Hope (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 6)

by Mary Kingswood

  He nodded, and released her. “I know, but it is impossible not to rant about it.” He sighed. “Well, I shall go and find a corner to sleep in, or rather to lie awake burning with resentment, I suppose. No doubt he will sleep like a babe. Perhaps I shall go and murder him in his bed. He deserves it, God knows.” Another sigh, heavier, almost like a growl. “Shall I send your maid up to you?”

  “Hugo…”

  A thousand thoughts flitted through her mind like butterflies. The future was uncertain, and even their fine bedrooms at the Hall would have to be given up to Ernest and his wife. Where would they sleep? Where would they even live? And was there any point in maintaining separate lives now that the very reason for it was gone? She could not bear to sleep alone after all that had happened, and she dreaded what Hugo might do left to himself. Would he really murder Ernest? She could not answer the point with any certainty.

  Above all, she needed the comfort of his arms around her and his kisses hot on her lips, and she remembered her mother’s words when she spoke of men: ‘There are times in every man’s life when the world seems to be a harsh and unforgiving place, and then his wife may offer him the comfort of her arms.’ Tonight the world was indeed harsh, and perhaps Hugo needed her as much as she needed him.

  “Hugo, will you kiss me?”

  He smiled then, the first smile she had seen from him all day, and he scooped her into his arms and pressed her close to him, his mouth covering hers hungrily. Such warmth flooded through her! When, after an age, he shifted away a little, she sighed with pleasure and looked up at him hopefully.

  Laughing, he tucked one arm under her legs and lifted her up. “Let us make ourselves comfortable, Mrs Allamont,” he murmured into her hair.

  She had no fault to find with this idea, giggling as he sat in a wing chair and pulled her onto his lap. Then they fell to kissing again, and she entered into it with as much enthusiasm as he did. Again he was the first to break away.

  “Ah, Hope, you taste of sugar and syllabub,” he whispered, running one finger over her lips so that they tingled most pleasurably. Sitting as they were, her face was level with his. It felt so intimate, curled up in the chair together. Tentatively she reached out a hand and stroked his hair. He smiled more broadly, but said nothing, gazing at her in the gloom of the candlelight as if memorising every contour of her face.

  In that moment, the thought of a night of solitude was unbearable.

  “Hugo…”

  “Mmm?” His arms were tight around her, rocking her very gently.

  “You will not leave me alone? You will stay with me tonight?”

  He stilled, his eyes widening. “If that is your wish.”

  She nodded, and then, because she wanted to be sure that he understood her completely, she added, “I know we once talked about… about not being husband and wife, not properly, but… there is no need to hold to that, is there?”

  He shook his head, his breathing ragged. “Is that—” He stopped, his voice not quite under control, then tried again. “Is that what you want?”

  Again she nodded.

  He hugged her tight. “Hope, you are the sweetest, most wonderful wife a man could wish for. Shall we… go to bed now?”

  “You will have to unfasten my gown for me.”

