Amy (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 1)

by Mary Kingswood

  He sighed, but when she dared to look up at his face, she saw that he was smiling. “But you are shivering. It is abominably rude of me to keep you sitting at this time of year. I should never forgive myself if you were to take a chill. Please, let me take you back to the house at once.”

  Amy scarce knew how she kept her composure on the long walk. Mr Ambleside held her arm firmly, or else she might have collapsed entirely. They must have gone the long way round, past the ice house, for eventually they came to the old shrubbery and then the garden door.

  “Will you be all right?” he murmured, holding one small hand in his much larger one. There were spots of mud on hers, and she hoped none had soiled his pale kidskin gloves.

  Impossible to form even a single word! She nodded helplessly.

  “Then I shall bid you good day, Miss Allamont.” He bowed and strode off across the lawn to retrieve his horse.

  Amy crept in through the garden door and into the hall. She could hear several voices in the morning room, and then a burst of feminine laughter. Her nerves were too over-set for company, so she ran up the back stairs and into her bedroom, where she hurled herself onto the bed and wept, although she could not say why. She could make nothing of it, but his words spun in her head until she was dizzy.

  Belle found her there some time later. “Sister, whatever is the matter? You missed the lesson with Miss Bellows. Are you ill? What has happened?”

  Amy was too choked with misery to speak, but Belle put her arms around her and held her until the tears had dried a little.

  “Now, dearest, tell me all about it.”

  Perhaps she should not have done, for Mr Ambleside had surely spoken in confidence, but she could keep no secrets from Belle, closest and dearest of her sisters. So, gradually, she told her the whole of it.

  Belle, her most partial friend, was not in the least surprised by the revelation that Mr Ambleside was in love with her — had been in love with her for years. “I never saw the preference for Connie that Dulcie was so confident of, and did I not say so? I told her often that he was just as attentive to the rest of us, and perhaps more so to you. But she would have none of it.”

  Of the secret daughter, she sighed. “It is not uncommon. But Ambleside has acted well, do you not agree? He owned to his mistake, and saw to it that neither the girl nor the child would suffer for it. I daresay the child would have gone to a foundling home else, or to a poor relation, and have had no life at all. Whereas now she must have modest but respectable prospects. I admire him for that — it shows a great deal of honour.”

  “Oh — do you think so?” Amy said, brightening.

  “I do. But I must own that Papa does not appear in the best light from this sad story.”

  Amy plucked the blanket between her fingers. “I wondered,” she said hesitantly, “whether perhaps Mr Ambleside might not have misunderstood Papa a little bit, for I cannot believe he would say such terrible things.”

  “Well, there we differ,” Belle said briskly. “Papa was not always the easiest of men to deal with, sister. Once he got an idea in his head… Well, no matter. The question now is what might we tell the others? Connie, in particular.”

  “Must we tell them anything?”

  “Yes, I believe we must. Connie cannot go on imagining Ambleside in love with her. She must now relinquish all claim to him, for he is yours… if you want him, of course. Do you want him, Amy?”

  “I am not sure.” Her voice was a mere whisper. “I do not know what to think.”

