Connie (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 3)

by Mary Kingswood

  Nor did she see anything of the more distant branches of her family.

  “Have you seen Viscount Melthwaite yet, Connie?” Amy asked every time they met, but Connie was never able to answer in the affirmative.

  “We have not seen them anywhere, nor have they called, but Uncle Edmund and Aunt Emma have both left their cards,” Connie said. “I daresay I shall meet them at one or other engagement, for they go everywhere.”

  “We left our cards, but have heard nothing,” Belle said, as the barouche rattled through the streets. “We cannot do more, for the approach must come from them. But it makes me sad, for they are Mama’s family and I should like to get to know them. It is so strange to have a whole branch of the family of whom we know virtually nothing. Mama’s sister in Scotland is another matter, for it is such a long journey, but Hepplestone is not so far away. Why do they never visit?”

  “I do find it odd that you know so little about your own uncles and aunts,” Burford said. “Even your grandparents are a mystery to you. It is most unusual.”

  “Not so unusual, I feel,” Ambleside said. “In my own family, there are several branches that have no contact with each other. You have a large and very close family, Burford, whereas I have no parents or grandparents yet living, no brothers or sisters, not even a cousin to my name. The only people I was able to inform of Mrs Ambleside’s condition were two cousins, and one aunt living in Ireland, and she is ninety three.”

  “That is very sad,” Connie said. “How dreadful to have nobody with whom one may be completely at ease, and never have to watch what one says or does.”

  “Ah, but I no longer have nobody,” Ambleside said, with a smile at his wife of such sweetness that Connie found herself smiling too.

  As they came to Marford House, and Connie prepared to step down from the barouche, she said, “There is nothing we can do about the Earl of Harkness, or Viscount and Viscountess Melthwaite, but there is one relative that I believe we might approach, for I would dearly love to meet her — Aunt Tilly.”

  15: The Saloon

  Connie’s evenings were very busy now. The family usually dined at home before sallying forth in their best attire to a ball or rout or some other splendid event, each more extravagant than the last. Although she loved to dance, and was never short of partners, the constant swirl of social events began to pall after a while. Sometimes she longed for a quiet evening at home, or a gentle card party amongst friends.

  One one occasion, the ballroom was draped with coloured silk like an Arabian tent, with ostrich feathers dyed in violent colours hanging everywhere. It made the atmosphere very close.

  When Lord Reginald came to claim her for the next dance, she said, “Would you mind very much if we do not dance? It is excessively hot in here. Perhaps we might find a cooler spot, and… and just talk? Is that acceptable, do you think?”

  He smiled, the slightly lop-sided smile that was almost like his brother’s but not quite. “Perfectly acceptable. And since we are rumoured to be secretly betrothed, we may withdraw a little way into the saloon with perfect propriety. Not so far that we cannot be seen, but just far enough to escape by one or two degrees the crowds in the ballroom.”

  The saloon was only marginally less crowded, but it was beyond the confines of the tent arrangement and the brilliance of hundreds of chandeliers, so it immediately felt cooler.

  “Ah, that is much better,” she said. “I declare, I was quite worn out from so much dancing.”

  “Poor Miss Allamont,” he said, lifting her gloved hand to his lips and bestowing a quick kiss upon it, although his manner was too playful for her to be offended. “Are you not enjoying your first season in London?”

  “Oh, yes!” she cried. “I like it of all things! Only I should find it a little less tiring if we had not to go out every night, and sometimes two or three engagements in one night. One has only just become settled and one is whisked off somewhere else. Look, like Viscount Preston and his sisters there. They arrived just before the start of the last dance, and now they are leaving already. And see, the Duchess of Elmsleigh is only just arriving this minute, and it must be close to midnight.”

  “The Duchess of what?”

  “Elmsleigh. The one with the dreadful diamond tiara.”

  “Oh, her. I never knew her name. How clever you are, to know all this, and you have only been in town five minutes.”

