawn cannot tempt me to marry you. I would much
prefer to remain unwed.

Sooo sorry to
disappoint you. And she would sail out of the room, head held high, leaving him
stunned, furious, gnashing his teeth with chagrin.

No, she decided. Too
tame, too straightforward. He deserved a taste of his own medicine. He hadn’t
even bothered to speak to her! He’d merely informed Laetitia, no doubt offering
to take a poor relation off her hands. Tallie had been scalded and abused and
accused of outright immorality. And all because of his arrogance. He needed to
be taken down a peg or two! Or three!

Tallie smiled to
herself, planning her revenge —she’d keep him guessing. A man of his pride and
consequence would loathe being kept waiting. Especially by a little nobody from
nowhere! A sturdy little nobody at that!

Laetitia’s guests
obviously knew of Lord d’Arenville’s choice. They would be waiting for the
announcement. And Laetitia —what would it do to her pride to have the despised
poor relation keeping the head of the family dangling?

The thought filled
Tallie with glee —she would let them all wait. And wait. And wait. And they
would marvel at her temerity in making her future husband wait, for of course
it would never occur to any of them that she could be so foolish as to refuse
such a prize!

A prize indeed,
Tallie thought scornfully, glancing up at him from under her lashes. As if a
handsome face and figure and a wealthy purse were everything!

Yes, she would make
him, and everyone else, wait. And then, just when everyone was starting to
wonder how much longer Lord d’Arenville’s temper would stand it, Tallie would
carelessly decline his offer. That would serve him right! How his pride would
suffer —the great Lord d’Arenville, prize of the marriage mart, courted and
pursued by every matchmaking mama in the country, rejected by the plain and insignificant
poor relation!

“The banns would be
called immediately and the wedding set for three weeks from now. Would that be
enough time for you to organise your bride clothes?” said Lord d’Arenville.

Tallie blinked up at
him in mocking surprise. Was that a question he was asking? Something he didn’t
know? An arrangement he hadn’t made? Something for her to comment on? Amazing.

She stood up.

“Lord d’Arenville. I
thank you for your very… surprising… offer of marriage. May I consider my
reply?” Without waiting for his response, Tallie hurried on, “Thank you. I will
let you know my answer as soon as is convenient.”

Magnus’s jaw dropped.

She walked to the
door, opened it, paused, turned back to face him and smiled sweetly.

“Until then, may I
suggest you make no irrevocable arrangements?”

“Well, what did he
say? It was a hum, was it not?” Laetitia dragged Tallie into a nearby anteroom.

“No, I am afraid it
was not,” said Tallie reluctantly. “You were perfectly correct, Cousin, he
thought to marry me.”

Laetitia caught the
tense Tallie used and pounced eagerly.

“But he has changed
his mind?”

Tallie knew she had
to choose her words carefully, so as not to exacerbate her cousin’s volatile
temper any further. She was skating on very thin ice as it was.

“No, not exactly.”

“I knew it!” Laetitia
stamped her foot. “He is such a selfish wretch! How could he put me in such a
position? Each girl out there was in daily expectation of being made an offer!”
She glared at Tallie. “Each one a diamond of the first water, an heiress or a
duke’s relative —and he chooses you!”

Tallie nodded,
ignoring the insult. She understood how foolish her cousin felt. She even felt
some sympathy for her. Lord d’Arenville was an arrogant, selfish, thoughtless boot.

“It is all right,
Cousin,” she said soothingly. “I intend to refuse him.”

Laetitia froze. She
stared, stupefied. Her face went white beneath the rouge.

“What did you say?”
she whispered.

“I am going to refuse
him.” Tallie smiled reassuringly.

“Refuse Magnus!”

Tallie nodded. “Yes.”

“You —to refuse my
cousin Magnus? Lord d’Arenville?”

Tallie nodded again. “Absolutely.
I have no wish to marry him, so there is nothing for you to be upset—”

“Of all the brazen
effrontery! You arrogant little bitch!”

Tallie took a step
backwards, unnerved by the fury she saw in her cousin’s face.

“Who do you think you
are to refuse my cousin Magnus? You —a complete nonentity! A mere Robinson!
Why, he is so far above the likes of you that he is the sun to your, your…”
Laetitia waved her hand in frustration, unable to find a suitable comparison to
convey to Tallie just how far beneath him she was. “How dare you think to
humiliate me in this fashion?”

“But, Cousin, how
does my refusing Lord d’Arenville humiliate you?” interrupted Tallie, confused
by her cousin’s abrupt volte-face. “I can see how choosing me instead of your—”

“Do not for one
minute dare to gloat, you insolent hussy!”

“I am not gloating,”
said Tallie indignantly. “But I don’t understand. Surely if I refuse him it
saves you the embarrassment of people knowing he preferred me to your friends?
We can say that your guests misunderstood.”

Laetitia threw up her
hands.

“She even has the brass
to boast of her conquest!” she muttered. “Mortifying enough that my cousin
chooses a shabby little nobody over my friends, but for the nobody to refuse
him! No. No! It is too much!”

She turned to face
Tallie, hands on hips.

