Dulcie (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 4)

by Kingswood, Mary

  “Then let me find you another partner,” he said gallantly.

  “You are too kind, my lord, but there is not the least need. I shall be glad of a rest. See, there are some chairs over there — I shall sit for a while, I think.”

  “May I sit with you? Or fetch you a drink?”

  “No, no, do please leave me. Look, I fancy Miss Graham is hopeful of attracting your attention before the next dance.”

  “The young lady with the excessively beribboned hair? Ah well, duty calls, Miss Dulcie. I shall find someone to introduce me, so that I might oblige the lady. Thank you so much for permitting me the honour of your hand.”

  Although she felt rather guilty about it, Dulcie was heartily thankful to have got rid of Lord Humphrey at last, an unduly solicitous young man. Having no desire to dance again, she passed by the chairs and made her way to the glass doors that led out of the ballroom into the orangery. The room was blessedly peaceful after the noisy, crowded ballroom. Every step she took diminished the strains of music and laughter and conversations held at high volume to be heard over the racket, until there was no more than a gentle buzz in the distance. She passed little groups here and there amongst the greenery, for she was not alone in seeking sanctuary. Eventually she found a bench in a secluded corner, and sat, head bowed, trying desperately not to let misery overwhelm her.

  She felt entirely helpless. Just when she was certain of her own heart, and entirely sure that Alex was the one man in the world who could make her happy, he was placed out of reach by her own foolishness. He had already offered for her, and although they had been interrupted by Connie, enough had been said to make both his intentions and her response clear. He had offered, she had rejected him and there was an end to the matter, and in a day or two, he would be gone and she would never see him again.

  If only she had stopped to listen to him! If only she had sent Connie away so that Alex might explain himself fully, and she might have had time to consider all he said. If only, if only, if only! And now it was too late, and nothing could be done about it.

  But was that true? He was here, somewhere, and he could not avoid her indefinitely. Somewhere — about the ballroom, or in the supper room, perhaps — she would corner him, and then she could— She was not entirely clear what she could do, but there must be something. If only she could find him!

  She jumped up, determined not to waste another moment, for there was no time to lose. Then, with a squeak of surprise, stopped dead. There he was, not two feet from her, concern on his face.

  “Are you quite well?” he said abruptly, without a bow or a greeting. “You left so suddenly, I was afraid you might be ill.”

  “Oh — perfectly well. Thank you. But why are you avoiding me, Alex?” She had not meant to be so blunt, but the words shot out without any conscious thought.

  His eyes widened at the use of his name. “I… I dared not come near you,” he said, his voice low and hoarse.

  “Oh.” The intensity on his face made her heart gallop.

  He moved a little closer. “I cannot dissemble any longer. How can I hold myself in check when you are as lovely as the moon floating amidst the stars, as bright as the sun on a summer’s day?” Another step nearer. “‘My love is as a fever, longing still, For that which longer nurseth the disease, Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, Th’ uncertain sickly appetite to please.’’”

  “Shakespeare,” she whispered. The fire in his eyes had forced her back a little, so that she rested against a marble pillar.

  “One of the sonnets. ‘Past cure I am, now reason is past care, And frantic-mad with evermore unrest; My thoughts and my discourse as madmen’s are, At random from the truth vainly expressed.’” His husky voice thrilled her to her very core. “You must tell me to leave you at once, Dulcie, or I swear to you I am going to kiss you and kiss you until you agree to be my wife. For pity’s sake, you must send me away!”

  He was so close she could feel his breath on her lips. The marble at her back was cool, but the rest of her burned as if she were on fire. “Stay with me,” she whispered.

  He leaned closer, his body pressing warm against her, his face an inch from hers. One hand cupped her cheek and her whole body trembled. “Sweet love of my life, will you marry me?”

  For answer, she closed the tiny gap that still separated them, so that her lips met his in such glorious fervour that she felt she must surely drown in joy. For a long, long time they clung together, lost in their own paradise.

