Connie (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 3)

by Mary Kingswood

  “May I come in for a minute?”

  “Oh — of course, if you wish.”

  Jess slipped into the room, and closed the door softly behind her. Setting her candle down beside Connie’s, she perched on the side of the bed, pulling her wrap closer around her.

  “I wanted to apologise to you, Miss Allamont,” she said quietly, all her usual ebullience quite gone. “I was very rude about your uncle and aunt, and I fear I offended you. Sometimes my tongue runs away with me, and… no, that is no excuse. I should know better. I am ashamed of myself. Can you ever forgive me?”

  “What did you say that was untrue?” Connie said, smiling wryly. “They are dry old sticks. And that house! Not a curve or so much as a candle-snuffer out of place. Symmetry is over-rated, I feel.”

  Jess laughed. “It was very rigid, was it not? So many straight lines! That bend in the staircase must irritate them so much. I had to bite my tongue to prevent myself from asking why they do not have the whole stair ripped out and replaced with straight flights. Right angles, Miss Allamont, every house must be constructed entirely in right angles.”

  That made Connie giggle. “Now this house is very symmetrical, but it is a pleasing symmetry, and not at all dull. Every room in perfect proportion, every wing placed in such a way as to enhance the whole.”

  “Yes, it is lovely.” Jess heaved a sigh. “If only I could stay.”

  “But you can! You will be living here after you are married. My dear Miss Drummond, it will be your house.”

  Jess was silent for a while, then she said quietly, “I cannot see it happening. It is like a dream… You have no idea, Miss Allamont, how delightful it is to find myself living in comfort once more. Do not mistake me, for Alex and I are exceedingly grateful for the offer of employment and the schoolhouse at Lower Brinford. Truly I do not know what would have become of us without it, but the house is so small. I felt so cramped there, as if I were living in a hen house. And then I came here, to discover that the old ladies have one wing and the young ladies another, and the brothers yet another, and there are still innumerable rooms to spare. It is too perfect for words, but I dare not depend on it. I shall have my season in London and then… who knows what will become of me?”

  “Why, you will marry the Marquess and be very rich and very grand,” Connie said, in surprise. “What else?”

  But Jess shook her head, with another sigh. “He could find himself a far more suitable wife, and as soon as he reaches London, that is exactly what he will do, I am certain.”

  Connie hugged her tight. “The change in your situation is excessive, I agree, and it is no wonder you are unsettled at the suddenness of it all, but you must trust the Marquess’s judgement on the matter. He is the one who knows what qualities in a wife would best suit him, after all.”

  Jess’s face lit up. “Yes! You are very wise.”

  Connie shook her head. “Not wise, no, but I do think that men are capable of deciding on a wife for themselves. I am sure the Marquess is.”

  “I believe you are right, Miss Allamont.”

  “Surely we know each other well enough to be on first name terms?”

  “Oh — thank you! And now, I must go back to bed, or I shall be yawning tomorrow and the old ladies will glare at me, and make disapproving tutting noises. Goodnight, Connie.”

  “Sleep well, Jess.”

