Connie cried, clapping her hands together. “For I have never met my uncle and aunt at all.”
There were twelve people sat around the table, and they all turned to stare at Connie. One of the cousins raised a lorgnette to her eye.
“Never met them?” Lady Harriet said. “What, never?”
“Not once. They have never visited us at Allamont Hall and I have never been to Tambray Hall. Or to Hepplestone. Mama goes occasionally, but my sisters and I have never been invited.”
“That is extraordinary,” the Marquess said.
“Families are odd in a multitude of ways,” Lord Reginald said easily. “I daresay there is a good reason for it. Hatty, may I trouble you for the bread bowl?”
So to Tambray Hall they were to go, Connie, Jess and Lady Harriet in the carriage, and the two men on horseback. Connie could not quite disentangle her feelings in the matter. Naturally, she had a great deal of curiosity to see the house and meet her uncle and aunt, but at the same time, she had to agree with the Marquess that there might be some very good reason why she had never been invited there, and why her relations had never come to Allamont Hall. And none of them ever had, not from Mama’s side of the family, and not from Papa’s either. So many aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents, but she could not picture them or their houses. They were just names.
Tambray Hall was a plain little house, very modern, built of the same yellow stone as Drummoor, but without any of the grandeur or style that epitomised the older residence. Nor were the grounds extensive. There were no sweeping vistas, follies or tumbling streams, just neatly trimmed low hedges arranged in squares, with a larger bush, trimmed to a perfect sphere, on every corner. There was no colour, no wilderness, not a leaf out of place.
They were shown into a square room with dark wainscoting, the upper walls covered in a dull blue silk. The ceiling was painted a paler blue. Connie felt quite nauseous, as if she were under water. Chairs and sofas, upholstered in the same blue as the walls, were arranged in a perfect square. How much these people liked squares! And how Connie longed to refit the room in paler colours, with more elegant furnishings.
Viscount and Viscountess Melthwaite rose to greet them, polite smiles on their faces. They glanced briefly at Jess and Connie, but were too well-bred to show any surprise. Connie watched them as Harriet curtsied and made her greetings, and then her two brothers. Her aunt and uncle! Such a strange way to meet them, and how astonishing to be faced with a man who had Mama’s mouth and nose and wavy blond hair. Even the eyes were the same, although where Mama’s were almost unlined, Uncle Edmund’s crinkled a little at the corners, as if he smiled a great deal. Or frowned, perhaps.
Jess was introduced first, and then Harriet turned to Connie. “And this is a lady you have never met before, I understand — your niece, Miss Constance Allamont.”
The squeals of delight were all that Connie could have hoped for. She found herself wrapped in a tight embrace from her aunt, who shed tears of joy over her.
“My dear, dear Constance! You cannot imagine how much we have longed to see you — indeed, all of you! Such a joy! Let me look at you! Oh, Edmund, is she not pretty? And you are staying at Drummoor! Such delight! Oh, my dear, this is a wonderful surprise. Your poor mother told us nothing about it, nothing at all.”
Connie laughed and cried, too, as much in relief as for any other reason. It struck her as odd, however, that they should have wanted to see the sisters so badly, and yet not contrived a meeting in twenty five years, especially when Mama had stayed at Tambray Hall on a number of occasions over the years. It was not as if there were an unbridgeable breach between the two sides of the family.
After a few minutes of these raptures, her uncle coughed in a meaningful way. Aunt Emma’s eyes immediately lowered
There were twelve people sat around the table, and they all turned to stare at Connie. One of the cousins raised a lorgnette to her eye.
“Never met them?” Lady Harriet said. “What, never?”
“Not once. They have never visited us at Allamont Hall and I have never been to Tambray Hall. Or to Hepplestone. Mama goes occasionally, but my sisters and I have never been invited.”
“That is extraordinary,” the Marquess said.
“Families are odd in a multitude of ways,” Lord Reginald said easily. “I daresay there is a good reason for it. Hatty, may I trouble you for the bread bowl?”
So to Tambray Hall they were to go, Connie, Jess and Lady Harriet in the carriage, and the two men on horseback. Connie could not quite disentangle her feelings in the matter. Naturally, she had a great deal of curiosity to see the house and meet her uncle and aunt, but at the same time, she had to agree with the Marquess that there might be some very good reason why she had never been invited there, and why her relations had never come to Allamont Hall. And none of them ever had, not from Mama’s side of the family, and not from Papa’s either. So many aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents, but she could not picture them or their houses. They were just names.
Tambray Hall was a plain little house, very modern, built of the same yellow stone as Drummoor, but without any of the grandeur or style that epitomised the older residence. Nor were the grounds extensive. There were no sweeping vistas, follies or tumbling streams, just neatly trimmed low hedges arranged in squares, with a larger bush, trimmed to a perfect sphere, on every corner. There was no colour, no wilderness, not a leaf out of place.
They were shown into a square room with dark wainscoting, the upper walls covered in a dull blue silk. The ceiling was painted a paler blue. Connie felt quite nauseous, as if she were under water. Chairs and sofas, upholstered in the same blue as the walls, were arranged in a perfect square. How much these people liked squares! And how Connie longed to refit the room in paler colours, with more elegant furnishings.
Viscount and Viscountess Melthwaite rose to greet them, polite smiles on their faces. They glanced briefly at Jess and Connie, but were too well-bred to show any surprise. Connie watched them as Harriet curtsied and made her greetings, and then her two brothers. Her aunt and uncle! Such a strange way to meet them, and how astonishing to be faced with a man who had Mama’s mouth and nose and wavy blond hair. Even the eyes were the same, although where Mama’s were almost unlined, Uncle Edmund’s crinkled a little at the corners, as if he smiled a great deal. Or frowned, perhaps.
Jess was introduced first, and then Harriet turned to Connie. “And this is a lady you have never met before, I understand — your niece, Miss Constance Allamont.”
The squeals of delight were all that Connie could have hoped for. She found herself wrapped in a tight embrace from her aunt, who shed tears of joy over her.
“My dear, dear Constance! You cannot imagine how much we have longed to see you — indeed, all of you! Such a joy! Let me look at you! Oh, Edmund, is she not pretty? And you are staying at Drummoor! Such delight! Oh, my dear, this is a wonderful surprise. Your poor mother told us nothing about it, nothing at all.”
Connie laughed and cried, too, as much in relief as for any other reason. It struck her as odd, however, that they should have wanted to see the sisters so badly, and yet not contrived a meeting in twenty five years, especially when Mama had stayed at Tambray Hall on a number of occasions over the years. It was not as if there were an unbridgeable breach between the two sides of the family.
After a few minutes of these raptures, her uncle coughed in a meaningful way. Aunt Emma’s eyes immediately lowered
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