Connie (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 3)

by Mary Kingswood

  His expression became thoughtful. “Honesty, eh? Honourable — of course, honourable, or so I should hope. But his aim only to please? That is asking a great deal, Miss Connie. A man, particularly a man of some standing in society, may surely have some expectation that others would wish to please him, do you not agree?”

  “Oh, certainly. Everyone of breeding should aspire to the same ideal, but in a gentleman, perhaps something more may be expected, by the unequal nature of the sexes. A man must always have power over a woman, my lord. He may order her life as he chooses, and therefore it is imperative that he treat her kindly, otherwise her life would be quite miserable.”

  Now she was thinking of her father, and his strict regime that had kept his daughters in subjection and, if she were honest, not a little fear. She fell into abstraction, reflecting on her narrow escape from matrimony with Mr Ambleside. She had so nearly stumbled from the clutches of one autocratic man to another, and although Amy was happy to have her life ordered for her, and all decisions made by her husband, Connie hoped for something more equal for herself.

  She looked at the Marquess, aristocratic hauteur infusing even his dance steps, and wondered. It would be as well, she told herself, not to be fooled by his pleasant manner. She would need him made very docile by love before she could consider him as a husband. And then she thought again of the younger brother, less handsome, but charmingly eager to please, and wondered.

  7: An Invitation

  Two days later, Connie and Belle went to stay at Willowbye to oversee the beginnings of the decoration phase, now that most of the building work had been completed. Lady Sara had gone on one of her mysterious journeys again, although where she was going and what she planned to do there she would not say.

  This created a dilemma in Connie’s mind, for it would not be possible to take their usual chaperon for outings, Miss Bellows, their former governess.

  “Miss Bellows must stay here with Dulcie, Grace and Hope,” Connie said fretfully. “Is it quite proper for us to stay at Willowbye without her, do you think? I know you and Mr Burford are as good as married, but even so…”

  Belle laughed. “Oh, we shall be thoroughly chaperoned, sister, for Cousin Vivienne is still in residence at Willowbye.”

  “Oh. She has not moved into the Dower House yet?”

  “No, and still refuses to do so. It is beneath her dignity, apparently.”

  Connie gasped in outrage. “That is monstrous! The house is yours — well, Mr Burford’s at present, but the lease is signed and everything legal, is it not?”

  “And the rent paid for a full year in advance, so that Cousin Henry may defray the cost of repairs to the Dower House. He very kindly stays on too and tries to stop his wife interfering, but I fear we shall have to be hard-hearted soon and ask them to leave.”

  “Indeed you must! There cannot be two mistresses in one house.”

  “Quite so,” said Belle.

  Their arrival at Willowbye was rather different from Connie’s previous visit, when only Mr Burford and Cousin Henry had emerged to greet them. The two men were both there again, loitering timidly in the doorway, while the steps in front of them were occupied by Cousin Vivienne, Mary, and James’s young wife, Alice. A whole troop of footmen and grooms also appeared to hand the visitors out of their carriage, unload their boxes and take care of the horses. These were augmented by the butler and housekeeper, issuing terse instructions.

  “How very pleasant this is,” Belle said, stepping forward to greet the ladies and shake hands with Cousin Henry. “Such a reception! We could not have expected it.”

  “Do come in,” Cousin Vivienne said, for all the world as if she were the mistress of the house.

  Belle made no response, instead placing her hand on Burford’s arm with a warm smile that he answered with one of his own. For an instant, Connie felt a pang of some emotion that was not quite jealousy, but rather a wish that she too had a man who looked at her in just that way. As Ambleside looked at Amy, too. The sooner she could make the Marquess fall in love with her, the better. Or Lord Reginald, perhaps. But the moment passed, and they all proceeded into the great hall. The boxes of books had been cleared away, and the walls were plastered but still unpainted.

  Several maids in neat uniforms waited to relieve them of coats and bonnets and gloves. Amongst them was an older woman with a severe face, her clothes well-cut but plain.