  This conversation gave Connie a much better opinion of Jess, for all her sympathies were aroused by her difficulties, and she could see that Jess was not at all mercenary in her dealings with the Marquess. But still, she was betrothed to him, there was no getting around that point, even if it must be kept secret for now, and Connie was determined not to interfere. Of course, there was still Lord Reginald…

  ~~~~~

  The date set for Belle’s wedding to Mr Burford was fast approaching, and Connie wished to return to Allamont Hall in time for this event. Lady Harriet, her two brothers and Jess obligingly made the journey too, which was identical in nature to the previous one. They were several times struck by sudden showers of freezing rain, or even sleet, but the weather was never so severe as to delay them or make the roads impassable.

  Connie was delighted to be home, and happy to answer her sisters’ excited questions. There was so much to tell, and every little detail was of the utmost interest to the Miss Allamonts, most of whom had never travelled beyond the confines of the local villages and Brinchester. Amy and Belle had enjoyed a month in London when they first came out, under the auspices of Aunt Lucy who had come down from Liverpool to bring them out, and Amy had herself been to Drummoor briefly some months ago, but the younger sisters had never travelled at all. So there was a keen interest in all that Connie could tell, made all the more fascinating by the supposed double betrothal of the two lords, and the delicious secrecy involved, which appealed to their romantic instincts.

  Yet Connie shivered as she spoke, for sooner or later she must reach the disagreeable parts of her tale — Tambray Hall, and the matter of Aunt Tilly. What could she say that would not sound melodramatic? How to explain that the mere mention of Aunt Tilly had induced Aunt Emma to faint clean away? And, most of all, what would Mama say? But it could not be avoided.

  Lady Sara said nothing at all. Connie glanced repeatedly at her mother’s face, but it was as serene as always, giving no hint of disapprobation. After a while, she left the room altogether, leaving the sisters alone. But later, when Connie was in her room with Dulcie, overseeing the unpacking of her boxes, a knock on the door heralded the housekeeper.

  “Beg pardon for interrupting you, Miss Connie, but her ladyship would like a word. She is in her sitting room.”

  “Whatever can Mama want?” Dulcie said, but then answered her own question. “Oh, it will be about your clothes for London, I expect. That will be it.”

  Connie thought it unlikely to be anything so mundane. Meekly she crossed the landing to Lady Sara’s new sitting room, walking on her toes as if that way her arrival might be so silent as to pass unnoticed. The room had been a bedroom for guests originally, but it had been so seldom used for that purpose that, after Papa’s death, it had been refurbished to become her mother’s private retreat. Connie had never been inside it before. Knocking timidly on the door, when her mother answered she opened it just enough to peer into the room.

  “Do not loiter on the threshold like a housemaid, Connie,” Lady Sara said. “Come in, do.”

  Obediently, she stepped inside and carefully closed the door.

  “You wished to see me, Mama?” she said, as she made her curtsy.

  Her mother stood beside the fire, one arm resting on the mantlepiece, her fingers running over the decorative swirls on an ornate clock.

  “I wish to know why you think it necessary to tell the whole world our business.”

  Connie hung her head, feeling tears very close. “I beg your pardon, Mama. I did not know…”

  “What did you not know?”

  “That… that I should not talk about… certain things.”

  “Certain things?” Her mother uttered a ripple of laughter. “You mean Aunt Tilly? No, I suppose you would not know that she is excluded from all good society. How could you, indeed?”

  “Is she?” Connie said, lifting her head abruptly. “How is that possible, when you visit her, Mama?”

  That brought gusts of laughter from Lady Sara. “Oh yes, I am such good ton that I bestow consequence and respectability on everyone I encounter. Oh, Connie, you are such an innocent. Sit, child, and let me explain it to you.”

  Lady Sara settled on a silk-covered chaise longue, and Connie perched on a matching chair. They were very elegant pieces, she decided, and the yellow Chinese wallpaper was the perfect foil for them. Her mother had excellent taste.

  “I know you see me only as your mama,” Lady Sara said. “When I am here, that is, of course, exactly what I am. That is all I am. But I am also the Lady Sara Heatherington of Hepplestone, daughter of the Earl of Harkwood, and when I
go there, or to Tambray, that is exactly who I wish to be. My life is divided into little boxes, Connie, and when I am in one box, nothing else exists. When I go to London, well, that is another box. When I go into Shropshire… you understand what I am saying, I am sure.”

  “I think so, Mama,” Connie said, although it was all terribly confusing. “So I may not mention Aunt Tilly to anyone?”

  “It would perhaps be better to maintain a discreet silence on that subject. As for Ernest and Frank, and your sisters’ marital arrangements — these are of no concern to anyone outside our immediate family, I am sure. People do like to gossip, and I have the greatest dislike of being the subject of gossip. You did not mention Mr Eddington, I hope?”

  “No, Mama.”

  “Good. Do not do so. Your Aunt Emma is a very worthy person, no doubt, but she always thinks the worst of people. She would be bound to put an erroneous interpretation on my friendship with Mr Eddington, and we would not want to throw her into more paroxysms of hysteria, would we?” She laughed again, quite merrily, as if Aunt Emma’s hysteria were a great joke.

  Connie could think of no sensible response, so she lowered her head again, hands neatly folded in her lap.

  “Well, so you are to go to London after all,” Lady Sara went on. “That was a sly piece of work, to take up with Lord Reginald in that devious manner, but you were always so good at manipulating people to get your own way. You will do very well in London, I make no doubt, and I am pleased that there need be no expense or inconvenience to me. I just hope you do not fall into error. London is so seductive, it is very easy to be led astray, so take care, child. Now off you go, and close the door behind you.”

