Connie (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 3)

by Mary Kingswood

  Connie preferred to look at all the pretty trinkets and baubles laid out for examination. In one shop, a lacquered fan caught her eye, and she kept returning to it, admiring the workmanship in the design, which was of the finest execution.

  “Do you like it, madam?” the assistant said.

  “Oh, indeed! I have never seen one so beautiful.”

  “Try it,” said the Marquess, appearing at her side just then.

  “Oh — may I?” she said to the assistant.

  “Of course, madam. It is a lovely piece, is it not? And light enough to be not in the least tiring to use.”

  Gently she lifted it up, turning it over in her hands. Her only fan was an old one of Mama’s, given to her when she first came out, and she liked it well enough. But this was exquisitely made, displaying quite superior artistry. Flicking it open, she fanned herself, smiling for the pleasure of holding such a magnificent ornament.

  “Do you like it?” the Marquess said.

  “How could I not? And the colour! It would be perfect to carry when I wear my ruby bracelet.”

  “Oh, yes, madam!” the assistant cried, sensing a sale. “Nothing could be more perfect. You have such an eye for colour, if I may say so.”

  “You may,” said the Marquess, “for it is quite true. Miss Allamont is going to redesign my house for me.”

  “Oh, no, I do not think—”

  “You may wrap the fan.”

  “Oh, no, my lord,” Connie said, paling. “I cannot afford anything so lovely. I am sure it is too expensive.”

  “Then I shall make you a gift of it, for I insist that you have it.”

  “No, no! That would be most inappropriate.”

  “But why should I not—?” He stopped abruptly, catching sight of his brother glowering at him.

  “It is for me to buy gifts for my betrothed, Dev,” Lord Reginald said.

  “Oh. I suppose so, yes.”

  “You may buy something for Miss Drummond, if you wish.”

  For a moment, the two brothers glared at each other, in the most unsettling way. Then the Marquess nodded once, curtly, and strode off to join Jess at her chair near the door, while Lord Reginald paid for the fan, which was indeed very expensive. Connie blushed and stammered her thanks awkwardly. She could not quite decide on the propriety of the matter, for although it was certainly proper for a man to buy gifts for his future bride, she was only too conscious that she was no such thing. But it was such a delightful fan, and she wanted it quite badly, so she made no protest, and only her stumbling words betrayed her confusion.