  She blushed at the compliment, not quite knowing how to answer. He was still holding her hand, and now he began to run his fingers all the way up her arm, right to the point where her glove ended and bare skin began. For an instant, she was too shocked to move. Was he daring to make love to her? Or merely amusing himself with a woman gullible enough to agree to pretend to be betrothed to him? She could not tell, but she knew it would be advisable to steer him back into the ballroom as soon as possible.

  Just then, a group of gentlemen came past, talking in over-loud voices, and rather the worse for drink. One of them staggered, and would have crashed straight into Connie, had not Lord Reginald pulled her aside at the last moment. She found herself crushed against him, his arm around her waist, his face inches from hers and a light in his eyes there was no mistaking.

  “Connie…” he murmured, bending towards her.

  “Lord Reginald!” she hissed, leaning away from him as far as she was able, although he held her fast.

  His face dropped and he released her abruptly. “I beg your pardon, Miss Allamont. I… I…”

  “Reggie? What are you doing with Miss Allamont?” The Marquess’s imperious tones were loud enough to turn heads.

  “Sshh! Nothing at all, I do assure you. Although… what business it is of yours, I do not know.”

  “What business—? Good Lord, Reggie, the bats have got into your head. You know perfectly well what business it is of mine.”

  “No, as it happens, I do not.”

  “What the—? Well, really, you are the very devil, Reggie, do you know that? She is living under my roof as my guest, and is therefore under my protection. There, will that do?”

  Lord Reginald hissed, “But she is betrothed to me, Dev, so you can go back to your own future wife, and leave Miss Allamont to me.”

  The Marquess glared at him and Lord Reginald glared back, his fists clenched into angry balls. For a dreadful moment, Connie was afraid they would come to blows, in the middle of one of the grandest balls of the season, and then what a scandal there would be. And the worst of it was, it was all her fault. If only she had stayed in the ballroom, they could have been dancing in perfect respectability, not embroiled in this horrid quarrel. She felt almost ready to faint.

  “Please…” she whispered, and the two men turned to her, bemused, as if they had forgotten her presence.

  But then the Marquess nodded curtly, spun on his heel and strode off. Connie dared to breathe again, but all her enjoyment in the evening was gone. When Lord Reginald took her back to Lady Moorfield, she took one look at Connie’s face and declared, “Oh, you poor dear! How you are suffering in this heat! Do you know, I have a mind to take you straight home and tuck you into bed.”

  This was such a tempting prospect that Connie felt tears pricking at her eyes. “Oh — indeed I should be very glad to go home, my lady, if it would not be a terrible inconvenience.”

  “Well, I confess I should be glad to escape this crush myself. A great success, of course, but not at all comfortable. Reggie, do you go and arrange for the carriage to be brought round. Where is Jess? But I daresay she will not want to leave yet. Francis will bring her home later with Mrs March. There now, my dear, let us go and wait in the hall. It might be a trifle cooler there. Indeed, it could hardly be any warmer. Do you have the headache? Too much heat always gives me the headache. Summer is such a torment to me, you cannot imagine.”

  Connie was relieved that Lady Moorfield asked no awkward questions, and saw nothing untoward in her sudden indisposition. Lord Reginald handed her gently into the carriage, but then Lady Moor
field shooed him away, the door was shut and they lurched off into the night. The short journey back to Marford House passed in silence, then there was just the climb up the stairs, a half hour of fussing from Annie, Lady Moorfield’s maid and Lady Moorfield herself, and then blessed peace.

  As soon as the door was closed, Connie slipped out of bed again and lit a candle. Wrapping herself in a shawl, she hid behind the curtain covering the window, and sat, arms around her knees, gazing out. Her room overlooked the back yard, the outhouses and buttery, and beyond those, the dark outline of the coach house, silhouetted by a single lamp. Her room at Allamont Hall was smaller, but had fine views over the gardens, with trees and the scent of roses and damp grass in the summer, and rustling leaves in the autumn. She ached for that view, for everything that was familiar. London was enjoyable, in its way, and everyone had been so kind to her, but she felt very small and insignificant and uncertain and overwhelmed. And alone. The Marfords were not and never would be her family.

