Tallie's Knight. Anne Gracie
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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 puling 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 it? Endurance sounded most unpleasant…And in silence? 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 intemperately, she’d kicked herself often for not having sorted out everything 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, and before you know it you’ll be reunited once more with Your Beloved.’ She sailed from the room.
Tallie giggled. Her Beloved? She giggled again, trying to imagine The Icicle involved in anything so human as a romantic assignation. It was simply not possible.
Having told the irritatingly coy maidservant he would meet Miss Robinson in the summerhouse in twenty minutes, Magnus found himself wondering why the girl wanted to speak to him so urgently. Something to do with her wedding finery, no doubt. He allowed himself a faint, cynical smile and felt in his pocket for the long oblong package. He was well ahead of her.
Magnus had ridden away from his last interview with his bride-to-be in a white-hot rage. He was still angry, but his rage had cooled to an icy implacability. Thalia Robinson would have to learn her place. If she wanted to be treated as a bride would wish to be treated she had better tread very lightly around him until she’d earned his forgiveness. He frowned and felt the package. He must make his motives for this gift very clear to her. He would not wish her to misunderstand him.
It had occurred to him a week before that she would very likely not possess any adequate jewellery. It was unthinkable that his bride wear cheap or shoddy jewellery at her wedding, so Magnus had looked through his late mother’s jewel case until he had found a very pretty rope of matched pearls, earrings, and a bracelet—just right for a young bride. Simple enough to look modest and maidenly, yet the rope was very long and the pearls priceless. They were the perfect betrothal gift—and would be bound to go with whatever she had decided to wear.
From the little he had seen of her clothing, Miss Robinson preferred an odd style of garment, but Laetitia’s taste was exquisite, and she would have ensured that his bride would not wear anything outrageous. And after they were married he’d supervise her wardrobe himself. The rest of his mother’s jewels he would present to her as and when she deserved it.
‘Lord d’Arenville?’
Magnus rose and turned quickly. He bowed slightly. ‘Miss Robinson.’ His eyes were cold, his patrician features impassive.
Tallie closed the door to the summerhouse behind her. Her heart was pounding as if she had been running and her hands felt clammy. She curtsied automatically, trying not to stare. Gracious, she’d forgotten how very handsome he was. It made it so much harder to remember how cold he was.
‘I was under the impression that you wished to converse with me, but perhaps you merely wished to see for yourself that I had returned.’ His tone was blighting.
‘Oh, no,’ Tallie responded instantly. ‘I believed Lucy when she told me you’d arrived. Lucy is