Connie (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 3)

by Mary Kingswood

  “Ah. I see. Then you must hope she turns him down.”

  “Why should she?” he said gloomily. “He is a personable enough fellow, and would make her an admirable husband. He is tolerably certain of her attachment to him.”

  “We shall see,” she said. “But even if she accepts him, she has been known to change her mind before. Did you know that she was betrothed to Mr Ambleside for a while last year?”

  “Good God, I did not! What happened?”

  “Oh, she wisely thought better of it, and gave him over to Amy. A much better match! So do not give up all hope, my lord. And remember — a grand romantic gesture. I believe I have had enough air for the moment. Shall we go back inside?”

  Dev returned to the house in a far happier frame of mind than he had left it. To be sure, there was not much to encourage him, for his prospects had only lifted from ‘no hope’ to ‘the tiniest sliver of hope’. But it was better than nothing, and he had something to think about — what kind of grand romantic gesture might please his lovely Connie? He set himself to reconsider every conversation with her, however trivial, for some clue to her wishes.

  22: An Assembly

  Her sisters’ excitement at Connie’s return from town lasted for days, and they listened avidly to every tiny detail over and over. Their former governess, Miss Bellows, who now acted as companion and chaperon, sat quietly in a corner of whatever room they were in with her needlework, listening just as keenly. Now that she had seen a little more of the world, Connie’s heart went out to poor Miss Bellows, making her own way in the world, with no prospect of ever having her own establishment, a spinster dependent on the whims of her employers. She had no place in the world, being neither family nor servant. Yet she seemed contented enough with her vaguely-defined role, and had no wish to leave.

  Only one person displayed no interest in her tales of grand society and that was Mama. But one morning Connie was summoned to Lady Sara’s sitting room, where she found her mother trying on new caps at her dressing table.

  “Well, Connie, I am a trifle confused about your situation, for your letters were not entirely clear. You left this house betrothed to Lord Reginald Marford, but that was all false. Then Lord Carrbridge offered for you, but you turned him down. And now it appears that Lord Reginald wishes to marry you in earnest. Do I have that right?”

  “That is correct, Mama.”

  “You turned down a marquess in the hope of securing the second son?”

  “It was not quite—”

  “You are not falling into romantic nonsense, I trust?”

  “If you mean loving the man I marry, and expecting him to love me, then indeed I am, Mama. I cannot bear the idea of a marriage without love. It would be unendurable to me.”

  “Love,” Lady Sara said contemptuously. “Respect, certainly. Admiration, perhaps. But love? Love is a transient emotion, strongly felt but soon over. It is no foundation for a lifetime commitment, and no man deserves a woman’s love.”

  “Just because you are bitter at the choice you made does not mean I should not hope for something better,” Connie cried, before she could stop herself.

  Her mother set down the lacy confection she held and half turned, one arm resting on the back of the chair, to face her daughter. “What would you know of my choice?”

  Connie wished the words unsaid, but since they had been said, she was unwilling to draw back now. If only her mother would be open with her, would talk to her as one woman to another. If only they could be friends. But perhaps this was an opportunity to pierce the barrier of coldness her mother had raised.

  So she said composedly, “Very little, except what Aunt Tilly told me.”

  There was a long, long silence. Her mother stared at her, but there was neither anger nor dismay on her face. Eventually she said, “You know, Connie, I took no interest in any of you girls. You were your father’s children, in looks and in ways. He took Amy from my arms when she was a baby, my first child, taken away from me to be raised according to his own precepts, so why should I take the slightest interest in you? And you were all such silly girls, I had no time for any of you. But since you have been free of his malign influence, you have grown up. I see differences in you now, and more than once you have surprised me. I did not think you had it in you to step outside the rules your father set. But you have courage, Connie, I will grant you that. To turn away a marquess, and then to meet Tilly… What did you think of my sister?”

  “It was such a shock — like meeting you, only a different you. So strange! But I liked her very much indeed! She is quite delightful, and she seems… contented with her life now. Whatever it is. She did not explain the details.”

