Hope (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 6)

by Mary Kingswood

“What do you suppose that is about?” Hope whispered to Mary.

  But she shrugged, looking as puzzled as Hope felt.

  ~~~~~

  Lady Sara entered the dining room in her usual serene manner, the gentlemen all rising. Young shut the door softly behind her, and Ambleside brought forward a chair for her. She sat, waving them back to their seats. Hugo was relieved when his father took it upon himself to explain the situation. He was still too stunned to think, never mind string together a coherent sentence.

  Ernest! After all this time of utter silence, all the fruitless searching by his father, then Plumphett and latterly the aunt in Liverpool, yet it must surely have been his own advertisement which had brought forth this result. It was, of course, gratifying to consider that he had succeeded where every other effort had failed, yet his success must entirely crush his own hopes. No longer could he anticipate his future role as lord of his modest domain, sitting at the head of the table, carving the meat and giving orders to his servants. Now they would not be his servants at all, but Ernest’s.

  “Sara, you must prepare for a shock, for there is someone come who was not expected.”

  “Do I need to have my smelling salts to hand?” She smiled, fumbling in her reticule, before laying a vial upon the table. “There. Now shock me as much as you will, for I am quite prepared.”

  Henry swallowed hard. “Ernest is here.”

  There was a long silence. Hugo had never seen Lady Sara discomfited, but he could swear that her usual calmness had fled. Her cheeks grew red, and she breathed harder than usual. “Ernest? He is here?”

  “He is. He presented himself at the front door, but, not unnaturally, he does not wish to distress you by a sudden appearance without warning. Young thought it best to ask us what to do. Ernest waits in the book room.”

  “You have not seen him, then?”

  “Not yet. It is for you to determine how we respond to this approach.”

  She rose, and all the men rose too. “Respond?” She said crisply. “We do not respond. Those boys left this house without a word eleven years ago, and in all that time, I have not known whether they were alive or dead. If they suppose that they can walk back in as though nothing has happened, they are much mistaken. If this person wishes to make a claim on the estate, then he must apply to Plumphett.”

  With that she would have left the room, except that Henry reached the door before her.

  “Sara! Are you so hard-hearted? This is your son! Surely there is some maternal feeling still residing in you? At least see him and —”

  “No! A thousand times no. They made their choice all those years ago. I never want to see either of them, not ever.”

  And with that she swept regally out of the room, head high.

  There was a long, stunned silence in the room.

  Eventually Henry said, “I suppose I had better see Ernest, and tell him Sara’s wishes in the matter.”

  “Might we all see him?” Hugo said. “I feel we owe him that much courtesy, at least. Besides, I confess to an interest in seeing what sort of man he has become.”

  “I should like to know where he has been all these years,” James said.

  “And why he made no attempt to communicate with his family,” Burford said. “His poor mother! How distraught she must be at the prospect of a reunion. She must feel it beyond anything. No wonder she cannot bring herself to see him immediately. She will need time to accustom herself to the idea of the return of her son.”

  Hugo had never thought Lady Sara capable of that depth of feeling, but he said nothing. Her anger, though, had taken him aback. Surely any mother would be thrilled to have her child restored to her, even so wayward a child as Ernest?

  “Are we agreed?” Henry said. “Shall I have Young bring him in?”

  Ambleside raised a hand. “You are of the family, Allamont, and perhaps you have the right to see this man. For myself, I barely remember him as a child, and I do not feel comfortable disregarding Lady Sara’s express wishes in the matter. If she does not wish to receive him, I do not feel that I can do so either.”

  This view of the matter had not occurred to Hugo, but he had to admit the justice of it.

  His father grunted and nodded. “That is an excellent point, Ambleside. It would be disrespectful to Sara to see this man here when she has refused to do so. She is still mistress of this house, after all, albeit for a short time only.”

  So it was agreed, and Young was summoned to convey Lady Sara’s message, that Ernest must submit his claim formally to Plumphett.

