Читать книгу Tallie's Knight - Anne Gracie - Страница 10

‘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.

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 schoolfriends 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.

‘Lord d’Arenville?’

She’d entered the room so silently that Magnus was caught unaware. He stared, mesmerised, at the red-rimmed eyes which failed to meet his, the drooping mouth and the woebegone little face, and it was as if he could hear every choking sob again. With an effort, he gathered himself and began to speak, feeling dishonest and uncomfortable as he did so.

‘Miss Robinson, I gather from my cousin that you are under the mistaken impression that I off—’

‘Lord d’Arenville, I accept your offer of marriage,’ she said at the same time.

There was a long, tense moment of silence in the room.

What happens now? wondered Magnus. In all honour, he could not continue with his reluctant pretence that he had made no offer. There was no need—she had accepted him. So that was it. An offer had been made and was accepted. The rest was inevitable. Irrevocable. Ironic, that. She could call the wedding off, but there was no question that he could do the same. Lord d’Arenville was to wed Miss Thalia Robinson. Thalia Robinson, who looked more like a martyr going to the stake than a blushing bride.

The realisation was like a kick in the teeth. Until this moment he’d half believed that Laetitia was mistaken in saying the girl was going to refuse him. But this miserably bleak acceptance of his offer had convinced him as a thousand explanations could not.

It could not be said that Thalia Robinson actually preferred poverty to himself, but it would be clear to a blind man that it was a damned close race. The girl might be going to her execution, the face she was wearing. Magnus stared at the downcast face, the red-tipped nose, the resolute chin and the trembling lips and felt his anger rising. It had clearly taken a great deal of anguish and resolution for her to decide between abject poverty—or marriage to Lord d’Arenville.

Starvation and misery—or Lord d’Arenville!

The gutter—or Lord d’Arenville!

And finally, by a nose, or a whisker, or a hair’s breadth, Lord d’Arenville had won. Lucky Lord d’Arenville!

Lord d’Arenville was furious. He could not trust himself to speak another word to her. He bowed stiffly, turned and stalked out of the room. Tallie watched him leave, blinking in surprise.

‘Magnus, what—?’ Laetitia was standing in the hallway, speaking to the vicar. Her voice died as she saw the look on his face.

‘You may wish me happy!’ he snapped.

‘What?’

‘She has accepted me.’ He broke his whip in half and flung the pieces into a corner.

‘Oh, Magnus, how dreadf—’

‘I am ecstatic!’ he snarled. ‘The wedding will be in three weeks’ time. Make all the arrangements. Spare no expense.’ He laughed, a harsh, dry laugh. ‘Nothing is too good for my bride!’ He noticed the vicar, standing there, jaw agape and added, ‘You, there—Parson. Call the banns, if you please. I will return in three weeks for the ceremony.’

He stormed out of the door and headed for the stables. Laetitia trailed after him, pleading with him to slow down, to explain, but to no avail. Lord d’Arenville mounted his horse, and with no warning, no preparations and no baggage, set off for d’Arenville Hall, a good two days’ journey away.