“Oh, look, my lord!” she cried. “Is that a flower, so early in the year? It must be, surely it must be! What a brave sight, after all the winter rain. I should dearly like a closer look at it, but I fear for my gown.”
He was very gallant, she had to give him that credit. He immediately plunged into the morass of brambles, to the great risk of his coat, and scrabbled about enthusiastically. But when he returned, covered in leaves and bits of twig, his face was rueful.
“I am sorry to disappoint you, Miss Constance, but you may not be so enchanted with your flowers when you see them.”
And he held out a handful of spindly yellow mushrooms.
Connie sighed a little over this second failed attempt to win the Marquess’s heart, but he seemed amused and teased her gently about it for the rest of the visit. The following day brought one of the now regular dinners at Allamont Hall, but the first to which the Marquess and his brother had been invited. And no Jess Drummond, to Connie’s great satisfaction, which ensured her a pleasant evening with nothing to distract the Marquess. It was a little disappointing that it was Lord Reginald who clung, limpet-like, to her side, but she was reassured by the Marquess’s continuing presence in the neighbourhood. Surely he would not stay unless he felt some attraction for her?
But the following day put an end to all such hopes. News came from the village that the Marquess of Carrbridge was engaged to marry Jess Drummond.
8: A Secret Betrothal
“No, no, no! This cannot be,” Dulcie exclaimed. “He is in love with Connie, I am quite sure of it.”
Belle shook her head. “I never saw any sign of love in him, not for Connie, and not for Jess Drummond, either, although he certainly paid her a great deal of attention. But they are most definitely engaged, or at least there is an understanding, for Miss Endercott had it direct from the housekeeper at the White House, who was told it by Lady Humbleforth’s maid. It was all settled between them yesterday, although it is to remain secret for the moment, because of her father’s recent death. He told his great-aunt this morning. She is not pleased, apparently.”
“I should think not!” Dulcie said. “She should disinherit him at once! That is what I should do, for being so disobliging. Who is Jess Drummond to be marrying a Marquess, I should like to know? She has not a farthing to her name, and although her family may be respectable in Scotland, she is nobody here. I never liked her, never. Did I not say there was something sly about her?”
“Poor Connie,” said Hope, wrapping her sister in a warm hug. “Now you will have to start all over again.”
“There is always Lord Reginald,” Grace said. “Would that answer, do you suppose?”
“What, and have Miss Constance Allamont of Allamont Hall give precedence to the likes of Jess Drummond?” Dulcie said hotly. “Never!”
“Well, it is done,” Belle said. “So we must all learn to curtsy to Jess Drummond now.”
Lady Harriet arrived very soon afterwards, all indignation and outrage. “I despair of Dev, truly I do,” she said, eyes sparkling with anger. “Such a fool, to be taken in by a pretty face and winning ways, when he could have had—” She glanced at Connie, but clamped her lips tightly shut.
“Connie does not want him, I am sure,” Dulcie said stoutly.
“Oh. Is that so? That is good, for I had supposed…” Again she trailed off, eyeing Connie speculatively.
“It is quite all right, my lady,” Connie said quietly. “There was no attachment on my side.” It was not quite true, and now that all possibility of the match was lost, she felt sure that the Marquess would have suited her admirably. Still, if he was so devoid of taste that he preferred Jess Drummond to herself, there was no hope for him, and she would not repine. There was still Lord Reginald, after all, and had she not liked him right from the start? Yes, upon reflection, she was sure that she had felt an attraction from the first moment she had seen him. Such a pleasant man, and so thoughtful.
“Thank goodness!” Lady Harriet said. “For I was worried… Well, no harm done, then. But still, it is not a sensible match, however one looks at it, and Great-aunt Augusta was very displeased to be woken to such news. Smelling salts were called for, I hear, and she was positively shouting at Dev, and Great-aunt never raises her voice. She whisked him away to her sitting room, and he had been closeted away with her for an hour or more when I came away. The house was in uproar, as you may imagine.”