  A sound that was half groan and half laugh escaped him. “With the greatest of pleasure, my little wife.”

  ~~~~~

  The next morning was grey with sheeting rain, the streets puddled and dreary, with only a few cloaked figures hurrying to shelter. No one was minded to stay another night in Brinchester, however, so after a hasty breakfast the carriages were summoned.

  It had been agreed that Hope and Hugo would go ahead, to warn the servants of the change of plan. Connie and the marquess were to take up Ernest, as well as Dulcie and Alex Drummond, and follow on. The others had agreed that they would return to their own homes, and visit in a few days when Ernest had settled in.

  Hope had been rather dreading the journey home, shut in the carriage with Hugo for perhaps two hours, if the road were to be as boggy as she expected. But this was a very different Hugo from the wild creature pacing back and forth the previous night. He held her hand and smiled a little, and several times he stroked her cheek and told her how lovely she was, how sweet, how perfect. Then he kissed her.

  In between kisses, he talked calmly of what must be done to accommodate the new master of Allamont Hall. Perhaps he was reconciled to the new circumstances, but there was a sadness in his eyes when he talked of the Hall, or Mr Garmin’s farm, or the tenant cottages — everything on the estate that had almost been his, but which now belonged to Ernest. Instead of ordering the building of the new glass houses, or the improvements to the cottages at High Brafton, or the new pear trees he wanted for the orchard, he would have to explain it all to Ernest, and justify the expense and then persuade him to agree to it.

  The rain had stopped by the time they reached Lower Brinford, but there was another ordeal to be endured as the carriage rattled up the drive. All the servants, indoors and out, lined up to receive them formally, wreathed in smiles, and Hugo’s first task was to tell them that they should return to their work, and save the reception for the arrival of Mr Ernest Allamont.

  Lady Sara, they discovered, had already removed to the Dower House, where Cousin Henry was staying to ease her solitude, so the second task was to climb back into the carriage and go there at once to tell them both of the previous day’s events.

  “Ernest?” Lady Sara said, almost as if she had never heard the name before. “And he arrived at the very last moment? He was very lucky, then. Or you two were unlucky, perhaps.”

  “Luck had nothing to do with it,” Hope said. “He planned to arrive just before the time ran out. To surprise us, he said.”

  Lady Sara’s eyebrows snapped together. “He succeeded in that aim. But what shall you do now, Hugo? Everything is in pieces. How very unsettling.”

  “I shall see if Ernest needs an estate manager, or land agent, or some such,” Hugo said with a creditable degree of composure. “An estate of this nature is very different from a sugar plantation, and he will need a little help, just at first. At least that way we can stay on in the house, for a while, anyway.”

  Hope was rather proud of her husband that day. It would have been too much to say that he accepted the situation without reservation, for there was no mistaking the catch in his voice sometimes as he gave orders in preparation for Ernest’s arrival. Still, there was no rancour in his behaviour, and he did not hesitate to do everything that was needful. By the time the marquess’s carriage appeared on the drive, the principal bedrooms had been stripped of Hope’s and Hugo’s things, and Lady Sara had been temporarily reinstalled as mistress of the house, until such time as Mrs Ernest Allamont should arrive.

  In defiance of proper protocol, Ernest jumped out of the carriage first, not even waiting for the steps to be let down. He marched straight past the assembled staff without so much as a glance, and took the steps to the entrance two at a time. With a casual nod to his mother, he strode on into the house.

  Inside, Cousin Henry lurked unobtrusively in a corner, not invited, but no doubt too curious to stay away. Lady Sara went to stand beside him as she followed Ernest into the house, her face cold.

  Hope and Hugo waited in the centre of the entrance hall. They had not discussed how they would greet the new master of the Allamont estate, but as Hope made a formal obeisance to her brother, Hugo likewise bowed low beside her. Ernest grinned impudently at them.

  “Well, well, well! This is very pleasant. I hope you have a good blaze going somewhere, for I am chilled to the bone. I had forgot how appalling the weather is here.”

  “There is a fire in the drawing room,” Hope said. There was a fire in the book room, too, but that was still Hugo’s domain, and she hoped Ernest would not want to use it. “Are you hungry, Ernest? Mrs Cooper can prepare a cold collation for you.”

  Young and the footman
hovered nearby.

  “No, something hot. I am frozen, did you not hear me say so?” He turned to the butler, waiting impassively. “You — fetch some soup.”

