Connie (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 3)

by Mary Kingswood

  Mr Merton paused, the plate he was about to offer to Mary suspended in mid-air. “I heard that rumour, too, to my great surprise. Do you say that it is untrue, or is it a matter best left unsaid?”

  Cousin Henry seemed on the point of apoplexy, so Mary said, “There is a distant relationship, but not of a kind we would wish to acknowledge.”

  “Ah.” His eyes glittered with interest as he digested this information. “In that case, the persons in question were ill-advised to come here at all. They know no one, and the daughter has not danced a step. She is a pitiable sight! I had considered asking for her hand myself, if no other partner offered, as an act of charity. However, I shall not do so now, out of respect for the feelings of those I have the good fortune to consider friends.”

  “Your sensibility does you the greatest credit, sir,” Mary said warmly. “I applaud you for your compassion. Yet I fear that not everyone will share your delicacy. Where there is money, there will always be those willing to overcome their scruples as to rank and circumstance. The Barnetts will add to their acquaintance soon enough.”

  “For myself, I cannot express my distaste for such ambition strongly enough,” Merton said. “Where is the respect for rank if everyone with a little money to his name is to be allowed to ape his betters and walk about as if he is as good as the next man? There is more to being a gentleman than having an independent income — a man’s breeding shows in every word he speaks, in his manner of dress, in his treatment of others and his knowledge of the world. One cannot disguise one’s true rank.”

  “You think it reprehensible in a man to have the ambition to rise?” Cousin Henry said. “Surely you approve of some flexibility in our stratified society.”

  Merton gave a little bow. “Your point is well made, sir, and naturally there must be some who rise and others who fall. But even so, there must be limits or society would crumble. One cannot dress the ploughman in fine clothes and pretend he is the equal of a duke, nor can the duke ever be other than noble, even if he were ploughing a field. Breeding is innate, and can be neither disguised nor feigned.”

  “That is too deep for me,” the Marquess said cheerfully. “But then I am only a marquess, not a duke. Miss Constance, I hear the musicians warming up again. Shall I return you to your mama?”

  As Connie rose and took his arm, Mary leaned forward intently to continue the discussion.

  “Mr Merton is a deep thinker,” Connie said as they descended the steps from the supper room. “I do not understand a quarter of anything he says.”

  “Merton likes to think he is clever,” the Marquess said. “As far as ambition is concerned, I should think he speaks with some authority. He has certainly beguiled Sir Osborne Hardy, or so my great-aunt says. Ah, here is Lady Sara. Thank you for the pleasure of your company, Miss Constance.”