  “Well, in that case, let us say nothing for the moment. He is not pressing you for an answer, after all. Connie has not mentioned him so much lately, so perhaps she is losing interest. But if she should begin to speak of him again in stronger terms, we must put her on her guard, in the kindest manner possible.”

  ~~~~~

  After leaving Amy, Ambleside collected his horse and rode straight home, forgetting entirely that he had intended to pay a morning call on Lady Sara. His thoughts were an agonised jumble. He had not had the least notion of talking so intimately to Amy, but finding himself alone with her, and the conversation taking the precise turn it did, his resolve had crumbled. He cursed his impulsiveness, which had got him into such difficulties in the past, and was still his abiding sin. He always intended to be restrained and conform to every tenet of propriety, but he was so weak where Amy was concerned. It was why he had taken himself away from her company altogether for two years.

  Now he must hope that she would be able to overlook his youthful error of judgement, grave though it was. He had lived with the consequences of it for half his life, and he would be cast into despair if it now shadowed the rest of it, by depriving him of the wife of his heart. How many times had he wished he had followed his father’s advice and sent Martha away? Her family would have taken care of her and the child, and he could have sent money sometimes.

  But no, it would not have done. The fault was his, and it was only proper that he pay a price for it. If only he had been born to a title! Were he an earl, or even a lowly baronet, a natural daughter would not attract adverse comment. But Mr Ambleside of Staynlaw House must behave better or receive the opprobrium of good society. His life since the unfortunate event had been conducted with the utmost propriety, beyond even the common level of the society in which he moved, but still he lived in fear of exposure. So far, his secret had not become common knowledge, but he was certain there was talk. It could not be otherwise.

  He must wait now until Amy was out in society again, for he could not speak while she was in mourning. He had waited for years, so a few more months were not significant, and at least he had declared his intentions. He must hope that other likely suitors were just as punctilious. There were those, he knew, who felt that six months of mourning was sufficient for a parent, and after that the bereaved might resume normal life without a care. He was not one who held that opinion. A full year was required before he could speak formally to Amy. He would need to ensure that no other suitors came near her before then.

  But he would have to be careful of the younger sister — what was her name? Connie. Constance. He could not recall speaking to her. He supposed he must have done, for he had punctiliously avoided paying Amy too much attention. He had sat beside Belle once, for her features were too distinctive to be mistaken — how painful to be the plain one in a family of beauties! — but usually she was deep in a book and he did not like to disturb her. The other sisters were quite interchangeable to him, just a gaggle of young ladies in identical gowns, with identical faces and hair and smiles, and he had tended to choose one quite at random. Was it possible he had inadvertently been particularly attentive to Constance? It was perhaps so, and his intended compliments to Amy had been badly misinterpreted. He must take the greatest care in future. It would not do to raise expectations which he could not meet.

  There was one matter that distressed him still, and that was Sir Osborne Hardy. Even though he had not yet offered for Amy, he might be on the brink of doing so, and that would never do. He wanted no rivals to his own suit. What were Hardy’s intentions in the matter? Ambleside would know, and would know immediately. So it was that, not half an hour after entering his house, he determined on quitting it again, to the despair of his grooms who had barely finished unsaddling his horse and were now required to saddle him again at once.

  He rode directly to Brinford Manor, and before he was half the way there, it had begun to dawn on him that Hardy was most unlikely to be at home. It was a fine day, with no risk of rain, and the lanes were almost free of mud. It was the perfect day for tooling about the countryside in a carriage, and going visiting.

  Having set out, however, and not being of a mind to sit fretting at home, he carried on, and was gratified to discover on his arrival at the Manor that the ladies were out, but the master was at home.

  Hardy and his friend were knocking balls about the billiard table in a desultory fashion, but they looked up with every appearance of pleasure as A
mbleside was announced.

  “Ambleside! Deuced civil of you to call,” Hardy said. “We’re bored to death here, so you will be the very thing to liven us up. Take a turn, will you?”

  He accepted the cue, and made a couple of plays, quite at random. “I hardly expected to find you home on such a fine day,” Ambleside said.

  “I wonder you troubled to come at all, in that case,” Hardy’s friend said in his laconic way.

  Hardy laughed at this as if it were the greatest joke. “Daniel is so droll! He keeps me well entertained.”

  “I can well believe it.”

  “It is true, we had thought to go visiting with m’mother and m’sisters, for we have not been anywhere in an age. But Daniel felt a little unwell this morning, and we thought it best not to risk it. Eh, Daniel? So here we are. I say, Ambleside, take your shot, you know.”

  Ambleside and Hardy had never been particular friends, despite having estates so close and moving in the same company. There was something too languid about Hardy, too little active, and too overdressed, for Ambleside’s taste.

  Then there was his friend. Mr Daniel Merton was, he thought, the worst kind of parasite, who had latched on to a rich acquaintance and made himself indispensable. If Hardy needed a friend, he had cousins enough to fill that role, or any number of cronies of his own rank. Merton was a dark, dour man, sallow-skinned and lank-haired. He dressed well, no doubt at his friend’s expense, but without either taste or style.

  With another ball or two moved around the table, Ambleside thought it time to broach the subject of his visit.

  “So is it true, this rumour being put about, Hardy? That you are about to be betrothed to Miss Allamont?”

  Hardy heaved a dramatic sigh. “M’mother’s got this bee in her bonnet, and you know what the ladies are like, Ambleside, once they sink their teeth into an idea. Won’t let go of it, no matter what. Always had her eye on Miss Allamont, actually, but the father — what a bear of a man! M’mother suggested the idea to him once, and he… well, Mama said she’d never heard language like it, not from a gentleman. Quite rude to her, in fact. But now…”

  “Quite. So it is a settled thing? When am I to congratulate you, Hardy?”

  “Lord, no! The girl’s still in mourning, for one thing. Haven’t actually spoken, don’t you know. But I shall have to, I suppose. No help for it.”

  Ambleside moved around the billiard table, and played a few shots. The next question had to be very casual. “But you like her well enough, I daresay?”

  “As much as I like any of them,” Hardy said gloomily. “Which is to say, she is no worse than any of the others. But m’mother’s choice, don’t you know. Nothing to do with me.”

  “She is very suitable,” Merton said. “An old family, very respectable, even without a title. And rich enough now to improve your own fortune, Ozzy.”

  “True, and timid as a little mouse. She’ll do everything m’mother says, don’t you know.”

  Ambleside did know. What a life poor Amy would lead as Lady Hardy, constantly under the thumb of the Dowager, and her husband absorbed with his friend and caring nothing for her comfort. No wonder Lady Hardy had an interest in Amy, for what could be better than a wife who would never rival her in her son’s life? No, he could not condemn her to such a dreadful fate.

  “But you do not have to,” Ambleside said. “You have full control of your estates and fortune, Hardy. You may do as you please.”

  “Ha! You do not know m’mother if you think so. No, she will peck away at me until I do what she wants. Always does. Much easier to do it right away. Saves a world of inconvenience.”

  “Besides, you must marry sometime,” Merton added. “No point putting off the inevitable.”

  “True, true. Suppose I must. Always hoped I would have a few years yet, though. Take that tour to Italy we talked about, eh, Danny? See the world before I have to set up m’nursery, don’t you know.”

  Ambleside took a few more shots, thinking that over. “What you need, Hardy, is a distraction, a lady you could pursue without… risk, shall we say. Someone meek enough to please Lady Hardy but independent enough not to tie you down. An heiress, perhaps, with estates in the north — no, a better idea, in Italy. Vineyards, probably, near Rome or Verona. Yes, that would do it. She would be touring England, but then she would have to go home to Rome. Or Verona, it hardly matters. And so you would naturally have to follow her, to seek her hand. So you would have your tour, you see, and Lady Hardy could not be displeased with the scheme.”

  Hardy stared at him, confused, but Merton laughed. “An Italian heiress? Indeed, that would be perfect. But where is such a person to be found?”

  Ambleside said, “Do you know, I believe I just might be able to oblige you.” And he began to laugh.

  9: A Visit to Higher Brinford

  “Well, girls, I have news for you,” their mother said to them one day. “I am obliged to go to London for a few days.”

  “Is this to do with Papa’s will?” Belle said.

  “The will? No, why should you think so?”

  “I thought you might see if it could be overturned or set aside or whatever is done to peculiar wills.”

  “Ah, I see. Regarding the will, Cousin Henry advised us that nothing might be done, and Mr Plumphett also. It is a little odd, to be sure, but it is greatly to the benefit of all of us, I believe. No, my visit is nothing to do with that. I shall be conducting some business, of course, but I also want to go to the warehouses. You will need new gowns for your half-mourning, and I must have something for the summer, too.”

  “Is not Uncle Edmund in the country just now?” Belle said. “I thought the town house was shut up.”

  “I shall be staying with your Aunt Tilly.”

  Amy heard her with bewilderment. Aunt Tilly, who was never spoken of? Mama’s younger sister, who had never been seen at Allamont Hall? And to buy fabrics for new gowns! Papa would have been horrified at the unnecessary expense.

  “Do we need anything new for our half-mourning, Mama? It is not so long since we put off our clothes for Aunt Hilary, and I am sure we can wear them again, with a little alteration. Hope, perhaps, will need something dyed—”

  “Nonsense, Amy. Aunt Hilary was a much more distant relation. For your Papa, and in consideration of his station in life, we must spare no expense. I should be mortified to wear nothing but bombazine and crepe for a full year, you know, and Papa could not expect it of me. I shall not be gone for long — a week, perhaps, or two at the very most — and you will have Miss Bellows with you, so it will be quite proper.”

  Amy had no idea what to make of the plan, so she took the first opportunity to find out Belle’s opinion, for Belle could be depended upon always to know the best way to go on.

  “I believe Mama is a little bored,” Belle said. “Remember that she would often be invited to Hepplestone or Tambray Hall after Christmas. Grandpapa and Uncle Edmund have such gay parties, she always said, which restored her spirits for the rest of the year. But I imagine they felt they could not invite her this year.”

  “No, indeed. It would hardly be fitting. But… Aunt Tilly?”

  Belle smiled and shook her head. “I do not know why Papa disapproved of her so greatly, but naturally Mama hopes to see her own sister.”

  “I do not think it right for her to go against Papa’s express wishes,” Amy said, but Belle just smiled.

