Read Connie (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 3) Online
Authors: Mary Kingswood
“Because I cannot bear to think that… Yes?”
“Yes, I forgive you, and yes, you may hope, my lord.”
“Oh!” A long pause. “Oh!” Then, “Not Reggie?”
“Not Reggie. I like him very well, but I do not love him, and I am not very sure that he loves me, either, for I suspect he was driven by a wish to get the better of you. And that is not right, is it? A wife should love her husband, do you not agree? And he should love her.”
“Not
love
her, no,” he said firmly. “He should
adore
her. Oh, Miss Allamont!” Heedless of the mud, he dropped to his knees. “My dearest Miss Allamont, I
do
adore you! How can I live without you? Would you… could you possibly ever consider doing me the inestimable honour of becoming my wife?”
“Oh yes!”
“Because I would always… Yes? Yes! Oh, my darling Miss Allamont, you cannot imagine how happy this makes me.”
“Indeed, but
do
get up, for your poor trousers will be quite ruined. Think what your valet will say!”
“I hardly think my trousers matter at such a moment,” he said, but he rose and dusted himself down as best he could. “Oh, Miss Allamont, I shall spend the rest of my life ensuring that you are happy.”
“I think you might call me Connie now, if you wish,” she said, smiling shyly up at him.
“Connie,” he murmured, one finger tracing the soft outline of her cheek. “My sweet, adorable Connie. Do you think you could call me Francis?”
“Perhaps I could, Francis. Do you know, these flowers have the most peculiar scent.”
He sniffed them. “Oh dear. I believe I have presented you with a bunch of wild garlic flowers. I am so sorry.”
She could not help laughing at the look of dejection on his face. “You must not be sorry, for it was such a romantic and lovely thing to do. And the poem — you memorised that for me?”
“I did, and very hard it was too, but I thought… I
hoped
it might please you.”
“And you made Jack Barnett go away. How can I ever thank you enough?”
“My darling girl, your happiness is all the thanks I need. Whatever you want, you must have, you know. If you do not wish to racket around London, you need not, for I do not think you enjoyed your season very much.”
“Indeed I did, only I should prefer not to attend quite so many engagements, you know. It was so fatiguing, and one never has an opportunity to become familiar with anyone.”
“When you are the Marchioness of Carrbridge, you may do as you please in that regard. In fact, you may sit quietly at home, and allow the
ton
to fight for your approbation. You will be quite a leader of society, my love.”
“That sounds amusing,” she said, smiling up at him. “I believe I shall be very happy as a marchioness.”
He took her hand and raised it to his cheek. “Ah, Connie, my sweet Connie! It shall be my life’s work to make you happy, my angel. I would not have you miserable, not for one second. Everything shall be as you wish, so if you do not want to live at Drummoor or Marford House—”
“Oh, but I do! Whatever made you think I would not?”
“Great big barns, both of them. I thought you might like something less sprawling.”
“Marford House only needs refurbishing, and Drummoor is perfect just as it is. We can make a very cosy little nest for ourselves in one wing.”
“Oh — a cosy nest! That sounds quite wonderful, my sweet, and the dragons will not stay for ever, luckily.”
“I do not mind if they do,” she said. “Indeed, Lady Hester is too frail to live on her own. I should love to take care of her, and the others too, if they will let me. Now do not look so horrified, for they would have they own wing, and you would hardly see them, my love. And then you would have the income from their estates, you see, and you would not be in such want of funds.”
“Good God, what a clever little thing you are! That is quite ingenious. Do you really like the dragons?”
“I do. It would be the most wonderful thing to have a huge family all around me. I have so many relatives that I have never seen,” she said wistfully.
“Then it shall be as you wish, my darling. I wonder... your loveliness is driving me quite to distraction. Might I be permitted to kiss you?”
“Oh, yes. Yes, please.”
He bent his head and gently brushed his lips against hers. Such sweetness, such softness, such warmth! “You taste of honey and… and all sorts of sweet things,” he whispered.
“Why did you stop?” she whispered back, her lips quivering with merriment.
