Connie (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 3) by Mary Kingswood Read Free Book Online Page A

it very soothing. The words trickle through my brain like a stream, and then trickle out again, for I never can remember them after.”
    “You must learn them by heart,” she said. “My father always insisted that we learn a new poem every week, and recite it to him on Saturday morning.”
    “Really?” the Marquess said. “How extraordinary! Although, now that I consider the matter, I recall being asked to do something similar at school. One of the masters was quite keen on the idea. Not that I ever did, of course.”
    “You never did? Do you mean that your schoolmaster set you work to do, and you refused to do it? And were you not punished for such disobedience?”
    “I was the Earl of Deveron, nobody dared to punish me,” he said loftily. “Now history — that I enjoyed, especially a good battle, or a whole series of them. The Peloponnesian Wars were wonderful. And the middle ages — the Hundred Years’ War! Can you imagine, Miss Constance, how delightful it must have been to be always fighting, so that one might gallop from one battle directly to another. Such fun! I should have liked to be a knight in those days, defending the Kingdom and saving fair maidens in distress.”
    “I do not think it was quite as romantic as that,” she said faintly. “Besides, even in the Hundred Years’ War, there were long gaps between the battles.”
    “Really? Well, what is the point of that?” he said in disgust.
    “So the poets could commemorate the last battle, of course,” she said quickly, trying to get him back to the point. “There must be a proper celebration for each glorious victory.”
    “You are quite right, of course. The poets — and the painters. The victors would want to have their portraits painted, showing them triumphant, and their enemies ground into the dust, their entrails scattered for the crows.”
    She pulled a face.
    “Oh, I do beg your pardon, Miss Constance,” he said. “Oh, look, there is Miss Drummond. How high she leaps! She is as light-footed as… as a bird, do you not agree?”
    Connie gave it up, and resigned herself to listening to a recital of all Jess Drummond’s virtues, which were manifold, it seemed. The Marquess took her into supper, and regaled her with the many exploits of his ancestors, who had all had the good fortune to be born into an age when wars were to be had at frequent intervals.
    “I wonder you do not join the army, my lord, if you enjoy war so much,” she said in exasperation. “You could perhaps knock some sense into the French. All Europe would be grateful to you, I am sure.”
    “Not my place,” he said firmly. “I am the eldest — responsibilities, you know, Miss Constance, responsibilities and duties. Cannot be shirked. No, the army is for Reggie, although he seems reluctant, for some reason. Personally, I think it would suit Gil better, but there you are. I have not the least notion what we are to do with him . Nothing but trouble, but I daresay he will settle, in time. Even so — not the church, I think. Now Humphrey…”
    She sighed, and smiled. She supposed that in the unlikely event that she found herself the Marchioness of Carrbridge it would be helpful to know something of her husband’s brothers, so she listened and nodded from time to time and tried to get them straight in her head, but it was no good. There were just too many of them.
    A group of diners moving away just then, Connie and the Marquess were joined by Cousin Henry and Mary, who was escorted by Daniel Merton.
    “Where is Cousin Vivienne?” Connie asked.
    Cousin Henry made a noise in his throat, his face darkening, but Mary answered calmly, “She is about somewhere. She still has a few friends in the neighbourhood.”
    “She is making mischief,” Cousin Henry said, his anger barely restrained. “It was always her greatest delight to cause trouble. She is engaged in spreading the word that certain people here are kin to the Allamonts.”
    Mr Merton paused, the plate