  “It is an odd time to be calling,” Hugo said. “I wonder why he came so late, and where he will go now.”

  “Perhaps he is used to town hours,” Burford said. “He may have expected to find us not yet sat down to dinner. As to where he will go, he must be staying in the village at one of the inns, unless he has acquaintance nearby.”

  “It is hardly likely that he still has any friends hereabouts,” Ambleside said. “He broke all connections when he left. He has a great deal to answer for, to cause his parents so much distress, and then to turn up on the doorstep like this, quite unannounced. It is reprehensible. It is not difficult to pen a line or two to give fair warning of his intended arrival.”

  “I daresay he wanted to surprise everyone,” Burford said.

  “Then we may all agree that he has achieved his objective,” Henry said with a smile. “I must confess to feeling a great deal of curiosity about Mr Ernest Allamont. It is a thousand pities that we could not have talked to him, and satisfied ourselves on some of the most pressing questions of the years of his absence.”

  “You will also want to assure yourself of his suitability for the position he must now undertake, Allamont,” Ambleside said. “It is a great responsibility, managing an estate of this size and assuming the appropriate role in society. We could have deduced a great deal by a look at the man himself, and the sort of carriage or horse he keeps.”

  Hugo had been sunk in his own thoughts, but this roused him. “He came on foot. We heard no horse or carriage, so he must have walked down from the village.”

  “Interesting,” Burford said. “As to his person, we shall have an excellent chance to observe him on Sunday in church.”

  “This is a blow to you and Hope, Hugo,” Henry said. “You must have felt yourselves to be secure after five years with no word. But you must go to her at once. It will be the greatest shock to her — she will be distraught.”

  “Go to her?” Hugo said, struggling to grasp his father’s meaning.

  Henry’s lips twitched. “You are betrothed, are you not? It is your duty to offer her comfort on such occasions.”

  “Oh — of course, sir.”

  They made their way to the drawing room, where the tea things were just being brought in. Lady Sara was not there, and it was obvious from the relaxed chatter around the room that no word of the evening’s events had been conveyed to the ladies.

  “Take Hope outside — somewhere private — and tell her everything,” Henry murmured in Hugo’s ear.

  Hugo crossed the room to where Hope sat with Mary, laughing at some shared joke. As Hope saw him approach, she looked up with such merriment in her face, that his heart constricted at the thought of the news he bore. It was not so bad for him — he might, perhaps, gain employment somewhere as an estate manager. But what was Hope’s future now? Nothing but the continuing dreary wait for a suitable husband to come along and the slow decline into the role of village old maid.

  “Hope, I… I need to talk to you. Alone.”

  At once her face changed sharply to apprehension. “Now?”

  “If you would be so good.”

  He offered her his arm and led her away into the south gallery, where a pair of lamps on low tables cast a dim glow.

  “Will you sit?” he said.

  But she was too agitated. “No! Tell me the worst! What is it — Connie? Or Dulcie? One of the children?”

  “No, no, nothing of the so
rt, I assure you. No one is ill or dead.”

  “But it is bad news, I can tell by your face.”

  “I am not sure whether it is good or bad. You must make up your own mind on that, for I cannot at all decide. The strangest thing has happened — Ernest is come back.”

  She was so silent that he thought that she must not have heard him aright.

  “Do you understand me? Ernest came here tonight, and where he has been all this time and why he stayed away and why he left in the first place I cannot tell, but he was here, in this house, only your mama sent him away again.”

  “Ernest? Not Frank, just Ernest? But why did Mama send him away?”

  “You must ask her the reason for it, for that is as much a mystery to me as anything else.”

  “And he is well? Did he look well?”

  “I cannot tell you that either, for none of us saw him except Young.”

  “Oh.” She was silent for a long time, her head held low, and in the dim light he did not at first notice the tears coursing their way down her soft cheeks.