  Her mother laughed. “Quite right too. There is no need for you to know what goes on there. But when I say that love is not the answer, I speak from experience — my own, and Tilly’s too. We were so wild when we were young, both of us, and stepped quite beyond the bounds of propriety, but we were in love, we were swept up in the delights of love. It could not last. The man I loved rejected me, and Tilly’s was already married, so there was no hope there. Papa offered to find husbands for us, but we had to accept his choice — men who would provide the regularity so lacking in our disordered lives. I chose marriage, and here I am, a respected member of society, even if I choose not to move in the first circles. Tilly chose love, but that lasted a mere three years. Oh, she has made a life for herself since then, and she is comfortably off, but it has been a miserable time for her. We have both been miserable.”

  “Yet you would have me marry a man I do not love, and perhaps be miserable too.”

  “When you marry, child, you put yourself into the power of a man. He will have complete domination over you, and order your life however he sees fit. Whoever he is, peer of the realm or commoner, he will rule you, and it will be as much as you can manage to keep a part of yourself alive inside you, and not surrender your true self entirely. And when you discover that, as you surely will, being in love with him will make it a thousand times worse.”

  “Some marriages are happy,” Connie said lifting her chin. “Amy and Belle are happy.”

  “For now. Who knows how long that will last? You are better by far to take the first man to offer, if he is wealthy enough to support you, and I say that not in bitterness but in the hope that you can avoid the mistakes that Tilly and I made. Do not be dazzled by love!”

  It was the most revealing conversation Connie had ever had with her mama, and the intent was clear. “You think I should accept Lord Reginald, then, if he offers?”

  “Certainly, if you cannot get the Marquess. Lord Reginald may be a second son, but he has some money from his mama, and presumably his brother will support him from the estate when he is married, if his expenses exceed the income from your dowry. Or he might take a commission in the army.”

  “Is the estate worth much? For I heard it was en… encum… short of money.”

  “Encumbered?” Lady Sara laughed. “True enough, but not from debts or mismanagement. The present Marquess’s grandfather was a true eccentric, and he liked the idea of ladies living in independence. He bestowed a number of smaller estates on the family’s dowagers and spinsters and widows for their lifetimes, whereupon they immediately set out to live to be a hundred. And I seem to recall there were huge French estates at one time, which are all gone now. So the family itself is very rich, but a great deal of its income is keeping these elderly ladies in fine style, while Drummoor and its pleasure grounds go to ruination. So your dowry will be a strong inducement to either of the brothers. But do try for the Marquess if there is any chance of getting him to the point again, for to be a marchioness would be quite a triumph for you.”

  Connie no longer cared about being a marchioness, having seen how the upper ranks behaved, but she thought wistfully of a certain handsome face, and that glorious smile, and wished with all her heart that she could foresee the day when she would gaze at it every day over breakfast. But there was not t
he smallest chance of the Marquess offering again. She knew he was staying with his great-aunt, having arrived the day after his brother, but he had not once come to see her. His feelings towards her were very plain. It was Lord Reginald or no one.

  There was just one tiny shred of hope left to her — the next assembly at Brinchester. She knew Lord Reginald planned to attend, so surely the Marquess would accompany him? And then at least she could see the expression on his face, and determine once and for all if there were any affection left in him, or if she had offended him too deeply. And even if that were so, it would be some comfort to her to gaze at him.

  But when she walked into the Assembly Room, the first person she saw was Lord Reginald, loitering at the bottom of the entry stair, and he was alone. She had barely registered her disappointment at this discovery, when she saw another familiar face, and this one far less welcome. Mr Jack Barnett was grinning insolently at her, from the midst of a crowd of gentlemen of worthy townsfolk. She recognised Mr Martin from the bank, and the two brothers who owned the White Rose Hotel, and some aldermen.

  “What is he doing here?” she hissed to Lord Reginald, before he even had time to make his bow.