  “Ah, Beecham,” Belle said. “You have arrived safely, I see. Are you settling in well?”

  “Very well, thank you, madam.”

  “Connie, Beecham is the lady’s maid I have engaged. You will not mind attending my sister during her stay, Beecham? We shall be sharing the rose bedroom in the new wing.”

  “It would be a pleasure, madam, but I believe it is to be a different room.”

  “I have chosen the green room for you, Belle,” Cousin Vivienne said. “It is a more convenient location, and I have arranged the room personally with every comfort.”

  “Thank you, cousin, that was very thoughtful,” Belle said smoothly. “However, I believe we will keep to the original plan. The green room is likely to be chilly in this east wind. Phillips, will you prepare the rose bedroom.”

  “It is already done, madam,” said the housekeeper. “You will not find any deficiency.”

  “You disobeyed my orders!” Cousin Vivienne said, her face darkening.

  “Not at all, madam. I thought it best to prepare both rooms, just in case.”

  Cousin Vivienne would have said something more, but Belle said in her quiet way, “I am delighted to be met with such attentions from both of you. I am sure my sister and I will enjoy our stay immensely, with such unparallelled devotion to our comfort. Come, Connie, let me show you to our room. You will want to refresh yourself after the journey, and then Mr Burford will show us all that has been done to the house since we were last here.”

  Connie meekly followed her sister through twisting corridors and up a flight of stairs. The various parts of the house had seemingly been added on in a higgledy-piggledy fashion, so there were oddly-shaped doors, mismatched windows and changes of level as they moved from one wing to another. Connie wondered if she would ever be able to find her way about.

  “You have remembered the way remarkably well, sister,” she said, as they ducked under a low beam, and went through a narrow door into yet another part of the house.

  Belle laughed. “I asked Mr Burford to draw me a plan, so that I might not get lost, for I cannot always be calling on Mary or Cousin Vivienne or one of the servants to show me the way. Here we are. If I have it correctly, this is the rose bedroom.”

  It was as different as could be imagined from Connie’s room at Allamont Hall, with its high ceiling, pale walls and light, elegant furniture. Here, dark wood covered the walls completely, and heavy, old-fashioned furnishings stood, solid and sturdy as oxen, in the corners. The massive bed with its maroon velvet drapes was set almost in the middle of the room. Only the deep pink of the ceiling suggested the most tenuous of connections to the name of the room. But a fire burned brightly, there were pressed flowers in frames on the walls and large casement windows revealed a pleasant view over the gardens, with trees and farmland beyond.

  The rest of the day passed in a whirl of discussions with the man engaged to oversee the renovations, to explain Connie’s ideas for the principal rooms, and to discuss the possibilities for the great hall and some of the bedrooms. Then there was an hour of efficient ministrations by Beecham, who rendered Connie’s hair in a new and wonderfully fashionable way. She found herself peeking into every mirror they passed on their way to the dining room, just to reassure herself that this stylish creature really existed.

  Dinner was fashionably late, and was rather a large affair, for in addition to Cousins Henry and Vivienne, they were joined by Mary, James and Alice, as well as Alice’s parents, Mr and Mrs Whittle. It was odd company indeed, and all the odder because Henry and Vivienne took their places at the head an
d foot of the table, exactly as if they were still master and mistress. Cousin Henry looked uncomfortable about it, but Vivienne played the role of gracious hostess with perfect composure.

  When they retired to their room that night, Connie burst out, “Oh, Belle, how can you stand it! That woman treats you abominably. I could scarce hold my tongue.”

  “I hope you will do so, however,” Belle said seriously. “I am sorry to say such a thing of a relative, but Cousin Vivienne delights in being vexatious, and much of her pleasure comes from discomposing one or other of us, or setting the servants wrong. She will order the servants about as though they are her own, without reference to Mr Burford’s wishes in the matter. And he does not quite like to countermand her.”

