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Georgie and the puppy, had encouraged
her guests to bait Tallie even more spitefully than before, and Tallie could
endure no more of it.
    Lord d’Arenville
spoke.
    “You know perfectly
well, Tish, that my fancy does not run to society virgins. I am seeking a wife,
not pursuing a fancy.”
    Tallie swallowed,
embarrassed. This was a terribly private conversation. No one would thank her
for having heard that. Perhaps she should try to slip out through the French
doors onto the terrace.
    She edged quietly
towards them. Stealthily she slid the bolt back and turned the handle, but it
didn’t budge —the catch was stuck.
    “Well, dearest coz,
which one has the teeth, the hips and the placid temperament you require for
the mother of your heirs? They all have impeccable bloodlines, be assured of
that.”
    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