Connie (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 3) (17 page)

After the formalities, he said quietly, “You are very kind to see me, for you must wish all of us at Jericho, I am sure, Miss Allamont. I will not impose on you and Mrs Ambleside for long, but I wanted to assure myself that you are being well looked after, which I am very happy to see is the case. I can only apologise for my part in Dev’s trickery. I hope in time that you may find it in your heart to forgive a deception which was conceived with the best of motives. For myself, I can see now that our schemes were quite wrong, and deeply injurious to your peace of mind.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Connie said.

“Perhaps it is wrong of me, but I regard our pretend betrothal as one of the pleasantest times of my life.” He paused, as if hoping for an answer from her, but she could not find any words, and merely hung her head. After a moment, he went on, “Will you return to Allamont Hall now?”

“No, my sisters are in town for another month, and I am invited to stay with them.”

He brightened. “Oh — that is excellent news! I am exceedingly glad to hear you say so. Perhaps you would be so good as to allow me to call upon you occasionally?”

“Your brother will permit that?” Connie said, before she could prevent herself.

His face darkened. “Dev does not
own
me!” he spat back. But then he stopped and took a deep breath, controlling his sudden anger. When he spoke again, his voice was its usual even tone.“I am my own master, I hope, Miss Allamont. I may have my own friends, without reference to my brother. We
are
friends, I trust?”

He was the second member of the family to claim friendship with her, despite the rift with the Marquess, and Connie wondered at it. She and her sisters were marvellously united, but perhaps the Marfords were different, and familial loyalty was of little consequence to them.  Just one more aspect of her recent dealings with them to puzzle over.

“I… believe so, yes,” she answered, and found herself colouring in response to the sudden fire in his eyes. She had seen
that
look before, when she had been pressed against him in the saloon, his arm firmly around her waist. She grew hot with embarrassment at the very thought of it.

He gave no sign of noticing. “I am gratified to hear it,” he said smoothly. Then he was on his feet, making his farewells, and within moments he was gone.

“That was interesting,” murmured Amy.

“But what can he mean by it?” Connie cried. “Why would he talk so after all that has happened?”

Amy laughed. “Oh, Connie dear, I think he very much hopes to turn his pretended betrothal into a real one.”

18: The House With The Blue Door

Connie soon settled into life at Brook Street. She could not forget the distressing end to her stay at Marford House, and in quiet moments she would grow tearful again,  her misery overwhelming her, but if at any time she felt particularly unhappy at the loss of the Marquess, she had only to recall his arrogant words and the superciliousness of his manner, and she would be quite restored to acceptance of the situation.

She could not feel quite easy in her own part in the deception. Even though she herself had been deceived by the Marquess, with the connivance of Lord Reginald, Lady Harriet and Jess, Connie could not deny that she too had willingly allowed assumptions to be made about herself and Lord Reginald. She remembered her initial discomfort with the proposal, and now wished she had listened to her conscience and refused to comply. The Marfords had dazzled her, and drawn her in with the prospect of a London season. How foolish she had been, allowing herself to be beguiled by their glib talk! From now on she would trust her own judgement.

Her sisters and their husbands were her greatest comfort. There was an ease and familiarity subsisting amongst the five of them which was a welcome relief from the protocol of Marford House, and their unfailing kindness supported her through even the darkest hours. Their routine was a gentle one, for they received no invitations to grand balls, but most evenings brought a dinner engagement or a card party with one of Mr Burford’s extensive range of distant relatives, or Mr Ambleside’s friends from school or university. None of them moved in the first circles, but they were friendly and unstuffy, and Connie felt entirely at home with them.

Each day when the weather was fine they drove out in the barouche, sometimes visiting the shops but mostly exploring London’s finest streets and squares and parks. One day they were driving through Hyde Park when Amy said,

“May we get down and walk for a while? There is an interesting little shrubbery over there. I should like to examine the flowers more closely.”

Ambleside laughed. “Is there a shrubbery in the world that you do not find interesting? By all means let us walk.”

It was very pleasant to stroll about on the paths, while the barouche waited for them. The hour was early, so there were few people about, but there was one whom Connie recognised. Lady Hartshill was approaching at a fast pace, head down. Connie dropped into a deep curtsy as she passed by, having no expectation of any acknowledgement, for her acquaintance with Lady Hartsill was of the slightest kind, and solely through the Marfords. But to her surprise, Lady Hartshill, stopped, turned and smiled at her.

“Miss Allamont, is it not?”

“It is, Lady Hartshill.”

“We were told you had left town.”