  He bowed, and almost before she had made her curtsy he was gone. She was not unhappy with her progress, however. So long as he lingered in the neighbourhood, more opportunities would arise where he just might happen to fall in love with her. She passed the rest of the evening with very favourable thoughts of the Marquess. With every meeting she became more convinced that they would suit each other admirably.

  ~~~~~

  The furore over Jack Barnett, his mother and sister did not die down quickly. All the Allamonts’ friends were scandalised. It was not the mere fact that the late Mr William Allamont had had a mistress and several illegitimate children that offended, for such happenings were all too common. Rather, it was the ostentatious public display that so affronted sensibilities. Mistresses and their children were expected to understand their place in the world and keep out of the sight of respectable people.

  Connie was surprised to discover, however, that the existence of this particular mistress had been widely known for years. The absurd pretence of the home for foundling children, Mr Allamont’s supposed charitable establishment, had not deceived anyone, apart from his own children. But there was not much to be done about it. The prospect of meeting the Barnetts in public was a distressing one, but if they were determined to enter society now that they could afford it, they could not be deterred.

  About the other scandalous development, the return of Cousin Vivienne, there was also very little to be done. Cousin Henry had never taken the final step of official separation or divorce, and so she was as much his wife as she ever was.

  “He is very upset about it, as you may imagine,” Belle told her sisters after a visit to Willowbye. “She is determined to stay and make a nuisance of herself. She will not move into the Dower House, either, and neither Cousin Henry nor Mr Burford seems able to force her to do so. But I can, so Mr Burford and I will be married just as soon as the banns can be read.”

  “How is it that you can persuade her to move out, if her husband cannot?” Hope said, eyes wide.

  “Because I shall be mistress of the house, the servants will answer to me and Cousin Vivienne must give way.” She paused, her mouth set into a determined line. “And if she still will not go, I shall have all her things packed up and forcibly removed. Willowbye is mine, and she will just have to get used to that.”

  But Connie thought it sounded like a difficult start to married life, all the same.

  6: Lord Reginald

  Connie had to wait some time for the perfect opportunity to introduce the Marquess to the pleasures of Scotch poetry. She had looked through the book herself, and not understood much of it. Scotch seemed to be a queer language, like a mangled form of English with some foreign words added in to confuse her. However, it had worked its charm on Mr Burford, so she was optimistic it would have the same effect on Lord Carrbridge.

  Her moment came one day when Amy and Ambleside were to visit, and by happy chance had brought Lady Harriet and the Marquess with them. It was not a day when other callers might be expected, so Connie had reasonable hopes of the Marquess’s undivided attention. At first, it seemed that all was going well, and she found herself sitting beside him, a little apart from the others, who were gathered around the worktable. Not wanting to waste the opportunity, she began, “You told me once that you like poetry, my lord?”

  “Indeed I do,” he said. “I find it very soporific. Like sermons.”

  “Oh.” Connie had no idea what that meant, but it sounded hopeful. “I have a book of poems that I have been trying to read, but I find the words difficult. I wonder if you would be so good as to help me understand them?”

  “No use asking me, dear lady,” he said cheerfully. “If you can make nothing of it, then I am sure I shall not do any better. Not in Greek, are they, these poems?”

  “No, no. Only in Scotch, which is much like English, only some words are difficult. Will you not have a look?”

  “Well, if you would like it. No wish to be disobliging.”

  Eagerly, she jumped up and fetched the book of poems. “There! It is very kind in you.”

  “Which poem is the troublesome one? Oh, I see what you mean, Miss Connie. These are very odd indeed. “Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, Great chieftain o' the pudding-race!” Pudding? Is the man writing a poem about a pudding?”

  He burst out laughing, which was not at all the effect she had hoped for.

  And then, the very worst thing that could have happened — the door opened and Young announced Mr and Miss Drummond.

  “The very persons we need,” the Marquess declared. “I say, Drummond, you are Scotch, are you not? And Miss Drummond, too. Will you not come over here and help us out, for these poems are too difficult for Miss Constance to understand, and I cannot help, you know.”

  “What are you reading?” Mr Drummond said, taking the book from the Marquess’s hand. “Oh, Robert Burns. Good Lord, what are you doing with this nonsense? Here, listen to this one, for it is quite my favourite.”

  He struck a pose, and recited a verse in a loud voice.

  “To A Mouse, On Turning Her Up In Her Nest With The Plough

  Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beas
tie,

  O, what a panic's in thy breastie!

  Thou need na start awa sae hasty,

  Wi' bickering brattle!

  I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee,

  Wi' murd'ring pattle!”

  He roared with laughter. “A mouse! Imagine writing a poem about a mouse! The fellow’s a fool.”

  “Alex, read the one about the louse on the bonnet,” Jess Drummond said. “That one is quite my favourite.”

  She sat herself down beside the Marquess, and the three of them spent the next hour reciting choice nonsense from the book, and laughing at the absurdity of it all.

  Connie knew there was no hope of reclaiming the Marquess’s attention, so she quietly joined the group at the worktable.

  Belle smiled at her and whispered, “Wrong poems, Connie dear. Those are amusing, but not terribly romantic.”

  Connie laughed. “No, indeed! But I do not think Lord Carrbridge really likes poetry after all. I shall have to think of a different approach. Amy, how did Mr Ambleside come to fall in love with you?”

  Amy blushed. “Oh, he said that he had been in love with me for ever, since I first came out. So I do not know what made him do so.”

  “Your sweet nature, I expect,” Belle said, smiling at her, so that she blushed even more. “But it was a long time before you were in love with him, was it not?”

  “Yes, although I always liked him very much, but I did not know I was in love with him until he so admired one of my flowers in the new shrubbery. He knelt down to hold the blossom in his hand. Flowers are so much more romantic than poems, I think.”

  “Flowers,” Connie said thoughtfully. “That has possibilities.”