  “Oh, Hope, you must not cry,” he said, wiping away one tear only to have another follow it at once. She was so sorrowful and so fragile that he was filled with a fierce desire to protect her from the cold winds of the unfriendly world.

  She gave a little sob. “That is the end of it, then. It was always too good to be true. I knew something would happen to spoil everything, and now I shall be stuffed into that horrid little Dower House with some bird-witted companion and Mama, who will be away half the time anyway, and everything will be so dreary.”

  “Hush, now,” he said. “Hush, hush.” And somehow, he could not quite tell how it came about, his arms were round her and she fluttered in his embrace like a bird, emitting little sobs of distress. “It will all work out for the best in the end, never fear. I shall take care of you. I promise you will never have to live in the Dower House.”

  “Truly, Hugo?”

  She lifted her tear-streaked face to him with a hopeful expression. Only a monster could have denied her the comfort she needed so badly, and Hugo was not a monster. He pulled her closer and patted little kisses all over her face — her forehead, her wet cheeks, her nose, her chin and finally, encountering no protest, her lips. He pulled away once, but she made no move to disengage, so he bent down to kiss her again, a long, lingering kiss that filled him with warmth and made him a thousand times more optimistic than he had been just five minutes ago.

  “That was very nice,” she whispered shyly. “But did you mean what you said? About taking care of me?”

  “Truly I did,” he whispered, stroking her hair. “I suspect Ernest will need an agent to run this place for him until he finds his feet, so with your dowry we shall live very comfortably.”

  “Thank you, Hugo,” she said, still sniffing slightly. “I think I am glad that Ernest is come back, on the whole, even though it is not so good for us. But I am very glad that I have you, and that you are not casting me off at once, for that would be very lowering, do you not agree? I thought you would — cast me off, I mean. It makes me so happy that you are not.”

  And only then did he see the shackles he had walked into with his eyes wide open. Somehow the betrothal that was based solely on the inheritance of Allamont Hall had become a different arrangement altogether, and he was irrevocably committed.

  5: Sunday

  Sundays were never a favourite of Hugo’s and this particular Sunday was worse than most. He slept well — he always slept well, to be truthful — but the instant he woke, he was assailed with a jumble of thoughts about the previous day. Ernest, principally, but also Hope.

  Ah, Hope! What was he to do about her? So pretty, so delightfully trusting, so responsive to his kisses — yet did he really want to marry her? When she came with the house and an estate worth two thousand eight hundred a year, plus a dowry of twenty thousand, then the question resolved itself rather easily. But remove the house and estate, and what was left? Not enough money for them to live independently, that was what was left. He would have to find some kind of employment, and even then they would be living in much reduced circumstances.

  Then there was his glib suggestion of a marriage of convenience. With a substantial income he would not have minded that, for he could have made other arrangements, but with only a modest income his options would necessarily be limited. And there was the awkward fact that he was not even sure whether that aspect was a part of their agreement or not. He had suggested it, Hope had refused for the twentieth time, and nothing more had been said even when she had accepted him. How foolish of him to find himself mired in a binding contract without even knowing the full extent of the terms. He could foresee a very tricky conversation at some point in the future.

  Too restless to lie abed, he longed to call for his horse and gallop off his ill-humours in the fields and lanes, his dogs running alongside, tongues lolling out. That was too frivolous a pursuit for a Sunday, so he rose and dressed quickly, and then briskly walked the two miles through Brinmorton Woods to the village of Lower Brinford, there to sit in pious silence through Matins. Outside the church, he would have set off at once back to the Hall, for his stomach was anxious for breakfast, but Miss Endercott stopped to speak to him. The vicar’s sister was close to sixty, but as hale and sharp-minded as many a younger woman.

  “Ah, Mr Allamont! How splendid to see you in attendance so early in the day. Shall we have the pleasure of seeing Lady Sara and Miss Allamont later?”

