Amy (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 1)

by Mary Kingswood

  “If you wish to see me badly enough, you will suffer the journey,” she told them equably. But they very rarely did.

  To those of consequence in the neighbourhood, Lady Humbleforth was a great asset, for although she accepted no invitations and held no entertainments herself, she welcomed morning visitors on any day except Sunday. “You may come at any time, for I am always at home,” she told everyone. Any callers were plied with copious refreshments, and given a selection of the latest journals and books to peruse, or allowed to rearrange her extensive collection of snuff boxes.

  The only disagreeable aspect was that Lady Humbleforth’s eyesight was so poor, she required her visitors to read extracts to her whenever conversation flagged. Amy had never minded this constraint, indeed had always regarded it as a distinct advantage, for while reading she was not required to converse with anyone, or cast about for answers to difficult questions. To Amy, almost all questions were difficult.

  Today, however, there would be no requirement for reading aloud, for Lady Humbleforth’s guests were unusually numerous. It was fortunate that her saloon was large enough to undertake service as a ballroom, if required. Apart from Lady Humbleforth and her companion, Miss Durrell, the elegant chairs were occupied by most of the important residents of Lower and Higher Brinford.

  The principal amongst them was Sir Osborne Hardy, accompanied by his mother and one of his sisters. Sir Osborne was a fine gentlemen, attired always in the latest styles from London. Indeed, even though he spent most of the year on his own estate, his dress was more suited to city pavements than country lanes. As a consequence, he went about in a carriage and never walked or rode for fear of mud on his person.

  He had not long had the enjoyment of his title, his father having died only three years before, at the age of ninety five. Sir Rupert’s first wife had struggled in vain to provide her husband with an heir. Many children had been brought into the world. The boys had all left it again shortly thereafter. Eventually, the lady herself had faded away and followed them, leaving behind her nought but four daughters. But at the age of seventy, Sir Rupert had astonished the world by marrying an unassuming governess from a neighbouring estate, and she had then astonished the world even more by producing a fine, healthy boy.

  Ever since, she had kept her son close, and guarded him from the ills of the world with such care that he had rarely left her side. He had spent only one term at school before refusing absolutely to return, and university had never been attempted at all. He was now eight and twenty, and it surprised no one that not one young lady had ever been deemed suitable to supplant his mama at Brinford Manor.

  Despite the presence of Sir Osborne’s name on Grace’s list of possible husbands, Amy had no expectations from that quarter. Sir Osborne was a wealthy man, to whom her dowry would be insignificant, and he would hardly want a wife who likened him to a frog. As for his mother, her elevation in station rendered her incapable of speaking to anyone but the nobility. Lady Hardy would exchange pleasantries with Lady Sara, but the Miss Allamonts were beneath her notice.

  Today, however, Amy noticed Lady Hardy watching her as she made her bow to Lady Humbleforth. When she turned and made her curtsy to Lady Hardy, that lady waggled her fingers and patted the empty chair beside her.

  Amy looked about her, sure that a mistake had been made. Why should Lady Hardy wish to speak to her? But a frown and a more decisive gesture towards the chair convinced her that she did. What could be the meaning of it? She had not the least notion, but Belle’s hand in the small of her back started her moving towards Lady Hardy and without a word she took the proffered chair.

  One side of Lady Hardy’s mouth twisted up. A grimace or a smile? Amy could not tell.

  “Well, Miss Allamont, and how goes your dear mama? Very cut up, I daresay.”

  Amy had received enough enquiries on that subject to answer readily. “Mama is in low spirits, my lady.”

  “No doubt. And not at church, so I hear. That is setting a bad example to those who look up to us, Miss Allamont, and you may tell her I said so. She must rally, and be seen about the country. I was distraught when my dear Rupert passed away, but one must not succumb to one’s feelings. It is not becoming to be prostrate with grief in that manner. One must not give way beneath the trials of life, do you not agree?”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  Lady Hardy’s mouth twisted again. Amy was almost convinced it was intended as a smile.