  ~~~~~

  A few days after Lady Sara’s departure in the elderly travelling coach, news came from the village: Mr Plumstead, the former gamekeeper on the Allamont estate, had died at the age of ninety nine. His cottage, at the furthest edge of the woods, was still part of the estate, even though the woods themselves and much of the shooting land had long since been leased out, the late Mr Allamont not having his father’s delight in such sport.

  “The cottage will be empty now,” Grace said. “Is it not wonderful news? Not that I wished any harm to poor Mr Plumstead, and he might have lived there
for another hundred years for my part, but it is the most excellent thing.”

  “How so?” Amy said. “I do not think any of the servants to be in need of accommodation of that size, and the position, so far from the Hall, is most inconvenient.”

  “Oh, I have no wish for it on account of the servants, for we have more than enough room for them here. We have hardly any these days, and plenty of room to sleep more of them, whether indoors or out. No, I have it in mind to start a school in the village, and Mr Plumstead’s cottage would be the very place for it, do you not agree?”

  “A school? Whatever for?”

  “Oh, Amy! You are the most maddening creature! Why, to educate the village children, of course. Mr Ambleside has his school at Higher Brinford, and I do not see why we should not have one here. Mr Endercott was used to teach a little reading and writing, you know, and now Mr Burford does the same. But with a proper school, so much more could be done.”

  Amy nodded, remembering that Mr Garmin had sent his two sons to Mr Endercott to learn their letters and numbers, so that they might be able to manage the farm in their turn. And Mr Drake, too, whose woodcutting yard was in the village.

  “Well, I think it is a splendid idea,” Belle said. “The miller out at Brafton was obliged to send his eldest son to board at Brinchester to gain an education, and the poor man was quite over-set by the expense. And then he had to take the boy away in great haste when he got into trouble there. A village school would be so much better for everyone.”