Dulcie (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 4)

by Kingswood, Mary

  For the first time a shadow crossed Max’s face. “We have not, naturally, talked quite so openly about… about love and so forth. It would be premature. I must go to Glenbrindle to apprise my father — to apprise the Earl — of the matter of my birth. Only then shall I be free to follow my heart, and speak to Mary. I do not believe she will reject me.”

  Alex considered that. He was not quite so sanguine of the outcome, for Mary had seemed quite determined at one time to drive Max away, despite the eligibility of his suit. Even though she now treated him more kindly, that was no guarantee of a happy outcome. A woman who had reached the age of six and twenty and yet remained unwed might not have lacked for suitors. It may be that she preferred a single life. He contented himself with saying, “Has she been tolerably encouraging, would you say?”

  Max looked at him over the rim of his glass. “I understand you perfectly, Alex. She was spitting fire at me only a few days ago, and may not have changed her opinion of me merely because I galloped about the countryside to find her horse. I hope she thinks better of me, but I do not depend on it, and certainly she does not love me so well as I love her. Nevertheless, I believe she will accept me, and if she will not, I shall do my damnedest to change her mind.”

  “Then I wish you good fortune, my friend, for she is a far more worthy prize than some of the bird-brained chits you have chased after in the past. And I wish you good fortune at Glenbrindle, too, for your news must distress the Earl greatly, I fear. When do you plan to start your journey?”

  “On Monday. That should give me time to reach Scotland before the next Sabbath even if the roads are bad, for there is nothing worse than a day spent cooling one’s heels at an inn.” He sipped his brandy, then said carefully, “Have you any message for Isobel?”

  “Indeed. Pray tell her that I wish her joy. Allanshaw is a splendid fellow, who will make her an admirable husband.”

  “Ah. So you know, then.”

  “She was so good as to write to tell me of her betrothal. You may tell her also that I have burnt her letters. She may burn mine, if she has not already done so.”

  “You are remarkably calm, Alex,” Max said. “I had imagined you would be dreadfully cut up to lose Isobel.”

  “I was, once,” Alex said quietly. “But she was lost to me long ago, when Father died. There has been more than enough time for me to come to terms with it.”

  Yet if he had accepted the impossibility of marrying one young lady, he had still to learn not to yearn for another. Isobel’s grey eyes might have receded into the past, but they had been replaced by the most enticing brown eyes set in a heart-shaped face of unbearable loveliness. What a fool he was.

  12: Washing Day

  Dulcie told herself that she was very glad to be back in her silks and muslins, wearing soft kid boots that were not coated in mud. Connie put curling papers in her hair each evening, and the maid concocted a fetching arrangement with ribbons each morning. But when she examined her reflection in the mirror, the solemn face that peered back at her was almost unrecognisable.

  “My complexion is grown so brown,” she lamented to Connie. “How strange I look! It would not be in the least surprising if none of my acquaintance know me.”

  “Nonsense,” Connie said, laughing at her. “You refine too much upon it. You have been in the sun a great deal, so it is not at all to be wondered at that your skin has become a little darker. You look very well. It is better to have too much colour than none at all.”

  Her first evening at the Hall was exceedingly odd, for she grew hungry several hours before the hour for dinner. “Why do we eat so late?” she grumbled to Connie. “It is much more comfortable, I declare, to dine early, for then one may have a light supper later, and think how pleasant a meal that is to end the day.”

  Connie only smiled. “You have grown quite used to cottage hours, sister dear. But that is all behind you now.”

  That gave Dulcie a twist of disappointment. She would never again have to milk a goat, or remember to shut the chickens into the coop, or baste the meat to prevent it from drying out, and for some unfathomable reason this upset her. It was foolish, of course, but she had been happy at the schoolhouse. Not that she was unhappy at home, naturally, for how could that be? But there was a rhythm to life at the cottage that was very pleasing. It was not unlike the routine of the schoolroom when she and her sisters had been compelled to follow their father’s strict regime — a task for every hour of the day, which must be performed correctly. She had always striven to do well, to please her father, but at the cottage her efforts were more practically directed towards ensuring there was food on the table, and keeping the animals safe and well. More than anything, she had tried not to give Polly any reason to despise her. It was entertaining to recollect how powerful a motivator Polly had been.

