guests had made improper suggestions. The guests had taken their tone from Laetitia—Tallie was an unconsidered encumbrance, little better than a servant, and in the current mood of thwarted ambition she was a convenient target.
Tallie was angry, but told herself sternly that there was little point in expressing her feelings—they would be gone soon, and she would be left in peace again with the children and Brooks and Mrs Wilmot. It should be simple enough for her to ignore the spite of a few ill-bred aristocrats.
The pale young marquise held her chin high, ignoring the vile insults flung at her by the ignorant canaille, as the tumbrel rolled onwards. She was dressed in rags, her lovely gowns stolen by the prison guards, but her dignity was unimpaired…
Tallie slipped unobtrusively to the edge of the terrace and looked out over the stone balustrade to the closely scythed sweep of lawn and the woods beyond. It was a truly lovely view…
‘Aaargh! Get down, you filthy beast!’ Laetitia’s screeches pierced the air. ‘Get it off me, someone! Aaargh!’
Tallie hurried to see what had occurred. She wriggled between some of the gathered guests and let out an exclamation of distress.
Her cousin’s small son, Georgie, had obviously escaped from the nursery and gone adventuring with the puppy that Tallie had given him several weeks before. He stood in front of his mother, a ragged bunch of snowdrops held pathetically out towards her. His shoes and nankeen pantaloons were covered in mud, as was the puppy. It was the cause of the trouble—muddy pawprints marred Laetitia’s new jonquil silk gown.
Laetitia, unused to dogs, screeched and backed away, hysterically flapping her fan at the pup, who seemed to think it a delightful game. He leaped up, yapping in excitement, attempting to catch the fan in his jaws, liberally spattering the exquisite gown in the process.
Tallie was still attempting to wriggle through the press of guests when Lord d’Arenville grabbed the pup and handed him by the scruff of its neck to the little boy. Tallie reached the child just as his mother’s tirade broke over him.
‘How dare you bring that filthy beast near me, you wicked boy! Do you see what it has done? This gown is ruined! Ruined, I tell you!’
The small face whitened in distress. Mutely Georgie offered the wilting bunch of snowdrops. Laetitia dashed them impatiently from his hands.
‘Do not try to turn me up sweet, Georgie! See what you have done? Look at this dress! Worn for the first time today, from the finest of London’s modistes, and costing the earth! Ruined! And why? Because a wicked boy brought a filthy animal into a civilised gathering! Who gave you permission to leave the nursery? I left the strictest orders. You will be punished for such disobedience! And the animal is clearly dangerous! It must be shot at once! Someone call for a groom—’
The little boy’s face paled further. His small body shook in fright at the venom in his mother’s voice. His face puckered in fear and distress and he clutched the puppy tightly to his chest. It whimpered and scrabbled for release.
Magnus watched, tense in a way he hadn’t been since he himself was a small boy. He fought the sensation. His eyes darkened with sympathy and remembrance as he observed the frightened child and his puppy. He felt for the boy, but it was not his place to interfere with a mother disciplining her child. And anyway, he supposed it was how it had to be. It was certainly how his own childhood had been.
It would be hard for the boy to lose his beloved pup, but it was probably better for Georgie that he learn to toughen up now, rather than later. Pets were invariably used as hostage to one’s good behaviour. Once the boy learnt not to care so much, his life would be easier. Magnus had certainly found it so…although the learning had been very hard…Three pets had died for his disobedience by the time he was eight. The last a liquid-eyed setter bitch by the name of Polly.
Polly, his constant companion and his best friend. But Magnus had taken her out hunting one day instead of finishing his Greek translations and his father had destroyed Polly to teach his son a lesson in responsibility.
Magnus had learned his lesson well.
By the age of eight Magnus had learned not to become attached to pets.
Or to anything else.
‘I am sorry for the unfortunate accident, Cousin.’ It was the shabby little poor relation. Magnus watched as she interposed her body between the cowering small boy and his infuriated mother, her calm voice a contrast to Laetitia’s high-pitched ranting.
‘You are sorry?’ Laetitia continued. ‘Yes, I’ll make sure of that! The children are in your charge, so how was it that this child was allowed to escape from the nursery? I gave strict instructions…’
Magnus leaned back against a large stone urn, folded his arms and coolly observed the scene. He noted the way the dowdy little cousin used her body to shield the child, protecting him from his own mother. It was an interesting manoeuvre—for a poor relation.
The little boy pressed into her skirts, the muddy pup still in his arms. Magnus watched as the girl’s hand came to rest unobtrusively on the nape of the child’s neck. She stroked him with small, soothing movements. Magnus noticed the little boy relax under her ministrations, saw his shivers die away. After a few moments Georgie leaned trustfully into the curve of her hip, resting his head against her. She held him more fully against her body, all the time keeping her cousin’s rage focused on herself. Her words were apologetic, her body subtly defiant.
Fascinating, thought Magnus. Did the girl not realise what she risked by defying her cousin? And all to protect a child who was not even her own.
‘The accident was my fault, Cousin,’ she said. ‘You must not be angry with poor Georgie, here, for he had my permission to be out of the nursery—’
The little boy’s start of surprise was not lost on Magnus.
‘And I am sorry for the soiling of your gown. However, I cannot allow you to have the puppy destroyed—’
‘You? You cannot—’ spluttered Laetitia.
‘No, for the pup belongs neither to Georgie nor to you.’
The child stared up at the girl. Her hand soothed him, and she continued. ‘The pup is mine. He…it was a gift from…from the Rector, and I cannot allow you to destroy a gift because of a little high spirits…’
‘You cannot allow—’ Laetitia gasped in indignation.
‘Yes, puppies will be puppies, and small boys and puppies seem to attract each other, don’t they? Which is why I was so very grateful to Georgie here.’ She turned a warm smile on the small boy.
‘Grateful?’ Laetitia was astounded. Georgie looked puzzled. Magnus was intrigued.
‘Yes, very grateful indeed, for I have been too busy lately to exercise the puppy, and so Georgie has taken over that duty for me, have you not, Georgie dear?’
She nodded encouragingly down at him and, bemused, Georgie nodded back.
‘Yes, so any damage the puppy has done to your gown you must lay at my door.’
‘But—’
The girl was not paying attention. She bent down to the child. ‘Now, Georgie, I think you and my