  “There, now, you are a good girl,” Lady Hardy said, patting Amy’s neatly clasped hands. “Osborne! Come here and talk to Miss Allamont.”

  Her son had been deep in conversation with Lady Humbleforth, but he jumped up at once and went to his mama.

  “Sit beside Miss Allamont, Osborne. Yes, yes, that chair there. Now you may tell her of your new curricle, if you please. Osborne is to obtain a curricle in the spring, Miss Allamont, what do you think of that? It will be the smartest little outfit imaginable, and just the thing for town, you know. He is going to take me driving in the park in it… or it could be another lady, you know. Yes, indeed. Is it not a good scheme, eh? Osborne, tell Miss Allamont all about your curricle.”

  “No use talking about m’curricle, Mama,” he said, laughing. “Not got the thing yet.”

  “But you will get it, I am sure. You have been talking of it for ever. Tell Miss Allamont your plans, for I am sure she is avid to hear all about it, is it not so, my dear? But you will have to choose the horses most carefully, Osborne. They must be a matched pair, or it will not do at all. I am not certain you are a good enough judge of horseflesh to choose properly.”

  “Daniel’s the expert, Mama. Advises on all m’horses. Need not concern y’self over that.”

  At that moment, Miss Endercott, who had been sitting quietly talking to Lady Humbleforth’s companion, Miss Durrell, now came across to take the seat on the other side of Lady Hardy, and began to talk about some improvements to the church at Lower Brinford which had been modelled on those made at Higher Brinford, and this distracted her ladyship’s attention.

  Amy was now left with Sir Osborne. He wore a brown-spotted waistcoat today, so that he looked like a huge thrush. It was most disconcerting. He was exactly the sort of gentleman who terrified her. What topic could possibly be of interest to a young man of fashion? What did she know of curricles? She sat silent, her mind churning, fear clutching at her. In her head, she seemed to see her papa sitting across the room, as he so often had, his brows lowered, his eyes fixed on her, judging her performance in company. She always fell short of his expectations. She could never think what to say, and the more nervous she became, the more her mind spun.

  It seemed that Sir Osborne had nothing to say, either, so for some minutes they sat in silence, and Amy was able to look about the room. No one was watching her, for they were all caught up in their own conversations, and she had time to compose herself. She recollected the name Daniel that had been mentioned earlier. Mr Daniel Merton was a friend Sir Osborne had made during his brief sojourn at school, a young man of gentle but undistinguished background who had made his home at Brinford Manor for some years now. The two were inseparable, as a rule, but not today.

  Amy licked her lips and lifted her head hesitantly. “Your friend Mr Merton… is he well?” she said.

  Sir Osborne’s face filled with pleasure. “Kind in you to enquire, Miss Allamont! Much obliged, I’m sure. No, Daniel is not at all the thing today. Has a little chill, nothing serious, but so susceptible that I told him — practically ordered him, if you want to know — to stay in his bed today. Trust he’ll be recovered by this evening, for I can tell you, m’house is deadly dull without him. Deadly dull, indeed. Surrounded by petticoats, Miss Allamont, quite surrounded. M’mother and m’sisters are tolerably good company, but not the same, not at all the same. A man needs a masculine companion on occasion.”

  Amy had not the least idea how to respond, but he did not seem to expect it, chattering on for some time about Daniel — how clev
er and well-read he was, and such wit! And the very epitome of elegance in his dress. He was so much admired in town, nothing could be like it. Amy smiled and nodded and said, “Goodness me!” twice and “Is that so?” once, which was all the attention Sir Osborne required.