  “Very good, sir,” Young said.

  “And brandy.”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  “Bring it to the drawing room. I will eat beside the fire.”

  The butler and footman disappeared to attend to these instructions.

  Lady Sara glided up behind him. “It is customary to eat in the dining room,” she said coldly. “Unless one is ill, of course. Then one may eat from a tray in one’s room.”

  “Well, listen to you, all hoity-toity. I’ll have you remember that I am master here, Mother.”

  “Thank you for your advice, but I do not believe I shall forget it.”

  “What are you doing here anyway? Why are you not in the Dower House, like a good little Dowager? Clarissa will not want you in the house, you know, for all that you are my mother. Nor you two, either,” he said, turning to look at Hope and Hugo. “You have no place here now that the Hall is mine.”

  “As you wish,” Hugo said quietly, although his eyes flashed. “We can be gone in a few days, if that is convenient.”

  For a moment, the two men stared at each other, then Ernest laughed raucously. “No need, I am sure. Just my little joke. And Mother can stay until Clarissa gets here, if she wishes. I have no objection, so long as she does not countermand my orders.”

  Lady Sara looked him up and down composedly. “Is that what passes for humour in the West Indies? You will find society here rather different from what you are accustomed to, I daresay.”

  The smile was wiped out instantly, and his chin lifted belligerently. “Oh, are you teaching me how to behave, now? You had best be polite to your son and heir, madam, or else watch out for your allowance.”

  “The income from my jointure is mine until I die or remarry,” she said composedly.

  He glared at her, hands balled into fists, but whatever he was about to say was lost, as the door opened and Connie and Dulcie came in, smiling nervously, with their husbands.

  “Well, how pleasant this is,” the marquess said into the silence, rubbing his hands together. “Mother and son becoming reacquainted. What a charming picture of… um, a family reunited.”

  “Ernest is many things,” Lady Sara said, her voice haughty. “He may even turn out to be a gentleman, in time. But a son of Allamont Hall he is not, or he could never have treated his family with all the consideration of a sewer rat. I acknowledge him as no son of mine. Ernest, you have your wish. I shall return to the Dower House forthwith.”

  She spun on her heel and marched out into the October gloom.

  “Oh dear,” the marquess said.

  12: News From Shropshire

  Hugo’s life had been turned upside down. In that one moment when Ernest had burst into Mr Plumphett’s office, Hugo had changed from a gentleman of wealth to a man with no home of his own, no income and no employment. The stream of well-wishers who arrived over the first few days to pay a congratulatory visit to the bride and groom in their new home now found them abruptly reduced to the role of poor relations, while a man no more than a distant memory to most and a complete stranger to some, ruled his new domain with many a smirk. So while the visitors smiled and drank tea and exclaimed in amazement at the return of the long-lost son and heir, many kissed Hope sadly and patted Hugo on the shoulder in silent commiseration.

  There was little to be done, apart from trying to smile, and agreeing that yes, it was a great surprise, was it not? Who could have guessed it? And what astonishing timing to arrive at just the last moment. But inside Hugo seethed. As the youngest son, he had suffered all his life with having favourite books or toys or even a horse, once, commandeered by an older brother. Finally, he had fondly imagined, he would have his revenge for all those insults. While his oldest brother was married to a lowly farmer’s daughter, and his middle brother was scraping a living as a schoolmaster, he would be a gentleman of means, the owner of a wealthy estate and a fine house. At last, he would be somebody. To have all that snatched away was intolerable. And yet he could say nothing. He must smile and nod and smile some more, and pretend to be happy for his cousin.

  Hugo could perhaps salvage something from the disaster, however. His first task, as soon as Connie, Dulcie and their husbands had left and he felt Ernest was beginning to be settled, was to establish the terms under which he and Hope might stay on at the Hall. No further mention had been made of them moving out, and it was clear that Ernest had no idea how to manage his inheritance, so Hugo broached the idea of becoming the agent.

  “Naturally it need only be a temporary arrangement if you wish it, just while you find your feet here, cousin,” he said to Ernest. “I have had the management of affairs for three years now, so I have a fair idea of how matters go on and what needs to be done. I shall be happy to explain it all to you, but for now perhaps you might prefer a more formal arrangement.”