  “Ignore him,” Lord Reginald said. “Do not let him distress you. Come now, Miss Allamont, remember that you are a daughter of Allamont Hall. You need not concern yourself with the likes of Barnett. Take my arm and we will walk past very slowly, our heads turned to admire the dancing, so we will not see him at all. There! That was not so bad, was it? And now we are conveniently placed for the next dance. May I have the honour?”

  The evening was a strange one. When she was with Lord Reginald, Connie felt entirely at ease with him, as if nothing could trouble her. He was an excellent conversationalist and kept her well entertained, the flow of wit only faltering when they danced the quadrille and he had to concentrate on his steps. “What next?” he would say in an urgent undertone, and she would try to explain, but even so, he would go wrong more often than not.

  “Well, we brushed through it tolerably well,” he said afterwards, making Connie giggle. “However, perhaps we should reserve ourselves for the country dances in the future.”

  “But I like the quadrille,” Connie said. “It is very elegant, when correctly executed.”

  However, there were distressing moments, too, when she caught sight of Barnett. “Oh! He is dancing now! And his sister! I cannot bear to watch them. Oh!” She spun round to put her back to him. “Do you see how he grins at me! I cannot bear to look at him.”

  Lord Reginald looked about at the dancers forming up, to see the object of her exclamations. “Ah, Barnett and Miss Barnett. It does appear as if they are beginning to be accepted in Brinchester society. And he has acquired a superior tailor, I observe. That coat is almost acceptable.”

  “I… I do not wish them any harm, for their parentage is not their fault, but I should be happier if I never saw them again,” she said.

  “And perhaps, before too long, you may not need to,” he said smoothly.

  She coloured and said no more, for his meaning was plain. Before very many days had passed, he would seek a private audience with her and make his proposal formally, and she must accept him. There was no question of refusal, for she would not get a better offer. She was mindful, too, of her mother’s advice about men. It was rather lowering but she knew herself that there was some truth in it, for had she not rejected Ambleside in the end because of his overbearing character? All men were like that, to a greater or lesser extent, so it made no difference which particular man she married, did it? Lord Reginald was personable and kind, and she could not expect more.