  Connie said nothing, for it was not her place to criticise, but she could not help considering whether the virtues of amiability and malleability in a husband might not be outweighed by a little more firmness in the matter of dealing with troublesome relatives. Amy’s husband was a little too domineering, but perhaps Belle’s was a little too lacking in forthrightness. It was very difficult.

  “But there we are,” Belle went on, heaving a sigh. “None of us have a say in the family we happen to be born into. And sometimes,” she added, half to herself, “we think we have dealt quite successfully with a particularly troublesome individual, and there he is again, quite unwilling to vanish, as one might like.”

  “You are thinking of Jack Barnett,” Connie said.

  “Indeed I am. I will not deny, his appearance at the Assembly Rooms was most unsettling.”

  “It removed all the pleasure from the occasion,” Connie said heatedly.

  Belle smiled at her vehemence. “Not quite all, I hope. There must surely be compensations to someone who finds herself courted by two members of the nobility.”

  Connie flushed uncomfortably. “You mean, I suppose, the Marquess of Carrbridge and Lord Reginald, but you are quite mistaken, sister. They have both been very amiable, but I do not presume to regard their behaviour as courtship. They have shown no evidence of any attachment stronger than the friendship arising as a natural result of Amy’s intimacy with Lady Harriet.”

  “And what of you, Connie?” Belle said with an affectionate smile. “Either of them would be quite a conquest, and you are on the easiest of terms with both. A little attachment would be quite natural.”

  “Oh… well, I am not sure…” Connie lowered her head bashfully. “I do like them, I must confess. A little tendre, perhaps. The Marquess in particular — so handsome! And his brother is very amiable, too. If one of them should fall in love with me, then I should be quite happy… although I do not wish to rush into it, you know. There are a great many gentlemen in the world, and I should like to look around me a little before tumbling into matrimony. I was too hasty with Mr Ambleside, but now that I have realised my mistake, it will be better to take my time.”

  “I heartily approve of that,” Belle said, adding gently, “And perhaps you should be especially cautious with the Marquess, since it seems to me unlikely that he would consider marrying anyone without a title. Nor is he in need of your fortune.”

  “Mr Drummond said the estate may be en… en…”

  “Encumbered? Even so, he will look for a wife from his own rank, and very likely his brother will too. I should not like you to be disappointed.”

  “I understand you, and I shall try very hard not to be in love with either of them if I can possibly help it,” Connie said, laughing.

  Belle laughed too. “I am pleased to hear it. In which case, perhaps you would like to come to London with us in the spring? We are to take a house with the Amblesides, and it needs only Mama’s approval to invite you, if you should wish to go. If you were on the point of a betrothal, of course, you would not want to be away from home, but otherwise, think how delightful it would be!”