With a bubble of laughter, he leaned down to kiss her properly, the kiss of a lover at last, and to his astonishment and delight, she kissed him back with equal fervour. He thought his heart would burst with joy.
THE END
The next book in the series is
Dulcie: The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 4
, due out late 2016.
Go to the
Mary Kingswood website
to buy it, find out more or sign up for the mailing list.
You can read Chapter 1 of
Dulcie
after the acknowledgements.
If you have enjoyed reading this book, please consider writing a short review on Amazon. You can find out the latest news and sign up for the mailing list at my
website
. If you’d like to know more about the Allamont family and their friends, watch out for the next book in the series,
Dulcie: The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 4
, due out late 2016. 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!
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 from 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.
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: Mary Burnett, Clara Benson, Marina Finlayson
Last, but definitely not least, my first reader: Amy Ross
Sneak preview: Dulcie - Chapter 1: A Wager
Dulcie could scarcely believe her ears. “You want me to do
what
?”
Connie sighed. “I am not asking you to walk to Brinchester, sister, or trail through muddy fields. There is no need even to go into the village, for the schoolhouse is nearer than that. It is no distance through the woods, and you would be there and back in an hour, or not much above it.”
“But I had planned to look through the journals you brought back from London to decide on how to trim my new bonnet.”
“And you will have the rest of the day to do so,” Connie snapped. “I would go myself, but I must go to Brinchester with Mama and Hope if I am to have my clothes in time for the wedding.”
“Why cannot Grace go to the schoolhouse?” Dulcie said.
“Because she has already agreed to go with Miss Bellows to High Brafton Farm to take some things for poor Mrs Tarpin. You would not have wanted
that
task, I know, for it is a long walk over the fields and through Brafton Woods. I am giving you the easiest commission, dear.”
“I do not know why Jess Drummond thinks she is so important that we have to run round after her all the time,” Dulcie said.
“Oh, Dulcie, have a little compassion,” Connie said. “She is very sick, and although Mr Torrington has bled her and leeched her, nothing has answered. Mrs Cooper says that this broth of hers has never failed yet. It is her mother’s receipt, it seems. Please, will you go? I should be happier knowing that Jess has this today, and the servants cannot be spared from their duties.”
“Oh, very well, if I must. I suppose I can call in at Mr Wiseman’s shop to make the journey worth my while.”
“Thank you, dear,” Connie said. “I could wish, however, that you would be kinder to those who need your help without so much argument, for it is very trying, I declare. There is a selfishness in you, sister, that makes me despair of you. How will you ever find a husband if you fall prey to these spiteful whims and jealousies?”
“It is not for you to preach at me!” Dulcie cried.
“Perhaps not, but I want you to be as happy as I am,” Connie said. “If you want to make a good marriage, then you must strive to make yourself likable. Gentlemen do not like a waspish sort of wife.”
“Just because you are betrothed to a Marquess, you think you know everything about love,” Dulcie said heatedly. “Well, I shall make a
very
good marriage, you may be sure of
that
!” And with that, she stormed out.
~~~~~
Alex Drummond was tired. He had thought that being a village schoolmaster would be a quiet but rewarding life, surrounded by small, none-too-clean faces gazing raptly up at him as he imparted the mysteries of the alphabet and unfolded the wonder of books to their innocent minds. Instead, he had six boarders, who shuffled restlessly on their benches, whispered behind their hands and raced each other to the door as soon as he released them. At least he was not required to feed and board them himself, for the cottage was too small. Instead, they stayed at the parsonage with Mr and Mrs Endercott, which kept them out of the way, but also deprived him of a little extra money. Apart from the boarders, there were a handful of farmers’ and millers’ children, who turned up unexpectedly for odd days, whenever their father could spare a coin or two, and disappeared for weeks on end to help with the harvest or lambing or painting the barn. It was dispiriting.