  And she liked him, she told herself. She liked him very well, and that was close to love, was it not? She was almost certain that it was.

  ~~~~~

  “You danced the quadrille with her? Good God, Reggie, what were you thinking? I imagine you made a great mull of it.”

  “I did rather, but she did not seem to mind a bit. Connie is such a sweet, good-natured little thing, she said not a word of reproach.”

  Dev and his brother were alone at the breakfast table the following morning, Reggie having that moment stepped out of the carriage after driving home from Brinchester. Dev made no answer. He had no disagreement with Reggie’s assessment of Miss Allamont, but somehow his throat was tight and he could not form the words.

  “It was an excellent evening, all round. You should have come with me, instead of sulking here like a schoolboy,” Reggie said.

  That was too much to endure. “Sulking, indeed! I have been walking about the neighbourhood, being agreeable to the locals.” That sounded better than wandering aimlessly in the woods, and being miserable. “Paid a call on the Drummonds, too, just to make sure Miss Drummond is going on all right.” She had put a good face on it, but he thought her cheerful demeanour rather forced, and she was unnaturally pale. It was worrying. “Then I took twenty pounds off Great-aunt at the card table, which I regard as something of a triumph, for she is as sharp as a needle when there is money to be made. So I have been far better employed than I should have been watching you pay court to Miss Allamont, I assure you.” He paused, then said as casually as he could, “Going well, is it?”

  “Very well indeed. She is all amiability, and very encouraging, I must say. Mind you,” Reggie went on, “she did get in a tizzy about that Barnett fellow, and I am very much of her mind about it. Parading himself all over in that forward way, and he is getting very cosy with some of the bigwigs of the town. He is even a member of that club that we were invited to join when we first stayed here. What was it called?”

  “Lewis’s,” Dev said shortly. “These provincial clubs let anyone in. Was Miss Allamont greatly upset?”

  “She was. In quite a taking over the boy. I must say, I blame the late Mr Allamont for leaving his by-blow so much money that he can afford to pass himself off as a gentleman. It never does, that sort of thing.”

  “My understanding is that the bulk of Barnett’s fortune has come from Mr Burford, who paid the fellow off to ensure he would not pursue any claim against the Hall.”

  “Well, that was a mistake. So he takes a tidy sum from a benevolent patron, and then sets himself up to cause the most distress to his benefactors, people who have never done him the least harm.”

  “That is about the long and the short of it.”

  “No wonder poor Connie was so distraught. She said she wished she might never see any of them again.”

  “Miss Allamont,” Dev said.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Her name is Miss Allamont. You do not have the right to call her anything else. Not yet,” he added in lower tones.

  “True.” Reggie chewed his lip. “Dev, you will not interfere, will you, or cut me out? You will leave her to me?”

  “Have I not said so? Good God, whatever makes you imagine that I could cut you out. She will not have me, Reggie, and there is an end to it. I shall keep well out of your way.”

  “Thank you! You are the best of brothers! Although if you are keeping out of the way, I am not sure what you are even doing here. You could have stayed in town until the end of the season, and looked about you for someone else.”

  This was so out of line with his wishes that Dev jumped up, and paced across the room. “I do not have to account for my movements to you or anyone else,” he said testily. “But perhaps I can be useful, now that I am here. Enhance her comfort, that sort of thing. If Barnett upsets Miss Allamont, then Barnett must be dealt with.”

  “Dev, what bee have you got in your bonnet now?”

  The Marquess chuckled. “A good game, I assure you. But we shall need Humphrey and his crowd of disreputable Oxford cronies. They will not mind coming down for a few days, and I am sure the college will not miss them. Quick, let us find pen and paper and ink.”

  23: Games Of Chance

  Lewis’s club for gentlemen was not as exclusive as some of the London clubs, but it was quiet and discreet,
and pleasingly deferential towards its newest members, the Marquess and his brothers. Dev and Reggie sat in a secluded corner, hidden behind newspapers, waiting. Across the room, Lord Humphrey Marford sprawled in a wing chair, twirling a glass of claret and making himself conspicuous. He was as unlike his two older brothers as could be imagined. Where they were slim and dark-haired, Humphrey was splendidly broad-chested, with bright blue eyes and a mop of unruly blond curls. He fancied himself rather as a Corinthian, so his attire was stylishly flamboyant. Amongst the dark coats of the burghers of Brinchester, he stood out like a peacock amongst hens.

  Thanks to the willingness of one of the club’s stewards to accept a sovereign or two in exchange for information, the brothers had not long to wait. Mr Jack Barnett strolled into the room as if he owned it, smirking at the stewards and nodding in an over-familiar way to one or two of his acquaintance. He stared at Humphrey as he passed him by, and Humphrey raised a hand and said, “Good evening to you, sir!” in a jovial way, that one who did not know him well might suspect to have been affected somewhat by drink.

  Barnett murmured a greeting in return and settled himself in his usual chair. Stewards rushed forward with his regular glass of claret and a newspaper. For a few minutes, the room lapsed back into its customary quietude. Then Humphrey’s voice, loud in the stillness.

  “More of your excellent wine, steward, if you please.”

  When the decanter was brought, there was a murmur of conversation between Humphrey and the steward, after which the steward led him across to Barnett and made the introductions.

  This was the dangerous moment. There was no hiding Humphrey’s identity, and if Barnett were at all astute socially, he would remember the name Marford, and immediately connect Lord Humphrey Marford with Allamont Hall. And if he made no demur at that, there was still the matter of Humphrey’s very flimsy excuse for requesting an introduction. Dev shuddered at the thought of it — a Corinthian like Humphrey, fitted out by the finest tailors in London, pretending to admire the coat of a provincial like Barnett.