Tallie's Knight. Anne Gracie

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