afraid. Was there something you wanted?’
Brooks proffered a letter on a silver tray. ‘A letter, Miss Tallie. From the mistress.’
Tallie smiled. Brooks still behaved as if he were in charge of the grand London mansion, instead of stuck away in the country house belonging to Tallie’s cousin Laetitia. Tallie took the letter from the tray and thanked him. Dear Brooks—as if she were the lady of the house, receiving correspondence in the parlour, instead of a poor relation, dreaming foolish dreams over a jar of old buttons. She broke open the wafer and began to read.
‘Oh, no!’ Tallie closed her eyes as a sudden surge of bitterness rushed through her. She had assumed that with Christmas over, and Laetitia and George returned to Town, she and the children would be left in peace for several months at least.
‘What is it, Miss Tallie? Bad news?’
‘No, no—or at least nothing tragic, at any rate.’ Tallie hastened to reassure the elderly housekeeper. She glanced across at Brooks, and explained.
‘Cousin Laetitia writes to say she is holding a house party here. We are to make all the arrangements for the accommodation and entertainment of six or seven young ladies and their mothers, possibly a number of fathers also. Five or six other gentlemen may be invited, too; she is not yet decided. And there is to be a ball at the end of two weeks.’ Tallie looked at Brooks and Mrs Wilmot, shook her head in mild disbelief, and took a deep drink of the tea grown cold at her elbow.
Mrs Wilmot had been counting. ‘Accommodation and entertainment for up to twenty-five or six of the gentry, and almost twice that number of servants if we just count on a valet or maidservant for each gentleman or lady. Lawks, Miss Tallie, I don’t know how we’ll ever manage. When is this house party to be, did she say?’
Tallie nodded, a look of dire foreboding in her eyes. ‘The guests will start arriving on Tuesday next. Cousin Laetitia will come the day before, to make sure everything is in order.’
‘Tuesday next? Tuesday next! Lord, miss, whatever shall we do? Arrangements for sixty or more people to stay, arriving on Tuesday next! We will never manage it! Never.’
Tallie took a deep breath. ‘Yes, we will, Mrs Wilmot. We have no choice—you know that. However, my cousin has, for once, considered the extra work it will entail for you both and all the other servants.’
‘And for you, Miss Tallie,’ added Brooks.
She smiled. She knew he meant well, but it was not a comforting thought that even her cousin’s servants regarded her as one of them, even if they did call her Miss Tallie. She continued.
‘I am empowered to hire as much extra help as we need, and no expense spared, though I am to keep strict accounts of all expenditure.’
‘No expense spar—’ In a less dignified person, Brooks’s expression would have been likened to a gaping fish.
Tallie attempted to keep a straight face. The prospect of Cousin Laetitia showing enough consideration for her servants to hire extra help was surprising enough, but for her not to consider expense would astound any who knew her.
‘No, for she says the house party is for her cousin Lord d’Arenville’s benefit, and he is to pay for everything, which is why I am to keep accounts.’
‘Ahh.’ Brooks shut his mouth and looked wise.
‘Lord d’Arenville? Lawks, what would he want with a house party full of young ladies—oh, I see.’ Mrs Wilmot nodded in sudden comprehension. ‘Courting.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ said Tallie, puzzled.
‘He’s courting. Lord d’Arenville. One of those young ladies must be his intended, and he wishes some time with her before he pops the question. He’ll probably announce it at the ball.’
‘Well, well, so that’s it. A courting couple in the old house once again.’ Brooks’s face creased in a sentimental smile.
‘Lord, Mr Brooks, you’re a born romantic if ever I saw one,’ said Mrs Wilmot. ‘I can no more see that Lord d’Arenville lost in love’s young dream than I can see me flying through the air on one of me own sponge cakes!’
Tallie stifled a giggle at the image conjured up. ‘And why is that, Mrs Wilmot?’ she asked.
‘Why?’ Mrs Wilmot turned to Tallie in surprise. ‘Oh, yes, you’ve never met him, have you, dearie? I keep forgetting, you’re related to the other side of madam’s family. Well, you’ve not missed out on much—a cold fish if ever I saw one, that Lord d’Arenville. They call him The Icicle, you know. Not a drop of warm blood in his body, if you ask me.’
‘But I thought all you females thought him so handsome,’ began Brooks. ‘He had you all in such a tizz—’
‘Handsome is as handsome does, I always say,’ said the housekeeper darkly. ‘And though he may be as handsome as a statue of one of them Greek gods, he’s about as warm and lively as a statue, too!’ She shook her head and pursed her lips disapprovingly.
Intrigued though she was, Tallie knew she should not encourage gossip about her cousin’s guests. And they had more than enough to do without wasting time in idle speculation. Or even idol speculation, she giggled silently, thinking of the Greek god.
‘Well, then,’ she said, ‘it is fortunate that we need not concern ourselves with Lord d’Arenville except to spend his money and present him with a reckoning. And if we need not worry about expense, the servants may be billeted in the village. I suppose we should begin to make a list of what needs to be done.’ She glanced at the clock on the mantel. ‘I am expected back in the nursery in half an hour, so we will need to hurry.’
Later that evening, as she walked slowly out of the nursery, leaving her three charges yawning sleepily in their beds, their loving goodnight kisses still damp on her cheeks, Tallie decided she would have to take herself more firmly under control. She could not go on in this fashion.
The degree of resentment she’d felt this morning had shocked her. And it was not Laetitia’s thoughtlessness Tallie resented, but the mere fact that she was coming home.
It was very wrong of her to feel like that; Tallie knew it. She ought to feel grateful to Laetitia for the many things she had done for her—giving her a home, letting her look after her children…And it was Laetitia’s home, Laetitia’s children. Laetitia was entitled to visit whenever she wished.
The problem lay with Tallie. As it always did. With her foolish pretences and silly, childish make-believe. It was getting out of hand, pretending, day after day, that these three adorable children were hers. And that their father, a dashing and romantic if somewhat hazy figure, was away on some splendid adventure, fighting pirates, perhaps, or exploring some mysterious new land. She had dreamed so often of how he would arrive home on his coal-black steed, bringing exotic gifts for her and the children. And when they had put the children to bed he would take her in his arms and kiss her tenderly and tell her she was his pretty one, his love, his little darling…
No. It had to stop. She was no one’s pretty one, no one’s darling. The children’s father was bluff, stodgy George, who drank too much and pinched Tallie’s bottom whenever she was forgetful enough to pass within reach. He never came near the children except at Christmas, when he would give them each a shilling or two and pat them on the head. And their