  For a little while, she allowed the tears to fall unchecked, but then she saw movement down by the coach house, as the carriage was shut away. Then soft steps on the landing outside her room, and a nearby door opening and closing — Jess returning.

  Jess. Connie sighed. She had set out to dislike Jess for stealing the Marquess away, but it was hard to dislike someone who enjoyed life so much and had such a lively personality. In addition, she made nothing of her betrothal to the Marquess. Whenever anyone hinted at the possibility, she would laugh and say there was no betrothal and besides, she was in no hurry. She never clung to him, as some fiancees did. She would stand up with him for the first dance, and was then quite content, it seemed, to let him go off to the card room, or dance with any other lady who took his eye. As often as not, he danced more with Connie than with Jess. It was all rather strange.

  But she could not think about Jess, not tonight. Her mind was full of Lord Reginald, and that moment when he had held her tightly against him and seemed on the point of kissing her. And such a look in his eye as she had never seen in a man before! The look of love, surely. What else could it be? Was he in love with her? Or was it, perhaps, just a momentary feeling, brought about by her sudden nearness?

  When she had gone over all these questions a dozen times, she could no longer avoid the most important one — was she in love with him? She tried to remember what she had felt when she had fancied herself in love with Mr Ambleside — the fluttering of her heart when he came into the room, the thrill of delight when he smiled at her or spoke to her, the longing to see him when he was not there and the joy every time he called. She could not say that she felt any of that for Lord Reginald. If anything, it was the Marquess who set her heart thumping and caused her to blush and blush again.

  But no, she told herself sternly. The Marquess was not for her. He was spoken for, and Jess would suit him very well. She must steer her thoughts in a different direction and look to Lord Reginald, or else go home a failure, unmarried still, reduced to choosing between the brothers from High Frickham. That would never do! The second son of a Marquess was still quite a catch, and she liked him well enough. Surely love could not be far behind liking? She set herself the task of enumerating all Lord Reginald’s good qualities, which were plentiful, she was sure. And yet… she could not quite see herself as Lady Reginald, condemned to suffer the sight of the marital happiness of Jess and her Marquess for the rest of her life. It was all too confusing, and her thoughts lurched from one brother to the other, and back again, for hours, yet she was no nearer to knowing her own heart.

  The first grey light of dawn was touching the sky when she heard heavy footsteps on the stairs and male voices, gradually drawing further away, as the Marquess and Lord Reginald made their way upstairs. Their voices could be heard for some time, rising and dropping. Then a slammed door and all was quiet again.

