Tallie's Knight. Anne Gracie
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sorry for the unfortunate accident, Cousin.’ It was the shabby little poor relation. Magnus watched as she interposed her body between the cowering small boy and his infuriated mother, her calm voice a contrast to Laetitia’s high-pitched ranting.
‘You are sorry?’ Laetitia continued. ‘Yes, I’ll make sure of that! The children are in your charge, so how was it that this child was allowed to escape from the nursery? I gave strict instructions…’
Magnus leaned back against a large stone urn, folded his arms and coolly observed the scene. He noted the way the dowdy little cousin used her body to shield the child, protecting him from his own mother. It was an interesting manoeuvre—for a poor relation.
The little boy pressed into her skirts, the muddy pup still in his arms. Magnus watched as the girl’s hand came to rest unobtrusively on the nape of the child’s neck. She stroked him with small, soothing movements. Magnus noticed the little boy relax under her ministrations, saw his shivers die away. After a few moments Georgie leaned trustfully into the curve of her hip, resting his head against her. She held him more fully against her body, all the time keeping her cousin’s rage focused on herself. Her words were apologetic, her body subtly defiant.
Fascinating, thought Magnus. Did the girl not realise what she risked by defying her cousin? And all to protect a child who was not even her own.
‘The accident was my fault, Cousin,’ she said. ‘You must not be angry with poor Georgie, here, for he had my permission to be out of the nursery—’
The little boy’s start of surprise was not lost on Magnus.
‘And I am sorry for the soiling of your gown. However, I cannot allow you to have the puppy destroyed—’
‘You? You cannot—’ spluttered Laetitia.
‘No, for the pup belongs neither to Georgie nor to you.’
The child stared up at the girl. Her hand soothed him, and she continued. ‘The pup is mine. He…it was a gift from…from the Rector, and I cannot allow you to destroy a gift because of a little high spirits…’
‘You cannot allow—’ Laetitia gasped in indignation.
‘Yes, puppies will be puppies, and small boys and puppies seem to attract each other, don’t they? Which is why I was so very grateful to Georgie here.’ She turned a warm smile on the small boy.
‘Grateful?’ Laetitia was astounded. Georgie looked puzzled. Magnus was intrigued.
‘Yes, very grateful indeed, for I have been too busy lately to exercise the puppy, and so Georgie has taken over that duty for me, have you not, Georgie dear?’
She nodded encouragingly down at him and, bemused, Georgie nodded back.
‘Yes, so any damage the puppy has done to your gown you must lay at my door.’
‘But—’
The girl was not paying attention. She bent down to the child. ‘Now, Georgie, I think you and my puppy have had enough excitement for one night, but would you do one more thing for me, please?’
He nodded.
‘Would you please return, er…Rover—’
‘Satan,’ Georgie corrected her.
Her eyes brimmed with amusement, but she continued with commendable control. ‘Yes, of course, Satan. Would you please take, er, Satan, to the kennels and wash the mud off him for me? You see, I am dressed for dinner, and ladies must not go to the kennels in their best gown.’
Her words had the unfortunate effect of drawing all attention to her ‘best gown’. There were a few sniggers, which she ignored with a raised chin. Georgie, however, stared at her, stricken.
‘What is it, love?’ she said.
Guiltily, he extended a grubby finger and pointed at the mud which now streaked her dress, liberally deposited by himself and the squirming puppy in his arms. She glanced down and laughed, a warm peal of unconcern.
‘Don’t worry about it, my dear, it will brush off when the mud is dry.’ She ruffled his hair affectionately and said in a low voice, ‘Now for heaven’s sake take that wretched pup and get it and yourself cleaned up before any other accidents happen.’
Relieved, the small boy ran off, his puppy clutched to his chest.
‘You’ll not get off so easily—’ began Laetitia, incensed.
‘Do you think it is quite safe for you to be out in the night air in a damp and muddy dress, Cousin?’ interrupted Tallie solicitously. ‘I would not want you to take a chill, and you know you are extremely susceptible…’
With a stamp and a flounce of jonquil silk Laetitia left the terrace, calling petulantly for her maid to be sent to her at once. The guests drifted in after her, and Brooks began to circulate with a silver tray.
Tallie bent down and gathered up Georgie’s scattered flowers. She straightened a few bent stems, gathered the shawl more tightly around her shoulders and stepped towards the French doors, then noticed Lord d’Arenville, who had remained on the terrace.
His expression was unreadable, his grey heavy-lidded eyes observing her dispassionately. The hard gaze made her shiver. Horrid man, she thought. Waiting to see if there is any more entertainment to be had. She raised her chin in cool disdain, and marched past him without saying a word.
Chapter Two
‘Well, Magnus, how do you like my candidates? Any take your fancy?’
Tallie froze. Partway into writing the events of the day into her diary, she’d run out of ink. She’d slipped down the servants’ stair to the library, secure in the belief that the guests were all in the ballroom, dancing, or playing cards in the nearby anteroom. Concentrating on the tricky task of refilling her inkwell, she hadn’t heard her cousin and Lord d’Arenville enter the library. She glanced around, but they were hidden from her view by the heavy velvet curtains pulled partly across the alcove where she was seated.
She stood up to announce her presence, but paused, recalling the shabby dress she wore. If she emerged, she would have to leave by the public route, enduring further sniggers and taunts. She’d had enough of that at dinner. Laetitia, still furious about the way Tallie had confronted her over Georgie and the puppy, had encouraged her guests to bait Tallie even more spitefully than before, and Tallie could endure no more of it.
Lord d’Arenville spoke. ‘You know perfectly well, Tish, that my fancy does not run to society virgins. I am seeking a wife, not pursuing a fancy.’
Tallie swallowed, embarrassed. This was a terribly private conversation. No one would thank her for having heard that. Perhaps she should try to slip out through the French doors onto the terrace. She edged quietly towards them. Stealthily she slid the bolt back and turned the handle, but it didn’t budge—the catch was stuck.
‘Well, dearest coz, which one has the teeth, the hips and the placid temperament you require for the mother of your heirs? They all have impeccable bloodlines, be assured of that.’
Tallie gasped at Laetitia’s effrontery and waited for Lord d’Arenville to give her a smart set-down for speaking of his intended bride with such disrespect. It was far too late to declare her presence now, and besides, she was fascinated. She edged back behind the curtains and wrestled half-heartedly with the door catch.
‘As far as those requirements are concerned, most of your candidates would do, although Miss Kingsley is too narrow-hipped to be suitable.’
Tallie’s jaw dropped. Requirements? Candidates? Those young women out there had been assembled as candidates? Miss Kingsley eliminated because of her hips? Laetitia hadn’t been joking when she’d referred to teeth, hips, placidity and bloodlines!
Tallie was disgusted. What sort of man would choose a wife so coldly and dispassionately? No