  ~~~~~

  Amy’s wedding had been a pleasantly quiet affair, for Mr Ambleside had no close relatives still living, and only a pair of cousins made the journey. As Connie now knew, none of Amy’s relations had even been informed of the occasion.

  Belle’s wedding, however, was very different. Mr Burford was amply provided with brothers and aunts and cousins, he had notified them all well in advance of the wedding, and a great many of them liked him well enough to travel from Yorkshire. Or perhaps the attraction was his sudden very large inheritance, a change in circumstance which tends to attract even the most reticent and distant of kin. Whatever the reason, they filled all the guest bedrooms at the Hall, spilled over into the parsonage at Lower Brinford and squeezed into every available inn in Lower and Higher Brinford.

  Mr Burford’s father and three brothers were staying at the Hall, as well as a couple of the more important cousins. The days were filled with excursions and bustle, and each evening brought more visitors for dinner, filling the house with chattering voices and music and merriment. Such evenings were a delight to Connie, with card tables brought out, or the furniture moved aside for impromptu dancing, and so many new sources of conversation that she hardly knew where to turn. She had never known such a lively time at the Hall.

  On the last night before the wedding, when the gentlemen rejoined the ladies after dinner, Mr Luke Burford came to sit beside her.

  “Miss Connie, is it not? Ah, I am beginning to recognise each one of you at last, for I have to tell you that, to a stranger such as myself, you and your sisters look very much alike.”

  “So I have been told, sir, and indeed, when poor Papa was alive, the difficulty was even greater, for he insisted we all dress alike. Only a coloured ribbon was allowed to distinguish one from another. Green was my colour, and I did not mind that, for it is quite a favourite of mine, but poor Belle had to wear pink which is not flattering to her at all, and Hope was in worse case, for her colour was black. Do you not think it a strange notion? Oh, Mrs Luke is to sing for us. She has the most charming voice, do you not agree?”

  “Yes, indeed, and—”

  “And her mastery of Italian is excellent. I know a little of the language, but not enough to sing in it without stumbling.”

  “Perhaps we should listen to the singing?” he suggested gently.

  “Oh. Oh, certainly.”

  Mrs Luke sang quite well, but her voice was not strong and Connie’s attention soon wandered. Gazing around the room, her eye fell on Amy, Mr Ambleside next to her, as always. Such a devoted husband, and especially now, in her delicate condition. He was fussing around with a screen, trying to shield her from some imaginary draught, Connie supposed. To think that she might have been the one to suffer such excessive attentions. She was glad to have escaped that trap!

  Not far away, Belle and Burford sat, whispering with their heads bent together. They were smiling contentedly, and there was no doubting their mutual affection, but what an awkward beginning they would have to their married life, with Willowbye still full of men with ladders and paintbrushes, and Cousin Vivienne interfering and upsetting the servants. They seemed not to mind, but Connie could not contemplate such an unromantic arrangement.

  As her gaze roamed, she caught sight of Lord Reginald watching her. He stood on the far side of the room behind the instrument, leaning casually against the wall, arms folded, as if merely enjoying the music. But when he caught Connie’s eye, his smile deepened and one hand fluttered in the smallest of waves.

