Tallie's Knight (8 page)

“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 recalled —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.

Enough of self-pity,
she decided at last. There was a way out of this mess. It was the only possible
solution. She knew it, had known it all along; she’d just been unable to face
the thought until she’d explored every other option. But there were no other
options. She would have to marry Lord d’Arenville.

Lord d’Arenville.
Cold-eyed, cold-voiced, handsome Lord d’Arenville. A cold proud Icicle, who
simply wanted a brood mare for his heirs. Not a wife. Not a loving companion. A
vessel for his children. A sturdy vessel! Tallie’s mouth quivered and she bit
down hard on her nails to stop herself weeping again.

There would be no
love for Tallie now —the love she’d dreamed of all her life. But there would be
security. And with the thought of sleeping in the village churchyard that
night, security was suddenly more important than love —or, if not more
important, certainly of more immediate significance.

No, there would be no
Prince Charming for Tallie, no Black Knight galloping to her rescue, not even a
dear, kind gentleman who was no one in particular. Nobody for Tallie to love,
nobody who would love her in return. There was only Lord d’Arenville. Was it
possible to love a statue? An Icicle?

Oh, there would be
children, God willing, but children were different.

You couldn’t help but
love children. And they couldn’t help but love you back. Children were like
puppies, loving, mischievous and endlessly thirsting for love.

Tallie knew. She’d
thirsted all her life, ever since she’d turned six and had been sent away to
school.

That was one thing
she’d have to make clear to Lord d’Arenville from the start. She wouldn’t allow
him to send her children away to school.

Not until they were
quite old —fourteen, fifteen, something like that.

And she would write
to them every week, and send them special treats sometimes to share with their
chums. And they would come home for every holiday and term break. And bring any
of their school friends who couldn’t go to their own families. None of her
children’s friends would spend Christmas after Christmas alone in an empty
school, with no one but an elderly headmistress to keep her company.

Her children would
know they were loved, know they were wanted, know that their mother, at least,
cared about them.

And the love of her
children would have to be enough for her, she decided. It was only the lucky
ones, the golden ones of this world, who were loved for themselves, after all; who
found a partner to share secret dreams and foolish ideas with; who found a man
to cherish them.

Cherish. Such a
beautiful, magical word.

Tallie took a long,
shaky breath, a sob catching in her throat as she did so. Such dreams were for
silly girls. She scrubbed at her swollen eyes with a handkerchief. It was time
to put her dreams and her girlhood away.

It was time to go to
Lord d’Arenville and tell him she would marry him.

It was a chilly,
withdrawn and much chagrined Lord d’Arenville who returned from the garden half
an hour after he’d spoken with Laetitia.

The house party had
been an unmitigated disaster. And now his ego was severely dented by the news
that a penniless girl could not bear the thought of marrying him. Part of him
concurred with his cousin that he would like to drown Miss Thalia Robinson. Or
strangle her slowly, taking her soft, creamy throat between his bare hands. But
an innate sense of fair play told him it would be a gross miscarriage of
justice if he allowed his cousin to turn Thalia Robinson out on the streets merely
because she didn’t wish to wed him.

And he had been
uncannily disturbed by the sound of someone weeping in the maze. Weeping as if
their heart would break. Magnus hated it when women wept!

He’d taken a few
steps into the maze and hovered there for some time, clenching and unclenching
his fists, listening helplessly. Not knowing what to do. Knowing who it was,
sobbing so piteously. Thalia Robinson.

He had told himself
she’d brought it on herself, boasting to Laetitia of how she would spurn his
offer. He’d told himself she deserved to be miserable, that the girl must be a cold-hearted
little bitch. He’d made her an honourable offer —there was no need for her to
publicly humiliate him. He, who had long been regarded as the finest prize on the
marriage mart, hunted by matchmaking mamas and their daughters alike! Most
girls would have been grateful for an offer from him, but not Miss Thalia
Robinson. No. She planned to humiliate him —and so she was reaping what she had
sown. Her regrets had come too late.

Magnus had told
himself all these things, but they hadn’t helped —he just couldn’t bear the
sound of a woman sobbing.

The part of him that
didn’t want to strangle her had wanted to go into the maze and speak to her —and
what a stupid idea that would have been!

As if women ever made
any sense when they were weeping. And as if he would know what to do anyway. He’d
always managed to stop them crying by giving them some bauble or other, but
then all the women he’d ever known had cried at him, not taken themselves into
the middle of a maze on a damned cold day and sobbed their little hearts out in
absolute solitude.

Magnus was sure he
wouldn’t know how to deal with someone who wept like that.

“Tish, I intend to
withdraw my offer. She cannot refuse me if there is no offer, so you need not
worry about any insult to the family pride. No one will know of it. I will
speak to the girl before any irrevoc—”

He faltered for a
moment, recalling those cheeky last words: make no irrevocable arrangements.
Thalia Robinson had not realised she was sounding her own doom.

“Before any
irrevocable steps have been taken. Have her sent to me at once, if you please.”

“But, Magnus—”

“At once, Tish.”

“Oh, very well. But
it will make no diff—”

But Magnus had left.

Laetitia pulled the
bell cord to summon Brooks.

Magnus decided to
receive Miss Robinson in the library. He would speak kindly to her, show her he
bore her no grudge for her poor judgement.

She would have no
idea that she had, somehow, got under his skin. He would be casual, relaxed, indifferent.
He would not receive her in formal dress, as a gentleman would normally do when
receiving a lady’s answer to his proposal of marriage. His offhand manner would
be conveyed by the silent message of his riding buckskins. It would appear to
be a spur of the moment chat, the outcome of which held only lukewarm interest
for him.

His brow furrowed as
he tried to recall every detail of their previous conversation. A cold smile
grew on his face as he realised he had not actually asked her to marry him. Not
in so many words. He had spoken of an intention to organise a ceremony. Had
used the conditional tense. Thank heavens. He might be able to fudge it. He
would make Miss Robinson understand she was mistaken, that he’d made her no
actual offer.

It was not an
honourable solution, but it should smooth things over with Laetitia —enough to
stop her throwing the wretched girl into the streets. And then he would get the
hell out of this appalling house party and never have to set eyes on the
blasted girl or his blasted cousin ever again!

He leant against a
high, leather-covered writing desk, one leg crossed casually over the other,
awaiting her entrance with an expression of bored indifference on his face. The
whip snapped fast and furious against the glossy leather of his boot.