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 wonder he was called The Icicle. Mrs Wilmot was right—he was as handsome as a Greek statue but he obviously had a heart of stone to match. Tallie passionately hoped he would select Miss Fyffe-Temple as his bride.
Miss Fyffe-Temple was one of the prettiest of the young lady guests and the sweetest-spoken—in company. In truth she was a nasty-tempered, spiteful little harpy, who took her temper out on the servants, making impossible demands in a shrill voice, and pinching and hitting the younger maids in the most vicious fashion. The below-stairs members of the household had quickly labelled her Miss Foul-Temper, and in Tallie’s opinion that made her a perfect wife for the great Lord d’Arenville!
‘Actually, I have come to see, on reflection, that my requirements were rather inadequate,’ said Lord d’Arenville.
Perhaps she was too hasty in judging him, Tallie thought. She did tend to make snap judgements, and was often forced to own the fault when she was later proved wrong.
‘Strong hocks, perhaps, Magnus?’ Laetitia had clearly imbibed rather more champagne than was ladylike. ‘Do you want to check their withers? Get them to jump over a few logs? Put them at a fence or two? Or ask if they are fond of oats? I believe Miss Carnegie has Scottish blood—she will certainly be fond of oats. The Scots, I believe, live on little else.’
Tallie shoved her fist against her mouth to stop herself from laughing out loud. Heavens! To think she would be in such sympathy with Cousin Laetitia.
‘Very funny, Tish,’ said Lord d’Arenville dryly. ‘I have no interest in the culinary preferences of anyone north of the border, nor do I wish to concern myself with any additional physical characteristics of the young ladies you selected for me.’
Tallie’s eyes widened. Laetitia had selected the young ladies? Did he simply expect to choose one? Without the bother of courtship? What an insufferable man! To be so puffed up in his own conceit that he need not consider the feelings of any young lady, assuming she would be flattered enough by his offer!
Well, if a spineless ninny was what he wanted, she hoped he would choose The Honourable Miss Aldercott. Already she showed what Tallie considered to be a very sinister preference for gauzy drapery and sonnets about Death and Lost Love. The Honourable Miss Aldercott had fainted five times so far, had had the vapours twice and made recourse to her vinaigrette a dozen times a day. With any luck, thought Tallie viciously, Lord d’Arenville would think The Honourable Miss Aldercott charmingly fragile—then find himself leg-shackled to a clinging, lachrymose watering-pot for the rest of his life!
‘So, Magnus, what other criteria do you have for the mother of your heirs?’
‘It has occurred to me that most of your candidates are rather spoiled and used to being indulged.’
‘Well, naturally they are a little petted, but that is only to be expected…’
‘You miss my point, Tish. Most of these young ladies have found it an almost intolerable hardship to come to the country.’
‘Well, of course they have, Magnus!’ Laetitia snapped acerbically. ‘Any woman would. Who in their right mind would moulder away in the country when they could have all the delightful exhilaration of London society? Is that your latest requirement?’
‘Yes, actually—it is. I wish the mother of my children to reside with the children, and London is no place for a child.’
‘What rubbish!’
‘You know it’s true, Tish, for you yourself keep your children here in the country all year round.’
‘Yes, Magnus, the children live here all year round, not me. And that is the difference. Why, I would go into a decline if I were buried here for an entire year!’
‘And the children—do they not miss their mother’s care?’
Tallie had to stifle another laugh at that. Laetitia, a doting mother! The children would love her if she would let them. As it was, they tiptoed around on their best behaviour during their mother’s visits, hoping to avoid her criticisms and sharp temper and heaving sighs of wistful relief when she left.
‘Naturally I spend as much time as I can with my darlings, but I have my needs also, Magnus. And I have responsibilities as George’s wife, and they take place in London, which is no fault of mine. But you need not think I neglect my children, for I leave them in the best of care.’
‘Yes, I’ve noticed that.’ Lord d’Arenville’s voice was thoughtful. ‘Your sturdy little cousin.’
Sturdy! How dared he? Sturdy? Tallie was mortally insulted. She might not be as sylphlike as Laetitia, but she was not sturdy!
‘You’re wandering off the point, Magnus.’
Sturdy! Insensitive beast!
‘Would you say that any of these young ladies would be willing to live for, say, ten years in the country?’
‘Ten years?’ Laetitia’s voice rose to a horrified screech. ‘No sane woman would agree to that! She would die, rather! Why on earth would you wish to immure anyone in the country for ten years, anyway?’
There was a short silence. Tallie craned to hear, but there was nothing. Suddenly Laetitia laughed—a hard, cynical laugh.
‘Good God, you want a nun, not a wife, don’t you?’ She laughed again. ‘Your father tried that, if you recall, and stuck to it for all of six months, while your mother cuckolded him with every groom, stableboy and tenant farmer in the district. And serve him right, say I. No, you couldn’t possibly think that isolating a wife in the country would ensure her fidelity, not after that.’ She laughed again. ‘And if you have any doubts on the matter, dearest coz, ask George.’
Lord d’Arenville said stiffly, ‘My decision is nothing to do with either you or my mother. It is simply that my bride must not mind spending my children’s growing years at my country seat with them.’
‘Well, I wish you’d told me earlier,’ said Laetitia, ‘for I wouldn’t have bothered wasting everyone’s time with this ridiculous charade. I am very angry with you, Magnus. I should have realised you were not serious about wanting a bride—’
‘I am quite serious.’
‘Well, you certainly won’t find one here who could accept—’
‘But I have.’
‘You’ve what?’ Laetitia sounded flabbergasted. ‘Don’t tell me one has agreed to your outrageous terms, Magnus! Oh, I cannot believe it. Who is she? No—do not tell me—let me guess. Lady Helen…no, she is positively addicted to Almack’s. And it could not possibly be Miss Blakeney—no one so à la mode would agree to be buried in the country for ten years. Oh, I give up Magnus, who is she?’
There was a long pause. Tallie waited with bated breath. Truly, she could imagine no young lady agreeing to such inhuman terms. It was a shame his mother had behaved so shockingly, but not all women were like his mother and Laetitia, and why should an innocent wife be punished for the things they had done?
Ten years in the country indeed! And would Lord d’Arenville confine himself similarly