  “I cannot speak for Lady Sara, but Hope will certainly be here, with quite a large party.” He hesitated, but if he did not give her the names, she would pester him until he did. “My father is staying at the Hall just now, with James and Alice. Also the Burfords and Lady Hardy.”

  “Quite a family gathering of the two branches of the Allamont family,” she said. “I heard also that the Ambleside carriage passed through the village last night, and that of Mr and Mrs George Graham. One might almost think there was a celebration under way.”

  He laughed. “It does rather look that way, does it not?” He was not about to tell her of his engagement. Let her work it out, which she was quite astute enough to do without any help from him. But it occurred to him that she might have knowledge of Ernest. “I wonder, Miss Endercott, since you are so friendly with Mrs Camelford, whether there are any unusual guests at the Haddington Arms just now.”

  Her eyes sparkled with interest. “Do you have any particular kind of unusual guest in mind, Mr Allamont?”

  “A gentleman of about my age, or a little older.”

  “Ah. There is no one of that description at the Haddington. However, there is a Mr White staying at the George and Dragon. He is rather reticent about himself and his business here, but he just might have taken a walk in the direction of Allamont Hall last night. Or so I have heard.”

  She did not ask any questions, for which he was grateful, since it was not his secret to tell. But perhaps she already knew it, for Ernest must have been known to many in the village. Surely someone would recognise him, even after all these years? Hugo had a burning desire to see Ernest for himself. Really, it had been a mistake to send him away last night.

  “Is he here?” he said, looking about him at the small congregation clustered in chattering groups outside the church.

  “I have never seen him myself, but I can tell you that there was no one at this service who was unknown to me. He might attend the Eucharist, however, so you could take a look at him then. There will be several from the inn who can point him out to you.”

  Hugo strode back through the woods, head down, heedless of the summer beauty around him. If there had been streams overrunning the path, he would have walked straight through them. If a wild boar had run across in front of him chased by a wolf, he would have seen nothing. His mind was turned inward to his own problems, and the odd matter of Mr Ernest Allamont, who gave himself a false name, kept himself to himself and stayed at the cheap inn. That might be a very proper de
sire not to set the neighbourhood by the ears, but it might also hide something less high-minded.

  He arrived late to breakfast, finding everyone already seated around the table, even Lady Sara, who usually kept to her chamber until noon. Today she was smiling and sharing a joke with his father, a circumstance even more shockingly unusual than her presence so early in the day.

  “They are in high spirits,” Hugo said, sliding into a seat beside James.

  James grinned. “Indeed. Interesting, is it not? Lady Sara is astonishingly lively these days, and Papa seems to have mastered his grief rather well since he came out of mourning. Alice thinks they will make a match of it.”

  Hugo’s slice of buttered toast stayed its motion towards his mouth. “Really?” He looked again at the two people in question, still chortling, heads close together. “Oh.”

  It was a thought that had not previously crossed his mind. Lady Sara had always been a cool, distant figure, but when his mother had become ill the previous year, it was Lady Sara who had rushed to her side and stayed with her for many weeks until all hope had been lost. Since then, she had visited many times to console the widower, or he had been invited to stay at Allamont Hall. Now Hugo wondered if the consolation had gone deeper than mere family affection.

  James leaned closer, and whispered, “Mary told me once that Papa nearly married Lady Sara once, long ago, but they quarrelled and went their separate ways. He married Mary’s mother and Lady Sara married Cousin William, and that was an end to it. But now that they are both free…”

  Hugo said nothing, but he wondered greatly at it. Lady Sara had never seemed to hold Papa in higher regard than any other man. He could see his father’s affection for her shining down the years, even when they had both been married to other people, but Lady Sara had never shown him anything other than icy disdain. If she had harboured a secret passion, she had concealed it very well. He shook his head at the incomprehensible ways of older people.

  After breakfast, the ladies waited for the carriage to be brought round to convey them to church, while the gentlemen walked with the servants through the woods.