  His affection for his friend was most pleasing, and for the moment she almost liked him. She had had some unfortunate encounters with Sir Osborne in the past, but today he was all affability. At least there was no requirement for her to think of anything to say. How restful that was.

  ~~~~~

  Every step of the way from Staynlaw House to the White House, Mr Ambleside maintained his determination not to speak to Amy. Or at least, he told himself firmly, not exclusively so. It would not be proper to be too particular when she was still in deep mourning, and he dared not risk attracting censure by the least breach in the proprieties. He of all people must be absolutely correct in his behaviour.

  He had not yet decided which of the other sisters he would choose to converse with. Belle was the most sensible of them, but she was often engrossed in reading one of the new novels or a journal. They saw nothing of the sort at Allamont Hall, that much was certain, and he did not like to deprive her of the pleasure. It was of no consequence to him. He could as well talk to one of the younger girls, although they blurred together rather in his mind, with their identical gowns and identical hair. He could never remember which was which.

  He was confident that they would be there, for they visited Lady Humbleforth on the same day and at the same hour every week without fail. Only illness or the worst kind of weather kept them away. The daughters of Allamont Hall were entirely bound by routine.

  So when he was shown into the saloon by Lady Humbleforth’s butler, who was even older than she was, he was not in the least surprised to see Amy there. He was, however, outraged to see her deep in conversation with that paragon of fashion, Sir Osborne Hardy. The man was a veritable dandy, with his silks and brocades and his hair arranged in just that artful way that looks careless but in fact takes hours to achieve. A worthless, over-decorated fool, and there he was, his head bent towards Amy, speaking in the most animated manner, while she gazed up at him with pleasure.

  At once his resolution flew out of the window. He wanted nothing in the world so much as to sit beside Amy and turn her beautiful face away from that overdressed popinjay. Yet it was impossible. Hardy sat to one side of Amy, and his mother sat the other.

  Mr Ambleside forced his features into an expression of pleasure as he moved towards The Dowager Countess, and said all that was proper. She was engaged with Sir Osborne’s sister just then, so he made himself agreeable to her companion, Miss Durrell, for a few minutes, in the hope that Hardy or his mother would move on. It was not to be, and he began to be aware that one of the Misses Allamont was waving at him from across the room. But which one was it? And what could she want of him?

  He turned back to Miss Durrell. “You were telling me about the cold you suffered, madam, and what Mr Torrington said.”

  She giggled. “You are very good, sir, but look — you have more charming company awaiting you. See? Miss Dulcie is trying to attract your attention.”

  Dulcie! Of course. And another sister nearby, deep in a fashion journal. That would be unexceptional, and he might hold to his resolution while awaiting an opportunity to sit beside Amy.

  So he moved across to sit between Dulcie and the other sister, whose name escaped him, although she politely set aside her journal to talk to him. He had no idea what was said. He talked more or less at random, his eyes wandering frequently across the room to where Sir Osborne was still holding Amy’s attention, in the most particular manner.

  He held himself in check for several minutes. But then Amy happened to look up and see him. Was that a tremulous smile upon her lips? And those eyes — so speaking! They were summoning him, he would swear to it.

  Without another thought, he jumped up and crossed the room in three strides. “I am astonished to see you out so late today, Hardy.”

  Sir Osborne started. “What’s that, Ambleside? Why should I not be about?”

  “Why, because of the rain, naturally. Appearances can be so deceptive, and even though all is calm now, I do believe quite a storm is expected. A great deal of rain. You will not like to be out in it, I am sure. I recall your distress when your carriage became mired in Hog’s Lane.”

  “Indeed, no! Most kind in you, sir, to warn me. Do you hear, Mama? There is rain coming, and we must be away before it turns everything to mud, you know.”

  “Rain? Oh, dear! We must hurry, Osborne. Clarissa, come along, dear. We are leaving.”

  It was too easy for words, and in the bustle and exclamations and farewells, Mr Ambleside slipped triumphantly into the chair beside Amy.

  6: A Proposal