  Connie agreed with this sentiment so whole-heartedly that she cried with joy for an hour at least, and even when she was finally persuaded to climb into the vast bed and the curtains were drawn, she could think of nothing else. Oh, the balls and parties and routs and entertainments that awaited her! And somewhere in London she was sure to meet the perfect man, handsome and charming and strong, full of adoration for her, and richer even than Ambleside or Burford.

  ~~~~~

  This happy plan fell to pieces within an hour of Connie’s return to Allamont Hall. Lady Sara had just that day returned from wherever it was that she had been to, but the visit had not mellowed her quite enough.

  “Go to London? What nonsense is this?” Lady Sara said in her sternest tones.

  “Amy and Belle are to go, Mama, and they have very kindly offered to take me with them. Just think how much my prospects will improve in London society! It is everything of the most delightful, and I would so much like to go. May I, Mama? Please may I?”

  “Connie, your prospects, as you put it, could hardly be improved upon. You have two sons of a Marquess dancing attendance upon you, and at the last two assemblies you were never without a partner. You will have an offer very soon, I am certain of it. There is no need to go to London.”

  “But I may get a better offer in London, Mama,” Connie said.

  Her mother looked at her quizzically. “One offer is much the same as another, Connie. One man is much the same as another.”

  “Oh no, surely not!”

  “Indeed it is true. Just because your sisters fancy themselves in love is no reason for you to make the same mistake. Love is a poor guide to happiness, and I hope you would never refuse a sensible offer for some foolish romantic notion. A respectable gentleman with a good income — that is all that is required, and you can find that here just as easily as in London. Indeed, the distractions of London are like to bring you home still single. Concentrate on the Marquess and his brother, or, since that is aiming a little high, one of those two young men from High Frickham. They are both very keen, and you may have your pick of them, you know, if you feel you must have a choice.”

  This was no consolation to Connie, who could not tell one from the other. She wept until her eyes were red, and pleaded until her throat was sore, but to no avail. Lady Sara was implacable.

  Dulcie was almost as distressed by this refusal as Connie herself, for if there was anything almost as glorious as a season in London, it was her dearest sister enjoying such pleasure in her stead. The two retired to their bedroom at night to weep in each other’s arms until they slept in sheer exhaustion.

  The lassitude and headache brought on by this despair kept them at home for several days until one morning brought the Marquess and Lord Reginald to call, bearing flowers from their great-aunt’s hot-houses.

  “We missed you yesterday, for you always call on Great-aunt Augusta, you know,” Lord Reginald said. “So we made enquiries and discovered the dreadful news — that Miss Constance is indisposed, and Miss Dulcie stays home to take care of her. But look — we have brought you a few blooms to cheer you up. There! That smile is more like yourself.”

  “You are too kind, my lord. I thank you — both of you — for your concern for my welfare. I am not ill, truly, but… well, I was at Willowbye and perhaps I over-exerted myself.”

  “Ah, yes, that would do it, for you are so generous, Miss Constance. Really, you should think of yourself more, for we cannot have you suffer any malady as a result of your efforts for others. But perhaps a short walk in the garden would do you some good? It is mild today, and that dreadful wind has finally blown itself out. I almost feel we are in spring at last.”

  Connie and Dulcie dutifully fetched cloaks and bonnets, and showed the two lords the way to the garden door. Such attention cheered Connie immensely, especially as Grace and Hope had gone to the village and they could stroll about the paths as two pairs, in a manner that was most comfortable. Connie was moved to explain to Lord Reginald, on whose arm her hand presently rested, the whole sorry tale of her raised hopes, Mama’s intransigence and the consequent lowering of her spiri
ts.

  “Good Lord, Miss Constance, no wonder you are out of sorts, after such a disappointment! London is of all things the most charming place to be, and I should be upset myself to be deprived of the pleasure of the season. Indeed, we were, only last year, for dear Mama died at last, poor soul, and we were kicking our heels at home for the whole season and very dull it was too. So you have all my sympathy. Hey, Dev! Did you hear? Miss Constance has been invited to London for the season, but her Mama will not hear of it.”

  And in the discussion of the invitation and refusal, and a general milling about, somehow Connie ended up on the Marquess’s arm instead. He was just as full of indignation on her behalf, beguiling her with many little tales of the eccentricities of the London season and the pitfalls for the unwary, which made her rather glad she had been spared the ordeals of Court presentation and Almacks and the very modish, but critical, residents of the capital. In this pleasant way, they had walked round half the garden without Connie much noticing her surroundings. She was not a fast walker, however, so gradually Lord Reginald and Dulcie had drawn ahead and disappeared from view.

  Connie became aware that she was now quite alone with the Marquess. If she were ever to inspire love in him, she must seize the moment. Poetry had not answered, but there was still Amy’s romantic suggestion of flowers. What could be more apt, since Lord Reginald had brought hot-house flowers, for the Marquess to find her some wild flowers?

  Consequently, she looked about her for any signs of early blooms. She was not much of an expert on garden plants, and the shrubs around her bore no more than buds as yet. But surely there must be something flowering, even so early in the year?

  They had climbed up from the lake and entered the old shrubbery, where bushes as high as trees towered over them and beyond the path lay a tangle of dried stalks, brambles and odd shoots of green. But then, through the undergrowth, she caught a flash of something yellow.