Connie (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 3) (16 page)

“But I
am
!” she wailed. “I
do
love him, I do! He is of all things the right man for me, but
not
when he is so… so high-handed and arrogant. I wish he were not,” she added in a small voice. “For I should very much like to marry him, but I do not think he loves me at all.”

17: Morning Callers

Connie was not ill, but her sisters treated her as though she were an invalid all the same. She was given a tiny room to herself, and tenderly undressed and helped to bed. Trays were brought at intervals, offering weak tea and cake, or beef broth, or bread and cheese, whatever might tempt her appetite. Amy and Belle stayed with her all evening, taking their own supper on trays, too, and chatting easily about all that they had seen and done in London, so that she had no need to talk. And then, as it finally grew dark, she was given a hot posset and left to sleep.

“But the boy will sit outside your door all night, dear,” Amy said. “If you need anything, anything at all, you have only to call and he will fetch one or other of us.”

“Try to sleep a little,” Belle said, kissing her forehead. “Goodnight, sister.”

At first she thought she would never be able to sleep for the disordered thoughts running around in her head like mice in an attic. Every time she closed her eyes, visions of the Marquess rose up before her — his handsome face, the elegance of his dress, the graceful way his hands moved as he talked. She felt she could look at him for ever. Her heart performed a little dance every time she saw him, and when he smiled at her, that lazy, intimate smile that made her feel she was the only woman in the world he cared for, then she loved him with every bone in her body, a love more intense, more consuming than anything she had ever felt before. She had tried to put him out of her thoughts when she had believed him betrothed to Jess, but now that she knew the truth, she could admit to the full depth of her attachment to him.

Yet he was lost to her. His words, his manner, the presumptuous way her had treated her! She could not remember everything he had said, but a few phrases floated into her mind… about judging her character, and making sure she would do, as if she were a horse. He was insufferable! And how badly he had treated Jess, to let everyone think they were on the point of betrothal, when all the time his intentions were quite otherwise.

But her anger drove away the regret that she might otherwise have felt. She could not possibly marry a man who spoke so to her, no matter how much she loved him. She had freed herself from her betrothal from Mr Ambleside because of his managing attitude, and the Marquess was a hundred times worse! Perhaps in time she would be overcome with grief for what she had lost, but for now, all she could feel was gratitude that she was free of him, and that she was safe with her sisters.

Exhaustion overtook her quite soon, and to her surprise she slept deeply and woke refreshed. The awkwardness of her position now struck her forcibly. She had come to London as the soon-to-be-betrothed of Lord Reginald, living in Marford House, and now she had left without a word to him, or to Viscountess Moorfield, or Lady Harriet. She did not regret her action, for staying another moment under the same roof as the Marquess would have been insupportable, but she felt the rudeness of it. And now what was to become of her?

As soon as Amy and Belle woke and came through to see how she did, she burst out, “What should I do now? I must go home, but I do not know how.”

“You will stay here with us, of course,” Amy said. “We have another month in town, so you need not rush away. You can hide here at the house, or, if you wish, we will take you with us when we go about, for there is no danger of meeting the Marquess, you know. We move in very different circles. Of course, if you wish to go straight home—”

“Oh no! I should like of all things to stay here with you, with my own family. The Marfords have been very kind to me, but they are quite different from everything I am used to, and I do
not
like all the racketing around that they do, to be seen here, and be seen there. I should like London much better if there were fewer grand balls and more quiet card parties.”

“Well, perhaps it is all for the best, then,” said Belle. “It does not sound as if you would have been very comfortable as the Marchioness of Carrbridge.”

“I suppose I would have got used to it, in time,” Connie said doubtfully. “But it will be pleasant not to be junketing about every evening.”

“You must stay in bed this morning…” Amy began.

