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

demurely.
    “Do please be seated,” she murmured. “How was your journey today? Are the roads tolerable?”
    Lady Harriet responded in the same manner, and for several minutes the conversation was stilted and formal. But then Aunt Emma burst out, “Oh, my dear niece, how delightful this is!” And away she went again, in excited twitterings.
    They stayed for two hours, Aunt Emma talking with barely a pause the entire time. Every once in a while, Uncle Edmund coughed and Aunt Emma subsided into polite nothings for a few moments before becoming animated again. Although she asked innumerable questions, she barely listened to the answers, and would ask exactly the same thing a few minutes later. Connie did not mind in the least. She set it down to excitement, and made allowances accordingly. She was almost as excited herself. Finally, she had met some of her family!
    Still, it was odd how little her aunt and uncle knew of affairs at Allamont Hall. The Viscount and Viscountess had seen Lady Sara when they had stayed at Hepplestone just after Christmas, but they knew nothing of Amy’s marriage or Belle’s betrothal, and when Connie mentioned her brothers Ernest and Frank, Aunt Emma said casually, “They must be well grown by now, but even so, it will be daunting for them, taking on the responsibility of the Hall, and being head of the family. I have always been thankful that Edmund has not yet been called upon to shoulder that burden. The poor, dear boys! How are they coping?”
    Connie hardly knew what to say. In the end, she could think of no gentle way to break the news. “They know nothing of it. They ran away from home seven years ago, and not a word has been heard from them since.”
    Lady Melthwaite made a little mewing sound of distress, her hands covering her mouth.
    The Viscount frowned. “Ran away? Seven years ago?”
    “Yes, my lord.”
    “But why? Why?” Lady Melthwaite wailed.
    “We have no notion why they would do such a thing,” Connie said. “It is a mystery.”
    “No, no! I meant to say, why would Sara not tell us about it? Why has she told us nothing at all about any of you?”
    It was not a question Connie could answer, so she kept silent, although she clutched her reticule rather tightly.
    Lord Melthwaite put a calming hand on his wife’s arm. “Sara was always a deep one, my love. She keeps her own counsel, and even as a child one never knew what was in her head. No doubt she has her reasons for her silence.”
    “One cannot imagine what they might be,” Lady Melthwaite said indignantly. “We have never had any real quarrel with her, always corresponded, never cut her even when—”
    Her husband coughed, and squeezed her arm, and she lowered her eyes at once. “Let us talk of pleasanter matters,” he said. “Do tell us more of your family, Miss Drummond. So you are neighbours to the Earl of Strathmorran?”
    Jess jumped in quickly, and the conversation moved into calmer waters, but Connie took no more part in it. So confusing! Why would her mother visit her relations regularly, and yet say nothing about her own family? She could not understand it in the least.
    Then, just as they were preparing to leave at last, her aunt said brightly, “You must give our regards to your poor mama, Constance. How I wish we could see her more often! I suppose there is no hope of her being in London this season?”
    “I cannot say,” Connie answered.
    “No, for she never goes there.”
    “Oh, indeed, she does. She has been there several times since Papa died.”
    “Really?” Her aunt looked at her quizzically. “She went to London, yet never stayed at Heatherington House? Never even left her card? Well, that is too bad, to put up at a hotel like the merest nobody.” Her voice rose querulously, but again a touch from her husband calmed her.
    “I daresay it was a very brief visit for business reasons,” Lord Melthwaite said, frowning at his wife. “There must have been many matters to settle,