Connie (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 3) (7 page)

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 spirits.

“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.

“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 prise 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.