She rattled on in like manner for some time, requiring no response, for which Connie was very thankful. Although she was quite certain that she was not broken-hearted, yet, in some way she could not quite explain, the idea of the Marquess married to someone else caused her surprising pain. She had begun to consider him as her rightful property, and that had been foolish of her, she could now see. After all, he had been drawn to Jess from the very first, and although his manner to Connie herself had been all that was charming and amiable, he had never distinguished her in any particular way. Latterly, she had spent more time with Lord Reginald, if truth be told.
She could not decide whether it was the loss of the Marquess himself that distressed her, or whether it were merely the idea of Jess Drummond stealing him from under her nose. Eventually, she settled in her own mind that it was the humiliation that hurt her the most. Even though there had been nothing between her and the Marquess, there had been speculation surrounding them. The coincidence of his arrival just at the point when she might be expected to be looking for a husband was bound to attract comment. It was a natural pairing, after all, and even Lady Harriet had wondered about it. Now that the possibility had been lost, she was exposed to the scrutiny of the world as a woman who had been… not jilted, that was too strong a term, but unsuccessful in securing him. Yes, she would be thought to have failed, indeed, she must consider herself to have failed, for had she not set out to entice him to fall in love with her? She had one comfort, that her behaviour had never been such as to court reproof.
But no matter how much she told herself that her heart was still whole, the tears were unaccountably close to the surface, and she was glad when Lady Harriet left, and she could creep away to her room and weep in earnest in Dulcie’s sympathetic arms.
The following morning brought Lady Harriet again, and Lord Reginald too. Lady Sara had taken Belle to Brinchester for fittings for her wedding clothes, and Grace and Hope had gone to the village with Miss Bellows, so only Connie and Dulcie were in the winter parlour when the visitors arrived.
“Ah, excellent,” said Lady Harriet, surveying the two of them as they bobbed their curtsies. “Dulcie, dear, I wonder if you would be so good as to leave us for a moment, for we wish to talk to Constance alone.”
Dulcie’s eyes were huge with speculation, but she hastily did as she was bid.
“Now then, dear,” Lady Harriet said, sitting down on a sofa and waving Connie to the seat beside her, “let us talk seriously about this business.”
Connie could not pretend to misunderstand her meaning, although she was not sure what remained to be said about it, since the Marquess seemed to have concluded the matter most decisively.
“Reggie and I have been considering the situation, and really, it will not do. Miss Drummond is all very well in her way, but she is hardly a suitable Marchioness of Carrbridge. We are both agreed that you would be a far more appropriate choice.”
“Surely it is a little late for that?” Connie burst out.
Lady Harriet and Lord Reginald laughed. “You may think so, but we know what Dev is like. He plans to whisk Jess off to Drummoor to present her to Grandmama and the great-aunts, and you may be sure he will receive no warmer reception than he obtained from Great-aunt Augusta. Naturally, they will point out to him all the disastrous aspects of this proposed marriage, and he will begin to waver. Now, so long as Jess is there, in sole possession of the field, so to speak, she will keep hold of him, you may be sure. However, if we can present him — and Grandmama — with a far more suitable alternative, we may be able to pri
se him out of Jess Drummond’s grasp.”
“I do not think…” Connie began, her voice tremulous. Then, taking a deep breath, she went on, “I believe the Marquess has made his choice. I do not wish to… to prise him from the woman he loves.”
“Ah, but is it love?” Lord Reginald said. “Infatuation, more like. Dev has been dazzled by this woman, but he will come to realise that he has made a dreadful mistake. All that is required of you, Miss Constance, is to be there when he begins to understand his error.”
“But I do not see—” Connie began. “Are you inviting me to Drummoor, my lady?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Lady Harriet said. “Now, if you just come for a visit, that would look too particular, as if you were chasing after him, you know, and that would never do. But Reggie and I have come up with a very clever trick. Dev and Jess are secretly betrothed, so why should not you and Reggie be secretly betrothed, too? We will pretend there is an understanding between you, and then you may come to Drummoor as Reggie’s soon-to-be betrothed, and that would be quite unexceptional. No one could possibly object to that. ”
Connie thought it very likely that a number of people could object, namely the Marquess himself, who would see at once what she was about, not to mention the dragons. It was an outrageous idea.