  As for the Marquess, he never did buy anything for Jess, not on that day, or any other, as far as Connie could tell.

  ~~~~~

  The cards scattered so industriously in all the better parts of London began to bear fruit. A little stream of interesting cards were left in return on the polished table in the entrance hall of Marford House, and before too long they began to make and receive morning calls. The cards were succeeded by invitations and within a very few days of her arrival in London, Connie attended her first ball. It was not, Lady Moorfield, informed her in disapproving tones, one of the more superior occasions, such as she might expect to see later in the season.

  “However, it will be a good place to begin,” she said. “There are not so many families here just yet, so you will show to advantage. Connie, you may wear the pale green with the gold trim, and one of your Mama’s little necklaces. Jess, the lemon silk with the silver overskirt, if it is finished, and nothing round your neck. It is not your best feature, so let us not draw attention to it. We will do something striking with your hair, I think, for that is where you are blessed. Such lovely curls! I will have Marte trim the front a little.”

  Evening engagements could be quite chancy affairs in the country, whatever the time of year, for rain or snow could make the roads impassable, and then there was the anxious business of hoping for a clear night to provide moonlight. In London, Connie found, the difficulties were quite different. The roads provided no obstacle, and street lamps lit the way, but the crowds and noise and smells that assaulted her senses, and the press of traffic that slowed the carriage to a snail’s pace were frightening.

  “Do not look so fearful, Miss Allamont,” Lord Reginald said. “The coachman has been with us for ten years, and has managed not to overturn us once. Not yet, anyway,” he added cheerfully, thus adding to the list of worrying possibilities for Connie to fret over.

  Eventually, they arrived, and bewigged footmen stepped forward to open the carriage door, let down the steps and assist the ladies to alight. Lady Moorfield descended first, and then Lord Reginald, who turned to offer his hand to Connie. She stepped onto carpet laid between lines of torches. In the gloom outside the circle of flickering light they cast, white faces gazed impassively at her.

  “Who are these people?” she whispered.

  “Poor people,” he said with a shrug. “They come to see the upper class at play. Ignore them. Ah, here is Dev’s carriage now.”

  The Marquess leapt down almost before the wheels had stopped moving, helping his sister and Jess to alight. There was another lady, too, a mousy creature whose name Connie had forgotten, a cousin or aunt of some sort. It seemed the Marquess had forgotten her very existence, for he turned away before she descended, and she had to wait for a footman to assist her.

  Connie smiled at her. “There you are,” she said brightly. “Now we shall all go in together.”

  “Oh, no, no!” the mouse said in dismay. “All in the proper order. The Marquess and Miss Drummond, then the Dowager and Lady Harriet, then you must enter with Lord Reginald, you see, and I go last. The proper order, Miss Allamont.”

  The next carriage was arriving, so Connie was obliged to move onwards — in the proper order, naturally — without making any response, but she stowed the exchange away in her mind to consider at a later time, when she might have the leisure for philosophy. Something jangled in her brain, but she could not quite work out what it was.

  They followed the carpet up broad steps and into a pillared hall filled with displays of white flowers, their heady perfume erasing all the noxious smells of the street. The hall was lit by hundreds, perhaps thousands, of candles, and as they processed at a stately pace through the house, every room was just as bright, although the flowers were different colours — one room yellow, another pink, and one red. Ahead of them, the stream of guests was marked by a line of waving turban-feathers, with more following on behind. Then the ballroom appeared, and the stream stopped, inching forwards as each party was announced. Their turn came, their names were called out, they moved forwards into the room.

  The dazzling array of lights and shimmering chandeliers, the gilt decoration and jewels, and the soft glimmer of flowing silk in frighteningly fashionable styles made Connie gasp with astonishment. Despite the earliness of the season, the room was crowded to overflowing, and the heat rose up to engulf her. Music played, dancers leapt and twirled, onlookers watched impassively.

  And she knew not a single person, and no friendly smiles greeted her. Eyes turned to stare haughtily at her, lorgnettes were raised and strangers looked her up and down with penetrating calculation. She felt as naked as if she had just stepped out of the bath under the disdainful gaze of the ton. For a moment, it was overwhelming and she clung tightly to Lord Reginald’s arm, almost in tears. How had she ever thought that she, an ignorant provincial nobody, could mix with the cream of society?

  13: Brook Street

  “Shall we stroll about for a while?” Lord Reginald said, not noticing Connie’s distress. “Or should you like to dance at once?”

  She could not speak, could not even raise her head and felt as if she might faint away, had she not his arm to cling to.