  Immediately she was overwhelmed with guilt, for in all the excitement of the wedding and the endless comings and goings, she was inclined to forget for hours at a time that she was supposedly engaged to marry Lord Reginald. It was all a great secret, but nevertheless, she ought to pay him some attention. Even when she was with him, she thought very little about him. Her reflections tended still towards his older brother, with his so-beautiful features and his incomparable style. Beside the Marquess, Lord Reginald did not appear to advantage, very much second best in her opinion.

  But now, seeing that smile, so like the smiles she saw on Ambleside and Burford as they gazed at their loves, it occurred to her for the first time to wonder whether Lord Reginald was really as indifferent as he pretended to be? Was there, perhaps, a little more warmth in that smile — the same charming Marford smile as his older brother — than might be expected in a pretend lover? Her heart gave a little lurch.

  “Miss Connie?” said Mr Luke, and Connie had the feeling that it was not the first time he had addressed her. The song had ended, and there was an opportunity for conversation again.

  “I beg your pardon, sir, I was wool-gathering, I fear.”

  “Ah, but you have no need at all to apologise, madam, for I observed the direction of your thoughts very clearly, and a very handsome personage he is indeed.” Connie could only blush, and hope that he could not, in fact, read her thoughts. “I shall not tease you with speculation on the precise state of your connection to that gentleman, for although I have heard certain rumours, I understand your reticence very well. In such an exalted family as the Marfords, the legal arrangements can be considerable and take some time to untangle to the satisfaction of all parties. You are wise not to rush headlong into… well, you understand me, I am sure.”

  Connie was too embarrassed to utter a word, her cheeks aflame.

  “But however elevated the gentleman may be, you need not be ashamed of your own contribution. In fact, delay is very much to your advantage.” He laughed suddenly. “I daresay I should not tell you this, Miss Connie, for it is rather a confidential matter, but I know from all John has told me that you are aware of the situation. The longer you wait before you marry, the larger the dowry you will have.”

  Connie stared at him. “You know something of that?”

  “I do. My partner — and also my wife’s father, as it happens — has the management of the fund which is to provide your dowries.”

  “Oh! Then you must know why it increases!”

  “I know how it increases, Miss Connie, but not why. The account is held at a local bank in Market Clunbury, where I live. Each Monday, a man arrives at the bank and pays in a sum of money to that account, always in coins, never notes. Two or three hundred each week goes into that account, nothing is ever withdrawn
, apart from the dowries for Mrs Ambleside and Miss Belle, and nobody has the least idea who he is or why he does that. It is a great mystery, and I should dearly like to know the answer.”

  11: To London

  The wedding took place, the sun made a brave effort to shine, and half the village drove down the lane or walked through the woods to Allamont Hall for the wedding breakfast. At noon, the smiling couple stepped into their new carriage and departed for Willowbye.

  Two days later, with most of the visitors departed, Lady Sara deemed it appropriate to visit her daughter in her new establishment. Lord Reginald, who showed no sign of leaving the neighbourhood, borrowed his sister’s carriage for the occasion, offering to take Connie and whichever of her sisters she chose. It was agreed that it would be Dulcie, but whether from mischief or accident, Dulcie happened to enter her mother’s carriage instead, and Connie found herself quite alone with Lord Reginald.

  It was beginning to prey on her mind rather that he was unusually attentive for a man who was only pretending to be in love. She could not help but prefer the Marquess, but would Lord Reginald make an acceptable alternative? He was pleasant and unassuming, without the streak of arrogance which characterised his older brother, and she did not mind the lesser title, she told herself firmly. But she was not quite sure what income he might have on his own account, and although she would not judge a man’s eligibility by fortune alone, she did not feel that it would be comfortable living in poverty, or dependent on his older brother for support.

  And then he had not quite the style of his brother. The Marquess was blessed with handsome features, a shapely form and an admirably fashionable mode of dress. Whenever Connie had danced with him, heads had turned to watch them and she knew they made a splendid couple. Not, she chided herself, that such a matter should affect her judgement, but it was very pleasant to stroll about a room on the Marquess’s arm, knowing how well they looked together. And he was not yet married to Jess, or even officially betrothed.