  An eternity later, when they finally broke apart, a delicate cough followed almost immediately by a giggle told them they were not alone. Jess’s laughing face peered round a bush.

  “Alex, Dulcie — I am shocked!” she said, with another giggle. “Such behaviour! Oh, but do say we may have a double wedding!”

  “Certainly not,” Alex said at once. “I have no intention of waiting. I shall obtain a special licence. Should you like that, my sweet?”

  “Oh yes, I should like it of all things, but it will not do,” Dulcie said sadly. “I cannot marry before Connie or all the dowries are lost.”

  “I had forgotten that. How annoying,” he said, deflated. “Well, our bliss must perforce be delayed a few more weeks. But then — ah, how happy we shall be!”

  Dulcie beamed at him, for once in total agreement, but another giggle from Jess recalled her to the present. “We had better not hide away any longer. Will you dance with me, Mr Drummond?”

  “I am yours to command, Miss Allamont. I shall always be yours to command.” He took her hand and raised it to his lips. “Always. For ever. For all eternity. ‘Till all the seas run dry, my dear, And the rocks melt with the sun; I will love thee still my dear, When the sands of life shall run.’”

  Dulcie sighed with pleasure.

  THE END

  The next book in the series is Grace: The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 5. You can read Chapter 1 of Grace after the acknowledgements.

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  Thanks for reading!

  Thank you for taking the time to read Dulcie. If you enjoyed it, please consider telling your friends or posting a short review. Word of mouth is an author’s best friend and much appreciated. Thank you so much!

  Want to know more? You can find out the latest news and sign up for my mailing list at the Mary Kingswood website. If you’d like to know more about the Allamont family and their friends, watch out for the next book in the series, Grace: The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 5. You can read a sneak preview of Chapter 1 after the acknowledgements.

  A note on historical accuracy: I have endeavoured to stay true to the spirit of Regency times, and have avoided taking too many liberties or imposing modern sensibilities on my characters. The book is not one of historical record, but I’ve tried to make it reasonably accurate. However, I’m not perfect! If you spot a historical error, I’d very much appreciate knowing about it so that I can correct it and learn from it. Thank you!

  About The Daughters of Allamont Hall: a series of six traditional Regency romances, featuring the unmarried daughters of Mr William and Lady Sara Allamont. When their father dies unexpectedly, his will includes generous dowries for the sisters, but only on condition that they marry in the proper order, the eldest first.

  Book 1: Amy

  Book 2: Belle

  Book 3: Connie

  Book 4: Dulcie

  Book 5: Grace

  Book 6: Hope

  Any questions about the series? Email me - I’d love to hear from you!

  About the author

  I write traditional Regency romances under the pen name Mary Kingswood, and epic fantasy as Pauline M Ross. I live in the beautiful Highlands of Scotland with my husband. I like chocolate, whisky, my Kindle, massed pipe bands, long leisurely lunches, chocolate, going places in my campervan, eating pizza in Italy, summer nights that never get dark, wood fires in winter, chocolate, the view fro
m the study window looking out over the Moray Firth and the Black Isle to the mountains beyond. And chocolate. I dislike driving on motorways, cooking, shopping, hospitals.

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks go to:

  My grandparents, Henry and Hannah Austin, who named their four children Amy, Constance, Ernest and Frank, and thereby inadvertently inspired these books

  My good friends at AC (you know who you are!) who provided me with advice, support, encouragement and kicks up the backside, hand-holding and hugs, laughs and tears, woo chickens, tacos and tubesteak

  My beta readers: Clara Benson, Mary Burnett, Jen Rasmussen

  Last, but definitely not least, my first reader: Amy Ross.

  Sneak preview: Grace: Chapter 1: Diamonds

  Grace sat with her head demurely lowered. Her feet were placed neatly together, her hands resting in her lap. She said nothing, allowing the impassioned young man to have his say. She had received enough proposals of marriage now to understand the proper form.