  “Oh, if you want to do it, I shall not stop you,” Ernest said. He was huddled over the fire in the drawing room, a shawl around his shoulders. “Put another log on, will you? This room is so draughty.”

  “You might find the winter parlour more congenial,” Hugo said. “Or the morning room, perhaps. They are small enough to be made cosy.”

  “Those are women’s rooms,” Ernest said loftily. “The book room is where I should be, although… I have no good memories of it. I suppose it has not changed since Papa had it?”

  Hugo hesitated, unwilling to relinquish his own domain, but cognisant of Ernest’s superior claim to it. “I have made a few changes since I have been using it. You might find it more comfortable.” And when Ernest had inspected the room, and chased the dogs out, and examined the view from every window, and declared it not so bad, Hugo felt emboldened to ask, “What sort of salary did you have in mind?”

  “Salary? For what purpose?”

  “If I am to be agent officially, there should be a salary. Shall we say five hundred a year?” This was a wildly extravagant sum for an agent, but he felt he could not comfortably support Hope on less, and perhaps Ernest would not quibble.

  “Why do you need a salary? You are family, you live under my roof, and eat at my table, so I do not see why I should pay you a salary like a servant.”

  “Very well. I am sure I can find employment elsewhere. There is an estate on the other side of Brinchester that—”

  “Two hundred.”

  “Three.”

  “Two hundred and fifty, and not a penny more.”

  “Thank you, cousin, I accept.”

  It was a reasonable amount, but not such as could support a family, even without the expense of a separate establishment. Hope’s dowry, which had always seemed of little consequence, was now become a matter of some import, and he wrote to Mr Plumphett to ask him to discover the amount. The addition of twenty thousand pounds, or perhaps more, if Grace’s comments on the subject were accurate, would bring their income to almost a thousand a year, which he supposed they could live on comfortably enough, with care. He was glad now that he had not yet ordered the making of a carriage. A gig would be the most they could afford.

  Somehow, he minded the necessary economies less than he might have supposed. Or rather, he minded only for Hope’s sake, for he wanted her to have all the new gowns and bonnets and silk stockings her heart desired. Not that she had ever been profligate where money was concerned. Her father had been a tight-fisted man, and his daughters had long ago learned to make do, to patch pelisses and retrim bonnets. Hugo had hoped that his wife could enjoy a more lavish life now.

  His wife! The thought made him smile. Every time he caught her eye across the dinner table, or during cards in the long evenings, or in the drawing room receiving guests, she looked a little conscious and his heart skipped a beat. In all his imaginings regarding his future existence as Mr Allamont of Allamont Hall, he had thought only of himself — striding about th
e house, or galloping here and there to oversee his lands, or driving to evening engagements in his fine new carriage. He had not thought much what it would be like to have a wife. Even when they had stood before Parson Endercott to be united, he had not seen Hope as anything more than a means of achieving his ambition.

  Yet now, she was his comfort and his confidante, the friend of his heart, who delighted him every day. So pretty with her shy smile, so warm, so generous — how had he never seen all her good qualities before? She it was who had organised everything after Ernest’s arrival. Hugo had been too despondent to consider where they were to sleep, knowing only that they had to move out of the two principal bedrooms. He had supposed that they would have one of the guest bedrooms, or perhaps one of the now empty children’s rooms, but Hope had seen at once that it would not do.

  “Ernest and Clarissa will want the full use of the house,” she had said. “We cannot compromise their arrangements by taking any of the rooms in the main building. Besides, we may be family, but we are not here as guests. You are the agent and I am merely your wife. We will take some of those little rooms above the kitchen. They are hardly ever needed, except when the house is filled to overflowing, which last happened at Connie’s wedding, I believe. There is a group of smaller rooms that can be combined to make a suite — a bedroom and dressing room, a sitting room and something that could be a small kitchen, with a little work. Then we could be independent if we wish to be. There is room for a nursery, too, in time.” She coloured a little, and he smiled, lifting her hand to his lips.

  “Our own little kingdom — that sounds delightful, Mrs Allamont. There is a back stair there, too, so we can come and go without constantly crossing the entrance hall.”

  “Exactly! And if Ernest wants the book room, you might establish your office in the old gun room. The dogs would be able to go out through the garden door.”