  The walk home to Allamont Hall was a relaxed one after the visit to Lady Humbleforth. Language practice was set aside, and the object of study was nature. Spring and summer provided ample flowers and leaves and bird’s nests to show Papa and to draw, and autumn offered fruits and nuts and seeds to plant in abundance. But winter was holding Brinmorton Woods in its chilly clasp, and there was not a toadstool or a bird to take note of.

  Amy looked about her for anything of interest, but there was no need to talk, so she was occupied with her own thoughts. They were, for once, happy ones. The attentions of Lady Hardy and Sir Osborne were bemusing. She did not understand why they had distinguished her in that way for she could hardly suppose that her dowry would be of interest to a man as wealthy as Sir Osborne. Nevertheless, it was gratifying. It was the longest conversation she had ever enjoyed with either of them.

  However, the real reason for her happiness was, of course, Mr Ambleside. Ever since Connie had said that she felt no especial warmth towards him, Amy had begun to consider the possibility for herself. Granted he was above the average age for a wealthy man to marry. Why, he must be five and thirty, at least. But he hardly looked a day over thirty, and was free of afflictions, despite Connie’s talk of gout. Besides, Amy was no longer so young herself, and really, eleven years was nothing, if there was affection in the case.

  There was the nub of the matter. What did her heart say to her? There were thoughts, secret thoughts, that she had not shared with any of her sisters. Of all the gentlemen of her acquaintance, Mr Ambleside was by far the most amiable. He never made her feel awkward or uncomfortable, and if she stumbled over her words, he waited without impatience until she had got them out. She felt so at ease with him.

  He had been very pointed in his attentions so far. Not that it meant anything… he was merely showing courtesy to her as the eldest… it was no more than kindness in him, she knew that. She could never hope to secure such a man, not even in her most outlandish dreams. And yet… he had sought her out several times now. That did seem very pointed. She would not dare to allow herself to hope, but—

  “Amy!” Dulcie’s shrill voice cut through her reverie.

  “I beg your pardon. I was concentrating on the holly hedge. What were you saying, Dulcie?”

  “We were talking about a certain gentleman, whose name I need not mention, and how attentive he was to someone,” she said teasingly.

  Amy coloured at once. It was almost as if Dulcie had read her thoughts!

  Connie giggled, and Dulcie clucked at her. “Oh, not you! Why should you be thinking I spoke of you? No, I meant Connie, of course. Surely you marked it?”

  That made Amy flush even more violently. How stupid of her to misunderstand, to imagine they were talking about her. She hung her head, quite unable to speak.

  “I did not notice any particular attentions to Connie,” Belle said, and Amy blessed her calm tones. Belle was always so sensible.

  “Oh, tush, Belle, then you must have been blind,” Dulcie said, and Connie giggled again. They had reached the gate into the lane, and they quite came to a stop as Dulcie ran round in front of Amy and Belle. “He saw her the very second he entered the ro
om, and as soon as he had made his greetings to Lady Humbleforth, he came straight to Connie’s side, and engaged her in very deep conversation. It must have been deep, for he looked very earnest. What was it you talked of, sister?”

  That brought another little laugh. “I hardly know,” Connie said, gazing at her feet. “I cannot tell you a word I said, at any rate, and whatever he said… I cannot say, I am sure.” She blushed rather prettily. Amy envied her that ability, to look so sweet and delicate and innocent when she blushed. Her own face turned to fire, she was sure.

  “Who are you speaking about?” Belle said, in her straightforward way.

  “Why Mr Ambleside, sister, for sure,” Dulcie said. “Did you not notice how long he talked to Connie?”

  “Yes, and I also noticed how much he watched Amy, and that he chased away Sir Osborne Hardy to sit by her.”

  But Connie and Dulcie both protested, and then Grace began to wonder aloud if perhaps Mr Ambleside still preferred Connie. “He was so particular in his attentions, you know. All those flowers he sent!”

  “Perhaps we might let him decide whom he prefers,” Belle said crossly. “It is of no consequence, anyway, since Connie has already said that she feels no affection for him.”

  In the silence that followed, Connie pulled her cloak tighter. “I did say that, I believe,” she said in a tiny voice. “I thought… I still think he is quite old, a lot older than me. I felt… that I admired and respected him, as a man of consequence in the neighbourhood, and no more than that, and if perhaps I did once have a little tendre for him, it was quite gone away. But today… the way he talked to me, so particular, as if he were trying to tell me something of significance… I do not think I am quite as indifferent as I believed.”