  He turned to her in surprise when she made no reply. “Miss Allamont?”

  But then, she hardly knew how, the Marquess was there, calmly detaching her hand from Lord Reginald and tucking it comfortably into his. �
��Reggie, Miss Drummond is wild to dance. Do you take her onto the floor, while I find Miss Allamont a quiet seat so that she might catch her breath.”

  “Dev, I do not think—”

  “Miss Drummond, Reggie,” he said firmly, and with a curt nod, Lord Reginald disappeared.

  Holding her hand in a firm grip, the Marquess steered Connie through the throng. Once or twice he exchanged greetings with someone, but Connie being still too overcome to lift her head, she saw nothing. She wondered what these grand people must think of her, too inept even to move about a ballroom without support.

  She found herself in a many-windowed room with a tiled floor, divided into quiet corners by palms with huge fronds. Lord Carrbridge led her to a bench and by some black art produced two glasses of champagne.

  “Here we are, Miss Allamont, a quiet spot for us to have a drink. Just a sip, mind you, for it will go straight to your head if you imbibe too quickly. There! Is that not better?”

  When she dared to look up, his head was tipped to one side, with that smile that made her stomach jump about. “Th-thank you. You are… too kind.”

  “Not at all, Miss Allamont. It is all very different from what you are used to, I daresay. It is not surprising that you find it a tad overwhelming. I remember my first season, when I thought I was all the crack, you know, a real out and outer, but I quickly discovered my mistake. But you will soon get into the way of it, and then you will be perfectly comfortable.”

  “Thank you,” she said again, but his sympathy brought the tears close again and she found it impossible to say more.

  He seemed not to mind, sitting quietly by her side, sipping his champagne and occasionally pointing out this or that personage who passed into view.

  After a while, she felt strong enough to say timidly, “Do not let me detain you, my lord. You must want to meet your friends or… or stroll about or something of that nature, rather than hiding in the conservatory with me.”

  He smiled at her over the rim of his champagne glass. “Now why on earth should I want to do anything of the sort? I am perfectly happy here with you, I assure you.”

  She blushed at this, but went on, “Lady Moorfield says we must… move slowly around the room. It is important to be seen, she says.”

  “I like Aunt Juliana well enough, but she spouts some nonsense at times. Debutantes on the lookout for a husband might need to be seen, but not the Marquess of Carrbridge. I may hide in the conservatory with a beautiful young lady if I choose.”

  She blushed again, hanging her head, and wondering what Jess would say if she heard him talking so. The impropriety of it struck her forcibly, for they were both supposedly betrothed to other people, and their retreat was quite secluded. Even if her own betrothal was a sham, his was not and he should not be talking to her in such terms. She would have been less than human if she had not basked in his attention. So kind, so handsome, so amiable! If only he were hers, and not in love with Jess Drummond! But he was, and it was not at all proper for her to be alone with him, in such a well-hidden spot.

  “Nevertheless, I think perhaps we might return to the ballroom, my lord.”

  “Of course, if you feel strong enough.”

  “I… I believe so.”

  He stood up and offered her his arm again. “Deep breath, Miss Allamont. Remember that nothing can daunt you, for you are a Marford of Drummoor. Or nearly, at any rate.”

  She thought she was not very near at all, but could not say so. Instead she said, “Nothing can daunt me because I am a daughter of Allamont Hall, my lord.”

  He smiled at her, eyes twinkling, and escorted her back to the ballroom.

  In the end, the evening was far from being a disaster. She stood up to dance first with Lord Reginald, and then with the Marquess, and after that she had no lack of partners. A friend of the King’s smiled benignly on her, dowagers nodded with something close to approval, and any number of bucks presented themselves to entreat her hand for the dance, or to enquire if she might be attending this or that rout or ball or party of some kind. Almost before she was ready, she was swept away to their waiting carriage and back to Marford House.

  “There now, that is the first ball out of the way,” Lady Moorfield said briskly as the carriage rattled over the cobbles. “You did well, my dear, very well indeed, and it will be easier now, you will see.”

  Then she closed her eyes and was asleep almost instantly.

  Lord Reginald leaned closer to whisper in her ear, “Did you enjoy the evening?”

  “Oh yes! Very much! Although… I am sorry I was so… so missish at the start. I felt so… provincial.”

  She felt, rather than saw, his smile. “You need have no concerns on that head. There was not the slightest deficiency in your dress or manner or deportment. You were a great success.”

  She glowed inside at the praise. “You are very kind to say so, my lord. I was so afraid of… of letting you down, but Lord Carrbridge was so kind to me and made me feel quite at ease.”

  He leaned back on the squabs abruptly. “Oh yes, Dev is very kind indeed, the kindest fellow in the kingdom.”

  And not another word did he utter for the rest of the journey.