  Eventually, the dinner hour arrived, but by then Dulcie found herself not very hungry, or perhaps it was the array of elaborately dressed dishes that lacked appeal. She thought longingly of boiled chicken, with Mr Drummond’s potatoes, of a variety he had brought with him from Scotland, which were wonderfully flavoursome. She dutifully tried every dish that came within reach, but nothing appealed. Nor was the conversation very lively, for it was mostly concerned with Connie’s wedding clothes and her new carriage, already being made, and what jewels might be bestowed on her from the Marford family coffers. None of this was uninteresting, but it saddened Dulcie to think about Connie, her closest friend since childhood, leaving her.

  The gentlemen were not long in joining the ladies after dinner, and Lady Sara retired shortly afterwards, so the conversation immediately became easier. Lord Kilbraith’s attention was on Mary, and Dulcie played a desultory game of backgammon with herself, but amongst the rest of the party, the talk turned to the forthcoming wedding of Connie and the Marquess, and the preparations for their tour of Italy afterwards.

  “Lady Harriet is to accompany us, so that I may have female company,” Connie said. “And Lord Reginald will be with us, too.”

  “I wonder you do not prefer to take one of your own sisters,” Grace said. “Surely Dulcie—”

  “I asked, but Mama would not permit it,” Connie said quickly. “It is delightful that Lady Harriet will be with us, of course, but I should have liked to have taken Dulcie, too. I am so very sorry, dear.”

  “It is of no consequence,” Dulcie said, trying very hard not to mind. “So long as I may come to London in the spring?”

  But Connie’s doleful face told her the bitter truth.

  “Mama is very odd about it,” Connie said. “I should so enjoy having a debutante to launch, for what could be more fun? I should so like to chaperon you about and see if I might not find you a husband, for matchmaking must be so amusing. But Mama is immovable. She could not forbid me from going to London when I was supposedly betrothed to Lord Reginald, so perhaps we shall have to try that again.”

  “Or we could kidnap you,” the Marquess said, with a smile. “That would be fun, do you not agree, Miss Dulcie? We must have a carriage waiting at midnight, you know, and you shall creep out of the house with a cloak over your nightgown, and no one but your trusty maid will know anything about it. Then we shall hide you under a blanket on the floor of the carriage.”

  “That would be running away, I think,” Dulcie said, trying not to laugh at the idea. “And I had just as soon not run away or be kidnapped, if you please. It sounds an uncomfortable business. I am sorry I may not go, but no doubt Mama has her reasons.”

  “I do not know what her reasons are for anything she does,” Connie said. “All these visits to Shropshire, for instance, and what she finds to do there I cannot guess.”

  “Where does she go to in Shropshire?” the Marquess said. “For I shall be there soon with Drummond, and Burford and his lady leave on Monday, I believe.”

  “We do not know,” Grace said. “The first time she went, it was to look at Papa’s house there, which is let, but Mama thought she might have it as… wh
at did she call it?”

  “A retreat,” Connie said.

  “Indeed, a retreat, although what she is retreating from I cannot imagine,” Grace said. “But she has travelled there several times since, and will not tell us anything. It is all terribly mysterious.”

  “How deliciously intriguing,” the Marquess said. “I shall make enquiries when I am in the county.”

  “It is rather a large county,” Dulcie said, smiling at his enthusiasm. “News of the travels of one specific lady may be hard to find.”

  “But the Lady Sara Allamont cannot travel unnoticed,” Grace said. “Every inn she has stopped at will remember her name.”

  “Unless she chose to travel incognito,” the Marquess said.

  “Oh, what a delightful idea!” Connie said. “Perhaps she finds it amusing to pretend to be… oh, a governess or some such. Or she might have a secret life as a highwayman… highwaylady… is that a word?”