When he was not teaching, he was digging the small patch of ground behind the house, and watching his potatoes anxiously for signs of… he was not very sure what maladies might afflict potatoes, but if he saw a leaf disfigured with a brown or black patch, or a particularly noxious-looking beetle, he immediately fell into gloom that they would starve over the winter. And then there was the pig. Never had a beast caused him such worry before, except his horse once or twice, and that was understandable. The pig had seemed such a harmless creature when it first arrived, a little pink, bald thing scampering round its pen. But oh Lord, as it got bigger! Every time it lay down, he thought it was on the point of expiring, and it lay down a lot. Jess was no help. She would just laugh, and say, “Can we eat it yet?” and then run away consumed by laughter.
He never imagined he would be quite so glad of the respite on the Sabbath. He had always previously found the prohibitions tiresome, but now he was heartily glad of a day when his only required activity was to walk to church and back twice. Mr Endercott was such a long-winded and soporific preacher that Alex even managed a nap during the sermons, with only Jess’s kicks when he snored to disturb him.
He tried not to repine too much on the life he and Jess had left behind. Two years ago, he had had his own curricle and a magnificent hunter, and the promise of one of his father’s subsidiary estates. It had made him one of the county’s most eligible bachelors, and he had even begun to consider the prospect of marriage. That dream had died with his father, and the discovery of all his debts. The promised estate had been sold, and now he lived in poverty, still moving on the fringes of society, but for how much longer? He could not go on patching and mending his coats indefinitely, and he could certainly not afford to replace them.
Then there was Jess. That was a bad business. It had seemed like such a good idea to let her go to London, pretending to be on the point of a betrothal to the Marquess of Carrbridge. She had had a real season in the very best circles, with all her gowns provided and she had been a great success, if the reports were to believed. Miss Endercott had brought him some of the notices in the London newspapers which had mentioned Jess along with the usual array of duchesses and viscountesses and the like.
‘Miss Jessica Drummond of Wester Strathmorran in the county of Morranshire, Scotland’
, dancing with this or that earl or viscount. It had made him so proud of his sister. If only she had not met Mr Middleton, who had stolen away her heart and offered her nothing but—
Alex could not bear to think of that. Jess had refused Middleton, naturally, but she had returned home a shadow of her former lively self, and had gradually sunk into despondency and grief, and, inevitably, a physical decline to which there seemed to be no end.
When he had finished his meagre breakfast, and Polly was clattering away in the scullery, he went into the kitchen and made some chocolate. Then he climbed the stairs to Jess’s little room under the eaves. A quick knock on the door, and, after a moment of silence, he pushed it open and went in.
“Are you awake? I have brought you some chocolate, made just how you like it. Miss Connie Allamont was so kind as to bring some the other day, remember? Jess? Are you awake, dear?”
The covers on the bed writhed a little, and then a head of dark curls emerged. “Alex?” a muffled voice said.
“Indeed it is. I have brought you some chocolate to drink.”
“You may leave it on the table. I will drink it in a little while.”
“You said that last time, and you went back to sleep, and forgot all about it. Can you sit up, if I help you? For I do think it would do you some good if you could drink just a little, you know.”
With his help, she struggled to a half-sitting position, and managed three sips before she was exhausted. “Delicious,” she said, her voice weak. As soon as she lay down again, she closed her eyes.
He straightened the blankets, so rough after the silken sheets they had grown up with, and quietly crept out of the room.
~~~~~
Dulcie was cross to begin with, after her spat with Connie, and became crosser still before she had even left the Hall grounds. The pot of broth was heavy in her basket, and her woollen cloak was too thick for summer wear and now she was hot. As if that were not enough, her old straw bonnet was scratching her ear. She should have gone upstairs to fetch her spencer and one of her pretty caps, but Connie was up there and she did not want to meet her again.
Once she and Connie had been like twins, doing everything together, sharing every thought, as close as two sisters could possibly be. But Connie had become so grand as soon as she had accepted the Marquess’s proposal, and once she was a marchioness there would be no bearing her hauteur. Dulcie would have to address her as
‘my lady’
, and curtsy to her, and give precedence everywhere. It was such a lowering thought. Dulcie had always secretly hoped that
she
would be the first of the sisters to catch a titled husband, and how was she to outrank Connie now? It would take a duke to do it, and there were only a few of those, most of them old or married.