“Little did I think
when I accepted you into my household that it would come to this. You will pack
your bags and be out of here within the hour. John Coachman will take you back
to the village where you lived before you insinuated yourself into my home.”
Laetitia’s voice was low, furious and vengeful, her expression implacable.

Tallie stared at her,
shocked. There was no hysteria in her cousin’s manner now.

“You… you cannot mean
it, surely, Cousin?”

Laetitia sniffed and
turned her face away.

Tallie tried again.

“Please, Cousin, reconsider.
There is nothing for me in the village. The school closed down when Miss Fisher
died. And… you know I have no money.”

“You should have
considered that before you set your cap at my cousin.”

“I did not set my cap
at him. I never even spoke to him! It was Lord d’Arenville who—”

“I am not interested
in your excuses. You have one hour.” Laetitia was adamant.

Tallie’s mouth was
dry.

“You cannot mean it,
surely, Cousin?” she began. “I have nowhere to go, no one to turn to.”

“And whose fault is
that, pray? Had I known before what an ungrateful, scheming jade you were, I
would never have taken you into my home. The subject is closed. One hour.”
Laetitia swept towards the door.

“Cousin!” called
Tallie.

Laetitia paused and
glanced disdainfully back. Tallie swallowed. She had been about to beg, but she
could see from her cousin’s expression that her cousin was hoping for just that.

No, she would not
beg. In her current mood Laetitia would enjoy seeing her grovel, and it would
do no good; Tallie could see that now.

“Will you write me a
letter of recommendation so that I may at least seek work as a governess?”

“You have a nerve!”
spat Laetitia. “No, I will not!”

Magnus strode through
the damp grass, snapping his whip angrily against his booted leg. He’d planned
to go for a long ride, but had found himself too impatient to wait for a groom
to saddle his horse so he’d gone for a walk instead. The gardens were looking
quite pretty for the time of year. He stopped and stared at a clump of
snowdrops, their heads nodding gently in the faint breeze.

He recalled the way
she’d sat there, listening to his words with downcast eyes, all soft and
submissive, her pale nape exposed, vulnerable and appealing. Her hair was not
plain brown after all, but a soft honey colour, with a tendency to curl. And
when she’d looked up at him at the end he’d realised that she had rather pretty
eyes, a kind of deep amber, with long dark lashes. And her skin looked smooth
and soft.

Yes, he’d been
pleased with his choice. Right up until the moment she’d spoken and revealed
that flash of… temper? Pique?

Magnus lashed at the
nodding snowdrops with his whip, sending them flying. He stared unseeing at the
carnage.

The chit was playing
games with him! Make no irrevocable arrangements.

There’d been a malicious
kind of pleasure in the way she’d said it, sweet smile notwithstanding. He
strode on, frowning.

For almost the whole
of the house party the girl had been quiet, docile and obedient. He was
convinced it was her usual state —it must be— how else had she survived living
with Laetitia? And she lived here with the children all year round without
complaint.

No. He must have
imagined her anger. He’d taken her by surprise, that was all. He should have
given her a little more warning of his intentions. And perhaps he’d been a
little clumsy —he had never before offered marriage, and his unexpected
nervousness had thrown him a little off balance.

He should have made a
flowery speech and then a formal offer, instead of rushing into his plans.
Females set store by that kind of thing.

She was quite right
to put him off for a time. It was what every young girl was schooled to do,
pretending to think it over, as a true lady should.

His mouth twitched as
he remembered the way she’d held her chin so high. For all the world as if she
might refuse. Cheeky little miss!

The small flash of
spirit did not displease him. A spirited dam usually threw spirited foals, and
he wouldn’t want his children to be dull. Not at all. And he’d seen the mettle
in her when she’d flown to little Georgie’s side, like a young lioness
defending her cub.

And spirited defiance
was permissible, even desirable in the defence of children. It was a little
disconcerting for it to be directed against himself, perhaps, but he was not
displeased, he told himself again.

So why could he not
shake the feeling that he’d reached to pluck a daisy and had grasped a nettle
instead? He savagely beheaded another clump of his cousin’s flowers and strode
on, indifferent to the damage the wet grass was doing to the shine on his
boots.

“Magnus, what on
earth are you doing to my garden?”

Laetitia’s voice
jerked Magnus out of his reverie. He glanced back the way he’d come and
flinched when he realised the havoc his whip had wrought.

“Sorry, Tish. I didn’t
realise—”

“Oh, never mind that.
I need to talk to you at once, but do come away from that wet grass; it will
ruin my slippers. Here, into the summerhouse, where we can be quite private.”

Laetitia settled
herself on a bench and regarded her cousin severely.

“How could you, Magnus?
In front of all my guests! I could just kill you! You have been extremely
foolish, but I think we can pass it off as a jest —not in the best taste, of
course, but a jest all the same. In any case, I have got rid of the girl —for
which, I may add, you owe me your undying gratitude. Although, knowing you, you
will be odiously indifferent as you always—”

Magnus cut to the
heart of the rambling speech.

“What do you mean, “got
rid of the girl’? You cannot mean Miss Robinson, surely?”