  “What nonsense you talk, Connie,” Hope said. “I do not like it when Mama goes away, for I am sure we have done something dreadful to make her want to leave us behind. She goes away so that we cannot plague her any more, and I cannot blame her when you say such foolish things. As if Mama would ever pretend to be anyone else, or do anything wicked! She is far too much a lady for that.”

  Dulcie thought Hope was probably right, but still she wondered why Mama went away so often, and left her maid behind.

  ~~~~~

  Sunday brought rain and an unseasonably cold wind, so both the carriage and the travelling coach were pressed into service to convey the Hall family and their guests to church. Dulcie was delighted to see Mr Drummond already in his pew when they arrived, although the absence of Jess was worrying. Even though she told herself that it would be too far for her to walk in such unpleasant weather, she could not wait to escape from the church after the service, her steps taking her straight to Mr Drummond.

  “How is Miss Drummond?” she said, too anxious to bother with the formalities. “Is she well? She has not taken a turn for the worse?”

  “Nothing of the sort, I do assure you, Miss Dulcie. She is perfectly well. She came to Matins, but I persuaded her not to attempt the Eucharist as well. And you, Miss Allamont? But I can see at once that you are in health, although I must confess that I scarcely recognised you without your apron and a kerchief around your head.”

  She smiled a little at his gentle joke, but would not be distracted. “You are too kind, sir, but my health is of no consequence. I am relieved at your report of Jess, but she must be careful not to take on too much. And is Polly managing the goat and the chickens? And what about the laundry tomorrow? Are you dining with us tonight? And you are going into Shropshire with Lord Carrbridge — what will Miss Drummond do without you?”

  He laughed out loud. “Miss Dulcie, you are the kindest soul, to worry so much about us. Polly and I are managing everything perfectly well between us, and Jess does a little too, and stops me from making too many mistakes with the cooking. Jess and I will dine quietly at home tonight, for she is not yet up to company. As for my travelling, Lord Carrbridge has very kindly arranged for someone from the village to help out.”

  “Has he indeed? Oh. Well, that is kind of him.”

  “The laundry — hmm, if I am completely honest, Miss Dulcie, I am rather hoping that this rain continues for another day or two. I do not believe I shall enjoy dealing with dripping sheets. No matter how many times I tell myself that if Miss Dulcie Allamont of Allamont Hall is not too grand to scrub undergarments, then Mr Drummond of Lower Brinford Schoolhouse can certainly stoop to such chores, I am not yet convinced of it.”

  She laughed at his woebegone expression. “In that case, let us hope for wet weather, Mr Drummond.”

  But when she woke the next morning, the rain had cleared and only a few puffs of cloud marred the blue perfection of the sky. She could think of nothing but Mr Drummond waking to the same sight, his heart sinking, and then spending hours with sudsy hands and wet clothes. For her own part, she had rather enjoyed washing days. There was a satisfaction to be had in lines of sheets and gowns snapping in the wind as they dried, and later the neatly-folded, sweet-smelling piles of clean linen.

  No sooner had these thoughts entered her head than she knew what she would do to rescue poor Mr Drummond from his fate. She crept out of bed, trying not to disturb the sleeping form of Connie, and quickly dressed in her oldest clothes. The gown was still stained with spots of blood from the time the fox had got amongst the chickens, but it would do well enough for the purpose. She could not disappear without a word, so she dashed along the landing to the schoolroom, scribbled a hasty note to Connie and left it propped on the dressing table.

  The front door was still locked and bolted, the chains too heavy for her to attempt, so she slipped out of the garden door, already open for the servants to come and go. The lawn was damp with dew, a state which would have dismayed her only a month ago, but now she strode uncaring across it, through the small gate in the wall and into the woods. The air was delightfully cool and fresh, the humid weather of earlier in the month quite gone. How delightful it was to be up so early, hearing the birds calling and, far away, the faint clang of a hammer as another early riser got to work before breakfast. But then most of the world rose with the dawn and worked all the hours of daylight. Only the nobility and gentry could afford to be idle. That made her feel uncomfortably guilty for so many years when she had taken the work of others for granted. No longer! Now at least she understood the trials of the labouring class a little better.

  As she emerged from the woods and made her way down the lane to the schoolhouse, she noticed the first blackberries, plump and juicy, ready to be picked, and made a note to return with a basket later in the day. Ahead of her, a cockerel crowed. Good! Polly had remembered to release the chickens.

  As Dulcie pushed open the front door of the cottage, a cloud of steam wrapped itself damply around her. The kitchen was even hotter and steamier, with numerous kettles and pots boiling away with water for the washing tub. Finding no one around, she went straight out to the yard. Jess was far down the garden, feeding the chickens, and from the creamery came Polly’s voice, “No, no, no, not like that!” followed by her raucous laughter.

  She followed the sound, to find Polly and and an aproned Mr Drummond, surrounded by mounds of linen, struggling with the dolly, or rather, Mr Drummond was struggling, while Polly was too consumed by laughter to help.

  “Polly, whatever are you about?” Dulcie exclaimed, pulling at the strings of her bonnet. “The water is boiling away to nothing on the range, and the whole house filled with steam. Mr Drummond, I will take that apron from you, if you please. Polly, find me something for my hair, and then see to the hot water.”

  As Polly whisked away with a huff of annoyance, Mr Drummond smiled ruefully. “You arrive just in time, Miss Allamont. Another moment, and I fear my humiliation would be so complete that Polly would never again look at me without laughing.”

  “Since I am already in that position, I had better take over at once. Will you not take off that apron, Mr Drummond?”

  He hesitated, then said quietly, “You have done so much for us already. I have no wish to avoid the work, and your own humility is an example to me. I cannot sit idly by while you act the washer-woman.”

  “There is no need to sit. You might help Jess with the chickens, if you are minded to be busy, or watch the porridge. But I rather enjoy the laundry, if truth be told, Polly’s taunts excluded. So let me have your apron, and you may go and be useful elsewhere.”

  “I think not. There is no reason on earth why I should not do my share. With three of us, the work should go more quickly.”

  “No room for three in here,” Polly said, grinning, as she returned with a kerchief for Dulcie. “Tell you what, you two can do the washing and I’ll stir the porridge.”

  “Very well,” Mr Drummond said before Dulcie could protest. “Let us do that.”

  Polly c
ackled with laughter.