“I do not much like the idea of pretending,” she said quietly. “It all seems dreadfully complicated and… a little dishonest.”
“Ah, your scruples do you credit,” Lord Reginald said. “How admirable! But there is nothing dishonest about it in the slightest. Hatty, do explain it to Miss Constance.”
“All perfectly above reproach,” Lady Harriet said firmly. “You will come to Drummoor as my friend, which is no less than the truth. Naturally, everyone will assume that there is an understanding between you and Reggie, but there will be no need for it to be said openly. If anyone is so impolite as to ask directly, you need only blush, I shall look knowing and Reggie will deny the existence of a betrothal in the strongest terms. That will fix the idea, yet not a single untruth will be told. People believe what they want to believe. I shall write a letter to your mama inviting you to Drummoor, with just a hint about Reggie. She will get the point, I am sure.”
Connie was not comfortable with the plan, but they sounded so certain of it, and who should be better placed to judge the propriety of an action than the son and daughter of a marquess? And Mama would forbid it if she saw anything in the least irregular about the scheme. She hesitated, torn. A visit to Drummoor would be everything that was delightful, although she had no intention of trying to prise the Marquess away from Jess Drummond, not the least idea in the world. If he should happen to tire of her, Connie would be there on the spot, but she would not interfere. Oh, but a visit to Drummoor! How enticing a prospect it was!
“Besides,” Lord Reginald went on smoothly, “if we are secretly betrothed, you will have to come to London with us and stay at Marford House, and think how much fun that will be, eh? We shall take you about, and you must realise, Miss Constance, Hatty and Dev and I are very good ton, received everywhere. We can get you vouchers for Almacks, you know. But you will have to have a great many new gowns and such like. Hatty can take care of all that for you. What do you say?”
Connie could not say a word. If she opened her mouth, even a little, she felt that she would burst into raptures and be quite unable to stop. Her mama could not possibly object to such a plan if she believed there was a betrothal involved, and a pretend, secret betrothal would do just as well for the purpose.
But here her conscience prickled a little at the thought of deceiving her mother. That was not right, surely? And yet, where was the deception? Mama would know exactly where she was and with whom, and there was nothing underhand about her purpose in going to London. She had already given up any thought of detaching the Marquess from Jess Drummond, nor was she interested in securing a husband for herself. It would be good for her to mix in the upper echelons of the ton for a few weeks to gain a little town polish, and there was no more to it than that.
So she nodded vigorously enough to leave them in no doubt of her acceptance. Lady Harriet clapped her hands in delight, and Lord Reginald beamed at her, raising her hand to his lips.
And thus it was that Connie found herself secretly not-quite-betrothed to Lord Reginald Marford, and packing her boxes to leave for Drummoor.
~~~~~
There was a short delay while a chaperon was obtained for the journey. Lady Harriet was rather cross that the Marquess had summoned her first choice in order to chaperon Jess, but she seemed to know an array of ladies suited to the purpose and willing to rush about the country at a moment’s notice. Within a few days all was arranged and they could set off.
The journey to Drummoor lasted three days, but nothing could have been more comfortable. Connie sat beside Lady Harriet in that lady’s luxurious carriage, with Lord Reginald opposite, while the two of them chattered endlessly about Drummoor and their vast web of relations and acquaintance, and told any number of entertaining, not to say scandalous, stories of the ton. Her companions were delighted to discover that she had never been away from home before, and regaled her with every detail of the roads, the towns and villages they passed through, and the rivers and rocky hills they spied, until her head was spinning.
The chaperon was a timid soul who said scarcely a word the entire time, merely nodding and smiling whenever anyone else spoke. If asked a question directly, she answered as briefly as possible, nodding the whole time, but since Lady Harriet and Lord Reginald seldom addressed a word to her, she remained mostly silent.
