Tallie's Knight. Anne Gracie
feeling dowdy and unwelcome. Still, she decided, this was her home, and she had every right to her breakfast. Chin held high, she entered the breakfast room.
A sudden hush fell. Tallie ignored it. No doubt they were preparing to make sport of her yet again—the dress she wore was even shabbier than yesterday’s. She went to the sideboard and inspected the selection of breakfast dishes, uncomfortably aware of hostile eyes boring into her back. After a moment, the buzz of conversation resumed. From time to time a low-voiced comment reached her ears as she slowly filled her plate.
‘…done rather well for herself.’
‘…but, my dear, one wonders what precisely she did to ensure…’
They were talking of Lord d’Arenville’s bride, Tallie thought. He must have announced his betrothal at the ball. That would explain why so many had come down to breakfast. No doubt those who had not been chosen wished to make an early start on the journey back to Town.
‘And, of course, poor Tish is utterly furious.’
‘Naturally, my dear. Would not you be? After all she’s done for her, and now this! The very ingratitude…’
‘Trapped, undoubtedly.’
‘Oh, undoubtedly!’
Tallie wondered which of the young ladies Lord d’Arenville had chosen. It had to be either Miss Blakeney or Lady Helen Beresford—they were the only two young ladies not at breakfast. That explained why she could sense such an atmosphere of hostility in the room—failed candidates seething with frustration and anger. Tallie tried to close her ears to the vehement mutterings. It would be a relief when Lord d’Arenville, Laetitia and all their horrid friends had gone back to London.
‘Thrusting little baggage. A man of honour…no choice.’
‘And that dress last evening—positively indecent!’
‘No other word for it.’
Tallie began to eat her breakfast, though her appetite had quite vanished. Her cousin’s friends were quite unbearable.
‘More coffee, Miss Tallie?’ murmured Brooks at her ear.
A friendly face at last. ‘Oh, yes, please, Brooks.’ Tallie beamed up at him and held her cup out for him to refill.
As Brooks poured, Miss Fyffe-Temple, one of Tallie’s neighbours, roughly jogged his elbow. Hot coffee boiled over Tallie’s hand and arm. She leapt up with a shriek of pain.
‘Oh, Miss Tallie!’ exclaimed Brooks, horrified.
‘How very clumsy of me, to be sure,’ purred Miss Fyffe-Temple. ‘What a nasty red mark it has made. I do hope it won’t leave a scar.’
‘Yes, it’s quite disgustingly red and ugly. Is it terribly painful?’ Miss Carnegie added.
‘Oh, how horrid…I think I’m going to faint,’ exclaimed The Honourable Miss Aldercott. The others immediately gathered around Miss Aldercott, cooing with pretty concern.
Blinking back tears, Tallie ran from the room and headed for the scullery. She plunged her arm in a pitcher of cold water and breathed a sigh of relief as the pain immediately began to ebb. After a few moments she withdrew it and blew lightly on the reddened skin. It was quite painful, but she didn’t think it was too serious a burn. But why had Miss Fyffe-Temple done it? Tallie hadn’t missed the gleam of spiteful satisfaction in her eyes as she had made her mocking apology.
‘Are you all right, Miss Tallie?’ It was Brooks, his kindly old face furrowed with anxiety. ‘I am so sorry, my dear.’
‘It is not serious, Brooks, truly,’ Tallie reassured him. ‘It gave me more of a fright, really. It hardly hurts at all.’
‘I don’t know how it happened. She…My arm just slipped.’
Tallie laid a hand on his arm. ‘It’s all right; I know whose fault it is, Brooks. The thing I don’t understand is why.’
Brooks stared for a moment, then suddenly looked awkward. ‘I think you’d best speak to your cousin, miss,’ he said. ‘She’s still abed, but I have no doubt she’s expecting you.’
Tallie frowned. ‘I shall go up to her, then, as soon as I have put some butter and a piece of gauze over this burn,’ she said slowly. Judging from Brooks’s expression, something was amiss. She could not think what it was. No doubt her cousin would enlighten her.
‘Me?’ Tallie’s voice squeaked. She stared at her cousin, her jaw dropping in amazement. The effects of her indulgences the night before had kept Laetitia in bed, and from the sounds of things she was still inebriated. Or demented.
‘Me?’ repeated Tallie, stunned. ‘How can you possibly say such a thing, Cousin? He does not even know my name.’
‘Ha!’ spat Laetitia, holding her delicate head. ‘I’ll wager he knows you in other ways, you hussy! In the Biblical sense! Why else would he choose a wretched little nobody?’
Tallie gasped, first in shock and then in swelling outrage. It was one thing to be asked to swallow such a Banbury tale—Lord d’Arenville wishing to wed Tallie Robinson, indeed! But to be accused of immorality! She was not entirely sure what knowing ‘in the Biblical sense’ meant, but she was very certain it was immoral. Tallie was furious. She might be poor. She might be an orphan, shabbily dressed and forced to live on other’s generosity. But she was not immoral.
‘Firstly, let me tell you, Cousin,’ Tallie said heatedly, ‘no man has known me in the Biblical sense, and I am shocked that you could even suggest such a thing! Secondly, I cannot help but believe you must have made an error about Lord d’Arenville’s intentions. Perhaps you misheard him.’
‘I did not,’ snapped Laetitia. ‘Do you think I would imagine such an appalling thing?’
Tallie gritted her teeth. Imagination indeed! She could imagine no member of the aristocracy, let alone the arrogant Lord d’Arenville, choosing his cousin’s poor relation for his bride.
‘But I have not exchanged even one word with his lordship,’ exclaimed Tallie.
‘I do not believe—’ shrilled Laetitia, holding her head.
‘Cousin! I promise you.’ Tallie tried to keep her voice calm, despite her frustration. Her cousin was very angry.
‘Do not lie, girl! He told me himself he had chosen you.’
A small, cold knot of fear lodged in Tallie’s stomach. She had never seen Laetitia this furious before, and she knew her cousin well. There was a hard, ruthless streak in Laetitia. This foolish misunderstanding—the result of too much champagne, no doubt, or perhaps a jest on Lord d’Arenville’s part—could have dire consequences for herself.
‘Well, either you misheard him, Cousin, or else he is playing a nasty joke on you. Yes, that’s it—it must surely be a jest.’ People like her cousin’s friends were always playing tricks on some poor unfortunate. The joke this time might be on Laetitia, but Tallie was the poor unfortunate.
‘Jest?’ Laetitia snorted. ‘Magnus does not jest—not about marriage.’
‘Perhaps you took a little too much champagne, Cousin, and did not realise he was hoaxing you,’ Tallie suggested tentatively.
‘Nonsense! I know what I heard!’ said Laetitia, but her tone belied the words. It was clear that she was starting to entertain doubts. Tallie felt a trickle of relief.
‘I will speak to his lordship, shall I, and clear the matter up once and for all?’ Tallie rose to her feet. It just had to be some trick Lord d’Arenville was playing on Laetitia. Tallie was not amused. His little joke had already got her scalded by boiling coffee, and now it threatened her position in Laetitia’s household. But would His High-and-Mightiness think of that? Not he!
He who had been given everything his heart desired, ever since he was born—it