  ~~~~~

  Alex enjoyed the day a great deal more than he should have. He got soaked through, naturally, but so did Dulcie and somehow it did not matter in the least. He scrubbed and beat and pummelled and sloshed things about under her instruction, then they did the wringing out together, and the laying out to dry, and it was all wonderful fun. He could not remember a time when he had been so unashamedly happy in such a menial task since he was a boy. Mucking out the stables, perhaps, or the time one of the fish ponds had drained and all the children had waded in barefoot to tread down the new clay lining.

  The whole time, he had the delight of her smiling face beside him, pink from the exertion and steam, but, to his mind, just as beautiful as ever. There was an ease between them such as he had never known before, not even with Isobel, and he knew beyond all doubt that his heart was entirely lost. How had it happened, this overwhelming love he felt for her? He had scarcely noticed her before the day they had quarrelled over Jess, and then she had engendered in him nothing but contempt. But her stubbornness, her determination not to give in and the brave way she had accepted every insult and overcome every difficulty had won his admiration. It had been grudgingly given, at first, and there had been setbacks, but every day had drawn them a little closer to each other.

  No, he had to be honest with himself. It was all on his side. There was nothing at all in her manner towards him to suggest an attachment, or any feeling beyond the common friendship of two people thrown rather reluctantly together. That was just as well, for he could never, ever speak. She was as far above him as a duchess.

  When the washing was done, and everything set ready for dinner, Dulcie and Polly set off with baskets to collect blackberries from the lane. He and Jess sat outside in the cooler air of the yard, she with some sewing, while he pretended to read a book. Every once in a while she would look up from her work, glance across at him and laugh quietly, before turning her attention back to her needle.