“She is terribly quiet,” Connie murmured to Lady Harriet on one occasion. “Is she quite well, do you suppose?”
“There is nothing more trying than a talkative chaperon,” Lady Harriet said, eyes twinkling. “She is well paid to be silent, I assure you.”
One of the grooms rode ahead on Lord Reginald’s horse, so that every time they stopped at an inn, there was a private parlour already secured with a fire burning merrily, a hot meal appeared within minutes, and at night there was hot water and a comfortable bedchamber, with none of the filthy sheets or nasty insects or pungent odours Connie had been led to expect of inns.
At last they came to Drummoor. The carriage swept through a turreted archway, and then along a winding drive bordered by oaks and lesser trees, so arranged that occasional gaps afforded a partial view of the house on a distant hill. With a final twist, the trees were left behind and there was the house in all its glory, its mellow golden stone warm in the spring sunshine, and the battlemented roof making it seem quaintly medieval.
Connie cried out in delight. “Oh, you live in a castle!”
Her two companions were vastly amused by this epithet. “Just because it has a crenellated roof does not make it a castle,” Lord Reginald said.
“Well, that is disappointing,” Connie said. “I should like to imagine archers lurking behind those battlements.”
“Ah, how romantic you are,” he said. “Sadly, there is no moat, either, nor a portcullis, nor any crevice for the deposit of boiling oil on enemies. There are two secret passages, however, and a priest hole.”
Connie’s eyes widened. “How exciting!”
“But not very accurate,” Lady Harriet said with her ready smile. “Reggie, do not tease so! The house was built long after the era of priest holes, and what Reggie is amused to describe as such is probably no more than a closet which has been boarded over. And the secret passages are stairs for the servants. Here we are at last. Are you ready, Constance?”
A troop of servants streamed out of the house to receive them, bustling about the carriage and the less luxurious coach behind them which conveyed Lady Harriet’s maid, Lord Reginald’s valet and all their many boxes. Connie stepped down onto the drive, looking about her with interest. From a distance, she had noticed only the impressive size and splendour of the house. Now that she was so close, she could see weeds growing through the gra
vel, faded paint on doors and windows, and the patched uniforms of the servants. It now struck her how worn was the velvet upholstery in the carriage. There was no deficiency in the attire of Lady Harriet or her brothers, but elsewhere there were noticeable signs of neglect.
Lady Harriet tucked Connie arm into hers. “I know you would rather rest, but Grandmama will want to meet you at once. Do you mind terribly?”
“Of course not,” Connie said, shocked at the very idea of refusing a Dowager Marchioness anything she might wish for.
The four dragons, as she still thought of them, were seated in the red saloon, an overpowering room decorated and gilded and embellished in every conceivable way. Massive portraits of previous occupants stared haughtily down from the walls. Four bewigged and powdered footmen stood as rigid as soldiers in the corners of the room, and an imperious butler watched everything hawk-eyed.
“Ah, Miss Allamont! Do come in,” boomed a large lady in purple filling a chair at the far end of the room.
“Grandmama,” whispered Lady Harriet.
Connie made her obeisances to the Dowager. On a sofa nearby sat the other three dragons in a row, the stout Lady Christopher Marford, the more slender Lady Ruth Marford, and the wafer-thin and very frail Lady Hester Marford. Connie wondered whether they deliberately chose to arrange themselves both by size and by age for effect, or whether it was entirely a matter of chance.
The dragons were not the only occupants of the room. Connie was very thankful for the hours of instruction received on the journey, for otherwise the array of companions, cousins and other distant relatives would have left her sadly confused. But there were two she recognised immediately — the Marquess and Jess Drummond, the latter sitting smilingly beside the Dowager. Connie was given a seat on the Dowager’s other side, and nothing could have been more gracious than that lady’s manner, all welcoming smiles and gentle questions and not in the least intimidating. And as the others beamed at her benevolently, she felt, in some extraordinary way, quite at home.
Connie (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 3) Page 7