  ~~~~~

  The following day brought an unexpected caller — the Marquess returned, and this time he brought one of his brothers with him. Lord Reginald Marford was three years younger than the Marquess, and had none of his brother’s aristocratic good looks, nor his flamboyant style of dress. However, he was very personable, and since he spent the entire visit in conversation with Connie, and was very cross when told it was time to leave, she decided she liked him very much.

  He was so amiable that she felt she had known him for years instead of a single half hour visit. So it was that she ventured to say, as the brothers prepared to depart, “Are you escaping from the dragons, too?”

  He roared with laughter, and bent down to whisper, “Yes, I am, but do not tell everyone how cowardly I am, to be afraid of two dowagers and a pair of elderly spinsters.”

  “Ah, but that is the most formidable kind of dragon, I believe,” she whispered back. “I do not blame you one bit.”

  He laughed again, and raised her hand to his lips. “I am quite delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Constance. I hope to see you again very soon.”

  And with that he was gone, leaving Connie in a very pleasant frame of mind.

  ~~~~~

  The Marquess and Lord Reginald rode home in silence, each brother deep in his own thoughts. When they arrived at Great-aunt Augusta’s house, they found Harriet just descending from her own carriage after a visit to Staynlaw House.

  “Reggie? Oh, it is you! Of all things, this is the most charming — quite a family reunion we have here. All is well at Drummoor, I take it?”

  “As well as you might imagine, with Grandmama and her three cronies at large in the house,” Reggie said gloomily. “There is only so much berating a man can take.”

  “What a feeble pair you are, to be afraid of a few old ladies,” Harriet said. “Is this the spirit of English heroism that won the day at Agincourt?”

  “I would a thousand times rather face the French than Grandmama on the rampage,” Reggie said indignantly. “It is all very well for you, Hatty, since she thinks the sun shines out of you, but we get the worst of it, you know.”

  “That is only because I behave myself, whereas you boys are always in some scrape or other. And what are you up to now, I wonder? One of you running to hide behind Great-aunt Augusta’s skirts I might just about accept, but two of you? No, you are up to some scheme or other, I am certain of it.”

  “I think it very shabby of you, sis, to be always suspecting us in this way,” Reggie said in aggrieved tones. “Surely Grandmama is reason enough for us to want a change of scenery?”

  “If it is the usual — that you are a pair of rapscallions, who ought to settle down with a nice heiress apiece and start breeding little lords and ladies — then I should think you know well enough how to fob her off, for you have grown very skilled in the art these past five years.”

  “Well, it is that, it is true, but this time she has the heiresses all marked out, and is planning to invite them to London. There is no escaping it this time, and you might be more sympathetic, Hatty. Our days of freedom are numbered.”

  “No, you are not convincing me, Reggie. You are up to something, the pair of you.”

  The Marquess smiled benignly at her, and said nothing.

  ~~~~~

  News arrived that Mr Wills was returning to Lower Brinford. As one of the very few eligible bachelors of the district, he had at one time been thought a possible suitor for Amy, until Mr Ambleside had dispatched the rival for her hand by the simple expedient of buying up all his debts. Thus freed from the immediate threat of penury, Mr Wills had set about fully restoring his fortune with determination. He had gone to Bath, where his fine estate and not inconsiderable person might attract a wealthy heiress or, failing that, a rich widow.

  Now Mr Wills was returning in triumph from Bath with his bride. The whole neighbourhood was wild to see the former Miss Harris of Hartlepool, sole daughter of the owner of a fishing fleet, and possessor of fifty thousand pounds. Since Hartlepool was a great distance from Bath, there was much speculation that the lady had taken herself there for a very similar purpose to Mr Wills. How fortunate, then, that they had happened to meet and, in less than a fortnight, to find themselves quite in love.