“Your information was mistaken, my lady. I am staying with my sisters.”

“Your sisters, eh? The two ladies standing over there? They have a house in town?”

“They have taken a house in Brook Street for the season, my lady.”

“Hmm. I should like to meet them. Will you introduce me?”

“It would be an honour, my lady.”

The introductions were made, some commonplace remarks were exchanged and Lady Hartshill made her farewells.

“She is very amiable, Connie,” Amy said. “That was exceedingly gracious of her, do you not think? For she is quite high-flown, I believe you said.”

“Very,” Connie said. “Yet her card parties are the most delightful occasions, not stuffy or formal in the least. I was only invited to one, but I enjoyed it better than all the grand balls. Ah well, that is all over now.” And she laughed, not at all cast down.

But it was not all over. Later that day, a note was delivered to Brook Street by Lady Hartshill’s footman, inviting all five of them to a card party that very evening. The others found that Connie was quite right in her opinion of them.

When she thanked her hostess at the end of the evening, Connie added impulsively, “I like your card parties better than anything else in London.”

Lady Hartshill laughed, and said, “And that is why I invited you, my dear, and your family. Unlike most of society, you are not trying to impress me. How long are you in town? You must come again.”

It was a cheering moment after the misery of her departure from Marford House.

~~~~~

“I am sorry we have no dancing to offer you, Connie,” Belle said one morning over breakfast. “You must think us sadly flat after all the excitement you have become used to, and it is your first real season, after all. There ought to be balls for you to meet young men, for that is the point of a London season, after all, but we know no one grand enough to hold one.”

“I am weary of such affairs, to tell the truth,” Connie said. “So much effort and expense, solely to impress people determined not to be impressed. But how did you manage to meet people when you had your come-out season?

“We only had a month, in the end, not a full season,” Belle said. “It was supposed to be three months, but nothing was settled upon and so it was all done in a rush. If you want my considered opinion, I believe Mama and Papa quarrelled over it. They each thought the other was arranging matters, but neither of them did, until Amy got upset about it one day, and then Aunt Lucy came down from Liverpool to see to everything. We stayed with a friend of hers who had a daughter coming out that year, so it was excessively kind of her to take us under her wing, for Amy was much prettier than Rachel.”

“But you went to dances?”

“Yes, but it was all very odd, for we received invitations from any number of people that Aunt Lucy and her friend had never been acquainted with. Not to Carlton House or anything as grand as that, but several times we went to parties hosted by Earls or Viscounts, and a Duchess, once.”

“Invitations from strangers?” Ambleside said. “That is indeed odd.”

“We just assumed they were friends of Mama’s,” Belle said. “She knows a great many people, and the Heatheringtons move in the uppermost levels of society. But we were never formally introduced to those who sent invitations, and sometimes the hostess was quite cold with us as we made our bows, so we could not understand why we were invited at all.”

“Probably your Mama asked them for the favour, but they did not quite like it, for some reason,” Ambleside said.

“I think there is something not quite proper in Mama’s past,” Connie said. “Lady Melthwaite hinted as such, anyway.”

“That would account for why she has avoided society all these years,” Belle said. “But she is so utterly respectable now, that one would imagine any rift from years ago would be healed after all this time.”

“The Melthwaites do not seem like forgiving people,” Connie said sadly.

“Have you seen much of the Melthwaites since you came to town, Connie?” Burford asked.

“Nothing at all. I left my card, but they did not call and I have not encountered them at any of our engagements.”

“Are they not going into society at all, then?” Ambleside said.

“Oh, I am quite certain they are, but some of these grand occasions are vast,” Connie said with a smile. “At one ball, there were a thousand guests, I was told. People come and go, and in all the crush, there is no hope of finding anyone in particular. I am surprised they did not call, however. Tambray Hall borders Drummoor, so the two families know each other well. It is disappointing not to see them at all.”

“You can do nothing more there,” Ambleside said. “They may call on you if they choose, but the approach must come from the higher rank. Belle, are there any other relatives we might call on to help introduce Connie into a wider society than we enjoy at present? It would be a shame not to take full advantage of our time in London.”

“There is only Aunt Tilly,” Belle said doubtfully. “I wrote when we first arrived, but I have had no response.”

“Such a disconnected family,” Burford said with a wry smile. “But there would be nothing improper in calling on her, surely? Not when we know that Lady Sara has stayed with her recently.”