What would become of her once Connie was married? There would only be Grace and Hope left, and they were just as close as Dulcie and Connie had ever been. There would be no room for Dulcie. She would be quite alone. Who could she chide and tease and advise? Who would help her trim bonnets and mend her gowns and tell her that she looked fetching in a new pelisse?
A worse thought — how was she ever to find a husband now? Under the terms of her father’s will, the sisters had to marry in the proper order or forfeit the handsome dowry he had provided for them. Amy, Belle and Connie had all succeeded, and now it was Dulcie’s turn. She
had
to find someone to marry or else she would be a spinster all her life, and her younger sisters with her.
She was practically an old maid already — three and twenty, and not a single offer to boast of. In a small corner of her mind was the thought that perhaps Connie was right, and Dulcie was just a horrid person that nobody liked, and that no man of standing in society would ever willingly marry her, even for twenty thousand pounds. Apart from the cousins, of course, who stood to inherit Allamont Hall if they married one or other of the sisters, but James had a wife now and as for Mark and Hugo—! She shuddered, and hoped she was never that desperate for a husband.
By the time she reached the edge of the woods, the roofs of the village in sight, she was hot and miserable and not at all happy with her appointed role as benefactress to the poor and sick. To make matters worse, the brambles along the lane to the schoolhouse reached long, spiked fingers towards her, catching on her gown and tearing the delicate muslin, and scratching her face.
It was not surprising, therefore, that Dulcie was in something of a temper when she arrived at the little cottage that served as schoolhouse. It had been the gamekeeper’s cottage once, in the days when the Allamont estate had boasted extensive shooting land. Most of it had been sold off or leased out to neighbours, since Dulcie’s father had never much cared for the sport. When the old gamekeeper had died a year or two ago, Grace had taken over the cottage for a school.
It was not much — just a schoolroom and parlour at the front, and a kitchen and scullery at the back, with some bedrooms tucked under the eaves. Behind the house were a few outhouses and a modest plot of land for chickens and a pig and some vegetables. Still, it looked neat and cared for. The window frames and doors had been repainted, there were flowers growing around the front door and the parlour had fresh curtains.
Polly, the maid of all work, was scrubbing the front step. She was a solidly-built woman of some thirty years, plain-faced, with round red cheeks that made her look like an apple. “Oh, Miss Allamont! Have you come to see Miss Jess?”
“I have brought some broth for her to try. Our cook thought it might help.”
“That’s right kind of you, so it is. Would you mind goin’ in through the scullery door, ‘cause I’ve just mopped the hall floor, and your feet’s a bit dusty, like.”
“What, like a servant? I hardly think so, Polly.”
She pushed open the front door and strode into the hall.
A man’s blond head appeared from the schoolroom door. “Polly? Oh, it is you, Miss Dulcie. I thought it must be a crisis, for Polly to walk over her clean floor.”
Dulcie looked behind her at the trail of footprints. “Oh. She can mop it again, I daresay.”
“Not today,” Drummond said. “There will not be time for it to dry now before the children arrive for their lessons. No matter. I am always very happy to see you.” But his smile was strained.
“I have brought some broth for Jess. Mrs Cooper’s mother always found it efficacious.”
His face lightened. “Oh, how good you are to carry it all this way, and in this heat, too. I shall be spending all evening watering my vegetables again. Please, will you come through to the kitchen? I have no tea or coffee to offer you today, but the well water is cool and very refreshing.”
He set down the books he was carrying and led the way to the kitchen at the back of the house. Polly was already there, having gone round the outside of the house. She glared reproachfully at Dulcie.
“What do we need to do with this broth?” Drummond said. “Just heat it on the fire?”
“How should I know?” Dulcie snapped. “I am not a cook.”
“I can take care of it, Mr Drummond,” Polly said, taking the pot from Dulcie. “Although I ain’t a cook neither.”
“Well, really!” Dulcie said. “Such impertinence! Just because I do
not
like to be sent round to the kitchen door like a servant.”
Polly put her hands on her hips and was about to respond with equal vigour, but Alex Drummond waved his hands placatingly. “Thank you, Polly. Perhaps you could see to the goat now? If you would be so good.”