Tallie's Knight

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.

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?’

Chapter Three

‘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 boor.

‘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?’

‘Miss Robinson indeed!’ Laetitia sniffed. ‘She is lucky I even acknowledged her as cousin. Well, that is all at an end now. She will be gone within the hour!’

‘Gone? Where to?’

‘The village she grew up in. I forget its name.’

Magnus frowned. ‘What? Is there some family emergency? I understood she was an orphan.’

‘Oh, she is. Not a living soul left, except for me, and that’s at an end after her base ingratitude and presumption.’

‘Then why is she going to this village?’

Laetitia wrinkled her nose. ‘I believe she spent virtually all her life in some stuffy little school there. Her father was in the diplomatic service, you know, and travelled a great deal.’

Poor little girl, thought Magnus. He knew what it was like to be sent away, unwanted, at a young age. ‘And she wishes to visit this school? I suppose she must have friends there whom she would wish to ask to her wedding. I did not realise.’

‘Magnus, what is wrong with you? What does it matter where the wretched girl goes?’

‘Tish, of course it matters. Do you not realise I asked Miss Robinson to be my bride?’

‘Of course I do, and it will be a long time before I will forgive you for making such a fool of me, Magnus! But that wretched little nobody plans to make a fool of us both, and that I will not allow!’

Magnus frowned. The uneasy feeling he’d had ever since he’d spoken to Miss Robinson intensified. His whip tapped a sharp and fast tattoo against his boot. ‘What do you mean, “a fool of us both”?’

‘She plans to refuse you!’

‘What?’ The instant surge of temper caught Magnus unaware. He reined it in. ‘How can you know such a thing, Tish?’

‘She told me to my head, not fifteen minutes ago. Boasted of it!’ Laetitia noted his stupefaction, nodded smugly and laid a compelling hand on his arm. ‘You see now why she must be got away from here at once. I will not have a Robinson crow to the world that my cousin, Lord d’Arenville, was not good enough for her!’

‘Are you sure?’ Magnus was flabbergasted. He had not expected any girl to refuse his offer…but a penniless orphan? Boasting? If it was true, it was more than a slap in the face.

‘She actually said so? In so many words?’

‘Yes, Magnus, in just so many words. First she gloated of her success in cutting all my friends out to snare you, and then she boasted of how foolish we would all look when she refused you. The ungrateful trollop! I would have her drowned if I could!’

Magnus stood up and took a few jerky paces back and forth across the small summerhouse, his whip slapping hard and fast against his boot. ‘I…I must consider this. Until I speak to you again, do nothing,’ he said, and stalked off into the garden, destroying the herbaceous border as he passed.

No, no, dearest Tallie, you cannot leave us…it was a foolish misunderstanding…What would we do without you? What would the children do? And George and I—oh, please do not let my wretched cousin Magnus come between us—he is nothing but a cold, proud Icicle! You are family, dearest Tallie, and you belong here! Oh, do not leave us, we need you too much…

‘I…I’ve been sent up to make sure you’re packed, miss.’ The maidservant hovered uncomfortably, wringing her hands in distress. ‘And John Coachman has been told to ready himself and the horses for a long journey…I’m that sorry, Miss.’

‘It’s all right, Lucy,’ said Tallie shakily. Reality crashed around her. Laetitia had not changed her mind. Tallie truly was being thrown out of her cousin’s house.

She got off the bed where she’d been huddled and tried to pull herself together, surreptitiously wiping her eyes. ‘There’s a bag on top of that wardrobe—if you could put my clothing in that…I…I must see to other matters.’ She rushed out, her brimming eyes averted from the maid’s sympathetic gaze.

Moments later she slipped out of the side door, across the south lawn and into the garden maze. Tallie knew the convoluted paths by heart, and unerringly made her way towards the centre. It was a favourite spot. No one could see over the high, clipped hedges, and if anyone entered it she would have plenty of warning. She reached the heart of the maze, hurled herself down on the wrought-iron seat and burst into tears.

She had lost everything—her home, the children. She was about to become a pauper. She’d always been one, she supposed, but now she would truly be destitute. Homeless. Taken out and dumped like an unwanted cat.

She sobbed until there were no more tears, until her sobs became hard, dry lumps stuck in her chest, shuddering silently out of her with every breath she drew. Eventually they subsided, only coming every minute or so, in an echo of the distress she could bear no more of.

What would she do? This very night, unless some miracle intervened, she would find herself deposited in the village square. Where would she go? Where would she sleep? Unconsciously her hand crept to her mouth and she began to nibble at her nails. No one in the village would remember her. The vicar? No, she re-called—he’d died shortly after she’d left. A churchgoer might recall her face amongst the dozens of schoolgirls who’d filed dutifully into St Stephen’s each Sunday, but it was unlikely. It was two years ago—vague recognition was the best she could expect from anyone in the village. And no one would be likely to take her in.

There was not a soul in the world she could turn to.

The sharp, clean scent of the close-trimmed cypress hedges was fresh in the damp, cool air. Tallie drew her knees up against her chest and hugged them to her. In the distance she could hear the haunting cry of a curlew. It sounded as lost and alone as she felt.

She’d been happy at Laetitia’s, but her happiness had been founded on a lie. She had deluded herself that she was part of a family—the family she had always yearned for. In fact she was little better than a servant. Worse—a servant was paid, at least. If Tallie had been paid she would have had the wherewithal to pay for a night’s lodging or two. As it was, she had nothing.