“It is awkward, when there has been no prior contact,” Ambleside said. “But perhaps the Lady Matilda lives quietly in reduced circumstances, and is ashamed of her poverty. I believe we may venture to drive to the address and see what manner of dwelling it is, and then we shall make a decision as to whether it would be proper to make a direct approach. Once Amy is dressed, if she feels well enough for an outing, we will order the barouche brought round.”

No more than two hours later, they set off in the barouche. The day was fine, and might be warm later when the sun broke through the clouds, but Ambleside was not prepared to risk his wife’s health with a chill. There were hot bricks, and several thick rugs to keep the slightest untoward breeze at bay.

It was an unfashionably early hour to be abroad, so the streets were not as crowded as they had been in the early morning bustle of delivery carts or as they would be at five o’clock, when all those with pretensions to fashion ventured forth to see and be seen. They soon arrived at their destination, which turned out to be a large, attractive house in a fashionable square, with well-tended gardens in the centre.

“This is an expensive district, I should surmise,” Burford said. “No sign of genteel poverty here.”

“Such a pretty little square,” Amy said. “I should have liked to stay somewhere like this, with trees about, and a pleasant view from the windows, and not so much smoke everywhere.”

“We looked into one or two such, but we thought them too expensive, my dear,” Ambleside said. “Perhaps next year we will reconsider, if you like the idea.”

“Too large for just the four of us, also,” Burford said. “Much larger than we needed. Which is Aunt Tilly’s?”

“Number eight,” Belle said. “The one with the blue door, I believe.”

They drew up outside, and looked at each other. Such a prosperous residence was not what any of them had expected.

“Perhaps this is a mistake,” Amy said nervously. “After all, Mama was quite adamant that none of us should ever visit Aunt Tilly.”

“And Lady Melthwaite fainted away when she heard Mama had stayed here,” Connie added. “There must be
something
peculiar about Aunt Tilly’s situation.”

“Nonsense,” Belle said briskly. “We are here now. What is the harm in knocking on the door and asking if she is at home? She is our aunt, after all. If she does not wish to receive us, we shall leave our cards and go away again.”

“I do not think—” Amy began.

“You should stay here, well wrapped up, Amy dear,” Belle said. “There is no need for all of us to get down from the carriage. Give me your card, and Connie, too, and I will go and hand them in at the door.”

“I do not like you to go alone,” Connie said. “I will come with you.”

“Shall I accompany you?” Burford asked. “You will not be more than ten paces away, but even so…”

“There is no need,” Belle said with a smile. “I believe we can manage to call on a middle-aged lady without your assistance. If she is friendly, and willing to receive us, we shall summon you to join us.”

Connie followed Belle out of the barouche and up the steps to the front door. The street was silent, the only sound the blowing of the horses and a rustling from the trees in the centre of the square. No one else was about, not so much as a maid scrubbing steps, or a single person walking along the wide pavement. Yet it was a respectable neighbourhood, and Connie felt no apprehension as Belle pulled sharply on the bell-rope. Distantly, the bell jangled.

Connie had expected either a butler or footman to answer the door, or perhaps a housekeeper if Lady Matilda preferred to keep an entirely female household, as some ladies did. Instead, the door was opened by a young woman wearing the most fetching morning dress, in quite the latest style. To Connie’s surprise, she scarcely looked at them.

“Come in, quick!” she said, holding the door wide for them. “You should have gone round the back, you know. Do not stand on the step like that, get inside.”

Exchanging glances, the two sisters stepped over the threshold, to find themselves in an airy, high-ceilinged hall with a tiled floor and marble-topped console. Elegant curved stairs led to the upper floors.

The young woman pointed to a door. “Wait in there. Do
not
wander about.”

Then, without another word, she dashed away and vanished into some fastness behind the stairs.

“Well, that is strange,” Belle said. “Perhaps she is a companion of some kind?”

“What shall we do?” Connie said.

“Why, we shall wait in here, as we have been directed, and we shall
not
wander about,” Belle said, with a twinkle in her eye. “This room looks out to the street, so we can assure ourselves that the barouche still waits for us. Oh — the library!”

It was indeed a book room of sorts, although there were not many shelves of books. There were snuff jars, and heavy leather chairs, and decanters of Madeira and brandy set out, and paintings of nymphs and angels and the like, rather scantily clad, as nymphs tended to be. Connie thought it was very much a gentleman’s room, for the dark furniture and smoky atmosphere reminded her of Cousin Henry’s book room at Willowbye.

Belle walked around the room peering at the books. “I cannot read the lettering on the covers at all,” she said, reaching for one. “I wonder what kind of reading Aunt Tilly likes — oh!”