“No, no,” Connie said. “I should like to be up and about, and trying to do normal things. I am not ill, Amy dear, and now that I have had my little cry, I am quite calm, for I am absolutely sure of the rightness of my decision. Besides, I had better write to Lady Moorfield, and Lady Harriet, and Mama. And what about Lord Reginald? I ought to give him some explanation, but we were not truly betrothed, so I do not feel I can. Besides, he deceived me just as much as Lord Carrbridge. So much pretence…”

“But you were pretending, too,” Belle said gently. “Although I believe your motives were more honourable than theirs.”

“Of course Connie’s motives were honourable,” Amy said, shocked. “She wanted only to see if the Marquess might turn to her when he realised how unsuitable Jess Drummond was.”

“And to have a season in London,” Connie said wistfully. “That was selfish of me, but it seemed so providential at the time. And by then I had quite given up on the idea of making the Marquess in love with me, so there was no entrapment, or anything in the least underhand about it. Whereas
they
…” She could not go on, her trembling voice betraying the emotions not far below the surface, despite her declaration of calmness.

“There, there, dearest,” Amy said. “What they did was most reprehensible. To deceive you in that way! It is of all things the most dishonourable.”

“Dishonourable?” Connie said in a whisper.

“Dishonourable,” Amy said firmly. “A gentleman can never be too open and honest in his dealings, in my view.”

Connie said nothing, remembering that even that most upright of gentlemen, Mr Ambleside himself, had deceived her when they had been betrothed, and he had wished to extricate himself to marry Amy. He had confessed his deceit in the end, but it had convinced her that she could never marry a man who was so overbearing. A little firmness was understandable, but a true gentleman should always respect a lady and take her wishes into account, and that applied just as much to a Marquess as anyone else.

~~~~~

They were all at breakfast, and Connie was toying with some devilled kidneys, when Lady Harriet and Jess were shown in. Connie was surprised to see Jess looking calm, and almost complaisant.

“My dear Connie, how dreadful this is!” Lady Harriet said, sitting down beside her and taking her hand. “Forgive us for calling so early, but we could not wait a second longer to be sure that you are not completely overcome by all this foolishness of Dev’s. I am entirely out of patience with the silly boy. What a mull he has made of it! But you are not to worry about a thing. We made excuses for you at the Duchess’s ball, so you may come straight home with us now and no one will be any the wiser. Everything will be as it was, you will see.”

“You are very kind, my lady. I do not know what the Marquess may have told you, but there is no possibility of my returning to Marford House.”

She sat abruptly back in her chair. “What? Why ever not? Whatever misguided things he may have said to you, he did not mean any of it, you know. Men are hopeless at such things, and I speak with some authority on the matter, for I have had a number of offers over the years, and not one of them elegantly phrased. I do not understand why it should be, but gentlemen do seem to get tongue-tied on such occasions.”

“Not all men,” Connie said, throwing a quick glance at Ambleside. “
Some
men know how to treat a lady with the proper respect.”

“Oh. He
does
respect you, that goes without saying, but being a Marquess, he naturally feels some superiority.”

“Then he should not!” Connie cried. “His rank may be superior, but his manners are not.”

“I see,” she said, thoughtfully. “So may I give him no cause to hope? If he were to approach you with greater humility, perhaps?”

“It is not just his manner,” Connie said. “It is the deception that distresses me more. He was not honest with me, and that is dishonourable in a gentleman.”

“I see,” Lady Harriet said again. “That does seem rather final. I am sorry for it, for it always seemed to me that you would deal well together. However, I trust that
I
may still count you a friend?”

“Oh, that would be wonderful, my lady, and I cannot thank you enough for all you have done for me. Please tell Lady Moorfield that I shall be writing to her to express my gratitude.”

“You may express your gratitude in person, for she plans to call on you later this morning,” Lady Harriet said with a smile. “Well, you are not as distraught as I had envisaged, so I daresay you will go on very well. And you have enjoyed your little season—”

“Indeed I have, very much!”

“—and it has been good for Jess, too.”

“How so?” Connie said. “She has been used very ill, and is left with nothing, I fancy.”

“Not at all,” Jess said with a smile. “My arrangement with the Marquess was that I should have my season, and the clothes, and so forth, and he has paid for a cook for Alex while I am away, also. He has been very generous. But the best of it is that not everyone believes in this rumoured betrothal.” She laughed throatily. “It is just possible that I shall leave town betrothed in truth. So you see, I shall do very well out of all this. You need not worry about me.”