  He strode about the room, telling her of his delightful manor house in Wiltshire, and the hunting lodge — not his, precisely, but his uncle allowed him the use of it — and the rich farm lands whose rents paid for a most elegant and stylish manner of living, according to his description of it. He told her of the two carriages he intended to have and several more horses to add to his stable, and he hoped that, when she was his wife, she would have no fewer than twenty-three servants at her command, and wear diamonds and silk, and sit down to two full courses at dinner every day. He dined with twenty families regularly in his own neighbourhood, he said, and more in Bath, and counted some great names among his acquaintance — he mentioned one or two, in an overly casual manner. There were two livings in his gift, if she should have any clergymen in the family. She should want for nothing, he assured her, nothing at all. Except for love, of course. Of that he made no mention, only respect, esteem, companionship.

  When he had exhausted his eloquence, she lifted her head and made the little speech which repetition had rendered fluent. Most obliged — such a great honour — very sensible of the innumerable advantages of the match — the greatest regret — impossible to accept — so very sorry to cause disappointment.

  He grunted in surprise, eyebrows raised. Leaning one arm against the mantlepiece, he stared at her in bewilderment. He was a solid young man, dressed with more flamboyance than elegance, his cravat an impressively overwrought arrangement. “You do not wish to be mistress of Darrowhall, Miss Allamont?” His tone was full of astonishment, as if he could conceive of no greater happiness in life.

  “I have no wish to be mistress of any establishment,” Grace said. “I have not the least intention of marrying at this present, as I have expressed to you many times before.”

  “Indeed you have professed something of the sort, but naturally you were not serious. All young ladies aspire to marriage, when the right offer is made.”

  Grace said nothing, hoping he would draw the obvious conclusion from her refusal— that this was not the right offer.

  The young man had too elevated opinion of himself, however. “I must beg you to consider your answer most carefully. It would be foolish to expect a man, once rebuffed, to continue to press his suit, and who can say how many more offers you might receive? If I may speak with the utmost frankness, Miss Allamont, your age is against you, nor have you enjoyed the advantage of a season in London to prepare you for a role in the highest echelons of society, such as would make you attractive to the nobility. Viewed in this light, I do not believe I flatter myself in supposing that you will not receive a better offer than mine.”

  This presumption was too much for Grace. Straightening her back and lifting her chin, she said, “You do indeed flatter yourself, sir. I shall never lack suitors, for it seems impoverished gentlemen are drawn to my dowry like bees to clover.”

  This was a little too close to the mark, for the young man’s lips compressed. “There is no more to be said,” he snapped. “I hope you do not live to regret this day, Miss Allamont. Pray give my regards to Lady Sara and Miss Hope. I bid you good day.”

  He swept out of the room. She waited, listening to the murmur of voices in the hall, as he reclaimed his hat, gloves and greatcoat from the footman. Then steps crossing the hall, the front door creaking open and footsteps crunching on the gravel, disappearing round the side of the house to the stables, for he was too impatient to wait for his horse to be brought round.

  When all was quiet again, she picked up her skirts and skipped out of the drawing room and across the hall to the book room, banging open the door. Here she found her youngest sister, Hope, giggling over a journal with their cousin, Hugo. Hope was the prettiest of the sisters, and Hugo was a broodingly handsome man. As they bent over the pages, their dark heads almost touching, an observer might take them for brother and sister instead of distant cousins.

  In a corner, Miss Bellows huddled with a book. Poor Miss Bellows! Once the governess to the six Allamont sisters, as they had left their lessons behind her role had dwindled over the years to companion and chaperon. Now, with only Grace and Hope yet unmarried, Miss Bellows had added the role of matchmaker to her repertoire. She looked up with hopeful eyes.

  “Grace, dear! Well? What did you say to him? May we wish you happy?”

  “I hope you will always wish me happy, Lavinia, but not, I trust, as the wife of such a grasping man as that. Who asked him to come all the way from Wiltshire to pay court to me anyway?”

  “Oh!” Miss Bellows’ face fell. “You turned him down, I collect. Poor man! I hope he will not be too disappointed.”