  Lady Sara and the Miss Allamonts had paid the customary wedding visit, which enabled them to determine that Mrs Wills was even stouter than her husband, with prominent teeth and an unfortunate liking for excessive amounts of lace. Before Mrs Wills could repay the courtesy with a visit to Allamont Hall, Sir Matthew and Lady Graham decided to hold one of their generous dinners to welcome the bride to the neighbourhood. Since the dining table at Graham House, when fully extended, could seat fifty guests in comfort and as many as sixty-four if they could contrive to eat without moving their elbows, the evening promised to be a lively one.

  Almost as soon as Connie entered the crowded drawing room, she saw Lord Reginald’s smiling face. He waved to her from the far side of the room, then ploughed his way in a determined manner through the crush to join her.

  “Miss Constance, how are you? Looking enchanting, as always. Is this not delightful? Such a large party, and several faces new to me. You must tell me who everyone is. Who is the gentleman in the extraordinary waistcoat over there?”

  “That, my lord, is Sir Osborne Hardy, of Brinford Manor. The lady in purple is his mother, and the lady in blue is his sister, Miss Clarissa Hardy. There is another sister lives at the Manor, but Miss Hardy is very frail now and never ventures out. The gentleman talking to Mr Ambleside is Mr Merton, Sir Osborne’s particular friend.”

  “Ah, I see. And the striking lady in the green and gold over there?”

  “That is my cousin, Mrs Henry Allamont…”

  And in this way, the time before dinner passed rapidly, Lord Reginald asking about this person or that, Connie giving names and details, her hand comfortably resting on his arm. It was only when she saw the Marquess going into dinner with Jess Drummond on his arm that she realised that she had spoken to no one but Lord Reginald. Naturally, he also sat beside her at dinner, and when the rugs were lifted in the saloon for dancing, he earnestly besought the honour of her hand.

  She liked him very well, but his attentions were quite marked, and he was distracting her from her scheme of
getting the Marquess to fall in love with her. Fortunately, propriety was her friend, preventing Lord Reginald from standing up with her again immediately. Her next partner was Mr Drummond, who flirted outrageously, as always, and then Sir Osborne, who said little, but was so attractively attired that he set Connie’s new gown off to perfection. She had no wish to become Lady Hardy, but she could not but feel that they made a most handsome couple. Then Daniel Merton claimed her, and finally, to her relief, for she had begun to fear she would not exchange a single word with him all evening, the Marquess.

  Yet his first words to her beyond the commonplace courtesies were, “So how do you like my brother, Miss Constance? Is he not charming?”

  “He is a very pleasant fellow,” she said.

  “A pleasant fellow? Is that all you have to say of him? For he is the finest brother in the world, I would have you know. He is not so handsome as I am, of course, and his style of dress is sadly plain, do you not think? Not a bit of colour about him, but he is always impeccably turned out.”

  “Oh yes,” she replied. “I will grant you that he is excessively well-dressed, but I do not judge a man’s character by the quality of his tailor and valet, my lord.”

  “By jove, no, I should think not. But his horse — now there is a far better means to determine the soundness of a man. His choice of horse, his manner of driving and perhaps how well he dances. Yes, now that I give the matter proper consideration, I believe that only the most complete gentleman will be able to excel in all those areas.”

  Connie tried not to laugh, not altogether successfully.

  “Oh, you do not agree with my assessment?” he said, not at all offended.

  “By no means.”

  “Then pray tell me, what encompasses your ideal of a gentleman?”

  Connie knew the answer to that at once, for he was presently watching the dancing with his wife. Mr Ambleside was her ideal made flesh, but she could hardly say so. After a moment’s thought, therefore, she replied, “A gentleman is defined by his manners, Lord Carrbridge, and by the way he treats others. I expect honesty and openness, and he must be everything that is honourable. If he is kind and generous and thoughtful, his aim only to please, that is a man I should think well of, whatever manner of horse he rides.”