  Connie crept back into bed, and tried to sleep.

  ~~~~~

  The two brothers were not at breakfast the next morning, but the ladies all fussed round Connie as if she were an invalid.

  “A hot posset, that is what you need to restore you,” Lady Moorfield declared.

  “I know several excellent remedies, Miss Allamont,” Mrs March said.

  “That is true,” Lady Moorfield said. “Jane knows a remedy for every ill you can imagine.”

  “Can she cure the lovesick?” Jess said. “Or better yet, cure the lack of love, for there are far too many men in the world who stubbornly refuse to fall in love when they are expected to. A simple potion, and they would be halfway to the altar in no time.”

  Mrs March tittered, but Lady Moorfield looked at Jess quizzically. “You are a shade too frivolous, sometimes, Jess, dear. A little more decorum might not go amiss if you hope to be a Marchioness.”

  “I beg your pardon, my lady,” Jess said demurely, but she had difficulty suppressing her smile.

  Connie refused all offers of possets and remedies, and since her appetite was unimpaired, she was deemed to be sufficiently recovered not to need them.

  “Even so, you should stay quietly at home today,” Lady Moorfield said. “We cannot have you overset, not at this important point in the season. You must be at your best for our own ball, you know.”

  “I am sure I shall be perfectly well,” Connie said. “Indeed, I am well now. The heat overcame me, just a little, I think, but it was no more than that. I beg you will not be anxious about me, for I am quite recovered now.”

  “You are still a trifle pale,” Lady Moorfield said. “Plenty of rest, and perhaps a bowl of beef broth — that should do it. That will set you up for the theatre tonight, and then the rout at Melbury House, and perhaps the ball at Berkeley Square — everything to be in gold, so I hear, and one of the royal dukes will be there.”

  Connie sighed inwardly, and drank her coffee.

  Gradually, the house emptied and grew quiet. There was still no sign of the gentlemen, but Connie was not sorry for it. She could not quite determine her own feelings for either of them to her own satisfaction, and so she chose not to think about them at all. She spent a pleasant hour with Annie, sorting through gowns and bonnets, finding a tear here or a wrongly placed ribbon there. Then she wrote a very full letter to Dulcie, and a rather shorter one to Mama. After that, she settled down to dismantle a bonnet that she was not quite pleased with, refashioning it with different trimming to match a new gown, and then changing her mind and starting over.

  She was thus engrossed when she became aware of someone else in the room. Turning, she saw Lord Reginald idly sifting through the pile of newspapers and journals on a table.

  “Oh — good morning, my lord.”

  Lifting his head abruptly, he said, “I did not see you there, Miss Allamont. Good morning.”

  His tone was so stiff and cold that she cried out, “Pray what have I done to offend you!”

  “Why, not the least thing in the world,” he said in surprise, and now that he was fully facing her, she saw that he had a long gash over one eye, and a bruise around the other.

  “Oh, whatever happened to you?” She jumped up and ran towards him, but to her consternation he jumped backwards, as if to evade her. She stopped. “Were you set upon by footpads?”

  That earned her a lop-sided smile. “No such thing, I assure you. Just… a little boxing, that is all.”

  “Boxing? For sport? But why did you allow your opponent to hurt you so? It must give you great pain.”

  A slightly broader smile. “My pride is injured more than my face, Miss Allamont.”

  “Will you not let me attend to it for you? A little raw steak—”

  “No, no, you must not trouble yourself. I shall do very well, I assure you.” Again he backed away, leaving Connie quite bemused.

  Just then, the door opened and the Marquess strode in, his gaze sweeping over the two of them. “You here!” he said in stentorian tones to Lord Reginald, for all the world as if he were a stranger, and not his own brother who had every r
ight to be there.

  “Yes, yes, I am going,” Lord Reginald said crossly, hands raised in mock surrender.

  The Marquess held the door open for him, his brother sauntered out, and the Marquess shut the door again rather more forcefully than Connie thought strictly necessary.

  “There, that is far better,” he said in satisfaction.

  “You cannot expect me to agree with you, my lord,” Connie said indignantly. “Do you have no sympathy for Lord Reginald, who has been grievously injured by some wicked person?”

  To her astonishment, the Marquess laughed. “Oh, very wicked, Miss Connie. You have a tender heart, but do not waste your compassion on my worthless brother. He deserved every bruise, and more.”

  “Worthless? You forget yourself, sir! The man you describe as your worthless brother is my future husband.”

  But he just laughed all the more. “Nonsense! Let us have no more of this tomfoolery. Your betrothal is all a sham, and we shall hear no more of it, if you please. You are not to marry Reggie—”

  “But—”

  “—because you are going to marry me.”

  16: A Glass of Brandy

  Connie’s head was spinning. What could he possibly mean? “But what about Jess?”

  “Oh, Jess and I — that is all a sham, too. You see, I wanted to be absolutely sure before committing myself. There was a young lady—” He threw himself into a chair, legs stretched out. “Well, that was a few years ago, but it has made me excessively cautious. I needed to be certain that you would do before rushing to the altar, do you see? This way, I could get to know you, and watch how you went on in company and at Drummoor and so forth, without any awkwardness.”