  “He will not repine for long,” Grace said. “He has such a high opinion of himself that he will soon be pursuing some other heiress to grace his precious Darrowhall, and to pay for his diamonds and his twenty-three servants and two full courses every evening. He will not feel my loss for long, I assure you.”

  Miss Bellows sighed. “Yet such an eligible young man, and such a pleasant manner. A most pleasing countenance, too, and most civil to me, always, and so devoted to you, Grace.”

  “Oh, stuff!” Grace said. “His devotion was entirely to my dowry. You are too romantic altogether, Lavinia, if you see anything of affection in his manner towards me.”

  “Well, I never liked him,” Hugo said. “His valet is a shifty sort of fellow, and a servant always takes after his master.”

  “Nonsense, nonsense,” Miss Bellows protested. “You do say the oddest things, Hugo.”

  Grace was struck by another oddity. “How do you know his valet? Have you been hanging about on the back stairs, cousin, listening to the servants tittle-tattle?”

  “No need,” Hugo said. “My man is very chummy with the grooms at Riverside. Everyone there is exceedingly displeased with this admirer of yours, Grace, if you want to know. He turns up from Wiltshire and plants himself upon the Donboroughs, who scarcely know him but are too well-bred to refuse him, and lords it around the place as if he were an anointed son of the house. Been there for months, too. Taking advantage, if you ask me. They will be very glad to see the back of him. He is not going to hang about and have another pop at you, is he?”

  “Lord, I hope not!” Grace said. “I have no idea why he stayed so long. Not because of any encouragement on my part, you may be sure. If I told him once I had no wish to marry, I must have told him a hundred times, but he would never take the hint.”

  “They never do, these fellows,” Hugo said. “Always think they will be the one to turn your head. How many have there been now? Must be a dozen at least.”

  “Seventeen,” Hope said in anguished tones. “Grace has had seventeen offers, although the elder Mr Cranford proposed three times before he gave it up and went away quite broken-hearted, so perhaps two of those do not count. And I have had five, and none of them the least bit interested in anything but our money.”

  “Now, now, Hope, I believe there may be just a little exaggeration,” Miss Bellows said. “Mr Daw
son is certainly rich enough not to care about your dowry.”

  “Oh, him!” Hope cried. “I do not regard him as a serious suitor, for he is old enough to be my grandfather, or almost so. As if I could ever consider such a match. I daresay we shall never marry, sister. We shall be old maids together, and take comfort only in each other as we grow old, and be buried side by side in the churchyard.”

  “Well, that sounds very dull,” Grace said. “I suppose we shall both marry eventually. We must, for the alternative is far worse, and I do not want to be an old maid like Miss Endercott, and be laughed at by the village children. I wish I had been a boy, and then I might have gone into the army. Think how exciting that would be, galloping into battle with my sword! I should like it of all things. But no, I must sit with my tapestry or my paintbrush, or practise upon the pianoforte, and hope for an eligible man to rescue me from such tedium. If only Mama would allow us to go to London, for that is where all the most eligible men are to be found. We could have our pick of them, I daresay, and surely one or two would be tolerable.”

  “But we are so old!” wailed Hope. “I am one and twenty already, and you are three and twenty! Who will want us when we have been out for years and years?”

  “You refine too much upon it,” Miss Bellows said firmly. “Although it is a pity Lady Sara will not permit you to stay with your sister now and then. The Marchioness would soon find husbands for you, I am certain of it. Look how splendid a match she managed for Miss Graham, when even her own mama despaired of finding anyone suitable for her.”

  The sisters were silent, not liking to contradict Miss Bellows, but not quite agreeing that becoming the third wife of a gouty Viscount with a string of children and grandchildren could be described as a splendid match.

  “You could always marry me,” Hugo said, grinning. “Either one of you would do the trick, for then the Hall would be mine, you know, and I should like that tremendously. I was exceedingly put out when Papa suggested I take a look at the accounts for you and sort things out, but it has been excellent fun.”