  ~~~~~

  The following morning brought happy news — a letter from Belle announcing their safe arrival in London.

  “May I go to see them?” Connie asked Lady Moorfield as soon as that lady surfaced from her bed. “Not, of course, if you need me—”

  “No, no, my dear, by all means go. We are at home all day, you know, so if you go early, you will be back in time for any late callers, and then we are at the opera this evening. You would not wish to miss that, I am sure. Where are they staying, your sisters?”

  “They have taken a house in Brook Street.”

  “Brook Street — oh.” Lady Moorfield’s eyebrows rose a fraction. “That is most respectable, and only two streets away. If the rain holds off, you might walk there. I cannot spare the time to accompany you myself, and the gentlemen are off with their male pursuits today, but Mrs March will chaperon you. That would be quite unexceptional.”

  “Oh, certainly, very happy to!” the mousy lady said. “Very happy. Such a fine day for walking.”

  It was not, in fact, a fine day at all, for a bitter wind whipped Connie’s new pelisse about and tore at her bonnet, but the walk was mercifully short. The Brook Street house turned out to be one of the larger ones on the street, with an attractive frontage. They were admitted by a neatly-uniformed maid. Inside, the furnishings were not of the first quality, but serviceable.

  Belle was alone in the drawing room when Connie was shown in, and the two sisters fell on each other as if they had not met for a year instead of a mere two weeks. Mrs March was introduced, and the maid dispatched to find the rest of the household.

  “Although I do not think Amy will be dressed yet,” Belle said. “She keeps to her room until noon at least these days, and the journey taxed her considerably.”

  “Travel is so arduous,” Mrs March said. “You have come such a distance, too. I know one or two remedies that might be of use to poor Mrs Ambleside, if you feel it might be in the least helpful.”

  “Time is the only cure for what ails Amy, I fear,” Belle said, smiling.

  “Oh, indeed, time is a great healer,” Mrs March said brightly.

  “Very much so, in this case. She expects to be confined in the autumn.”

  “Oh!” Mrs March giggled, hand covering her mouth. “Oh, I see! Such a blessing! Such happy news!”

  When they had exhausted the possibilities of Amy’s heath, the state of the roads and inns, news from Willowbye and Allamont Hall, and Connie’s many engagements, conversation faltered somewhat. Connie wanted very much to talk to Belle about the Marquess, but could hardly do so in front of Mrs March. She guessed that Belle felt the same constraint, for she made no mention of the Marquess or Lord Reginald.

  After a while, Belle said, “Mrs March, you mentioned some remedies for travel fatigue
. I wonder if—”

  “Oh, indeed, Mrs Burford! Quite delighted to oblige. You take a pint of water—”

  “I wonder if I might trouble you to tell the cook of your receipts? Since she will have the making of them, it would be as well for her to understand the exact method. It would not do to make a mistake in the quantities, would it?”

  “Oh, indeed! Certainly!” She jumped up, Belle rang for a servant and a maid led Mrs March off to the kitchens.

  The two sisters sighed with relief.

  “She is a dear soul,” Connie said. “I am glad she is gone for a while, however. That was clever of you, Belle.”

  “I am getting used to managing people, thanks to Cousin Vivienne,” Belle said, with a wry smile. “Now, tell me all about—”

  But Burford and Ambleside arrived just then, with many smiles for Connie, and so the same topics had to be gone over again. But they soon returned to the one of most interest to Connie.

  “It sounds as though the Marfords are taking good care of you, Miss Allamont,” Ambleside said. “One always worries a little with these great families, for they are not always as careful with the proprieties as might be wished.”

  “I have not noticed any carelessness in that way,” Connie said.

  “But this betrothal between the Marquess and Jess Drummond,” Ambleside said. “It is very eccentric of him.”

  “She is very pretty and lively,” Burford murmured. “Sometimes a man might be dazzled by such attractions and look no further.”

  Ambleside laughed. “Very true!” They all smiled, remembering Burford’s own infatuation with Hope. “Nevertheless, it is hardly appropriate for a man of his station to take a wife without fortune or rank. Miss Drummond has nothing but her own charms to recommend her, and it is not enough, no matter how considerable those charms may be. A peer of the realm is expected to be ruled by his head, not his heart. He cannot — should not — marry according to his own whims. Miss Allamont would be a much better match for him. Is there any sign of him realising his mistake with Miss Drummond?”