~~~~~

Lady Moorfield arrived several hours later, accompanied by three of her stout daughters and Mrs March, so that the servants were put to a great deal of bustle to find extra chairs, and the Brook Street drawing room, so small after the capacious rooms of Marford House, felt uncomfortably crowded.

Connie quaked at the thunderous expression on Lady Moorfield’s face. But she had Amy on one side of her and Belle on the other, and standing behind, for there were not sufficient chairs, Mr Ambleside and Mr Burford loomed protectively.

“I am excessively displeased, Constance,” Lady Moorfield began. “After all my efforts on your behalf, to be refusing a perfectly good offer and scampering off in the middle of a rainstorm like a hoyden, it is not good enough. I am most disappointed in you, and you need not expect anyone to take you up again, you know. You have had your chance, and have wilfully thrown it away. Such ingratitude, after all I have done for you, is beyond any bearing.”

“Indeed I am not ungrateful—” Connie began, but there was no stopping the flow of disapprobation.

“We made some excuse for you last night, in the hope that you could be prevailed upon to see sense, but apparently you will not listen to advice from your betters. You young girls these days, you
will
have your own way, and there is no convincing you to do anything you have no mind for, even when it must surely be for your own good. It is a foolish kind of conceit, and I never tolerated it in my own girls, and look what good marriages they all made as a result.”

Connie looked at the three of them in their fine gowns and stylish bonnets, their round faces empty and emotionless, and was thankful that Lady Moorfield was not her own mother. Mama perhaps took too little interest in her daughters’ welfare, but that was surely preferable to constant overbearing scrutiny.

“I am very sorry to upset you, my lady, but I could not stay.”

“Nonsense! Of course you could have done so. I daresay Francis did not make love to you quite as you hoped, for I know how you girls have your romantic fancies and like to be flattered, but you should not have thrown him over, for you will not get a second chance. You cannot expect a Marquess to grovel, you know. Now, I suppose, you will be an old maid and a pitiable sight, but
I
shall have no sympathy for you, you may be sure.”

Connie could not stem the tears in the face of this onslaught. Silently Amy took one hand and Belle the other. Burford coughed discreetly.

“You approve, then, of this trickery perpetrated on my sister-in-law, Lady Moorfield?” he said.

“Trickery? A strong word, Mr… erm, Burton. A tiny pretence, no more than that, in everybody’s best interests.”

“Dishonesty is never in anyone’s best interests.
‘Bread of deceit is sweet to a man, but afterwards his mouth shall be filled with gravel.’
Proverbs, my lady.”

There was a long silence. Lady Moorfield grew red with rage, her lips set in a thin line, but she could hardly argue with the Bible. Her daughters looked at her, blank-faced, and Mrs March huddled in a corner, head down, clutching her reticule so tightly that her knuckles were white. Connie held her breath.

Without a word, Lady Moorfield rose, her daughters scrambling to their feet in a flurry of rustling skirts and waving hat feathers. Then they swept out of the room, heads high.

Mrs March paused before she followed them, and looked at Connie. “Goodbye, dear. I am so sorry. I do not suppose we will meet again.” Ambleside rushed to hold the door open for her as she trotted after the others.

“Well!” Ambleside said, closing the door quietly. “That was unpleasant. But well done, John. There is nothing like a clergyman in the family for producing the very best set downs.”

~~~~~

Finally, very late, at an hour when Connie was beginning to wonder what she might wear for dinner, since her boxes had not yet been sent round, Lord Reginald arrived, bearing a huge sheaf of flowers and an apologetic expression. Belle, Burford and Ambleside had gone to the circulating library, so only Amy was in the room with Connie.