If only she had fallen in love, as other girls did. If only she had found a gentleman who enjoyed the same quiet pursuits, a man she could regard with both respect and affection, and give her hand to with joy. Then it would have been no hardship to leave her sisters, and her familiar home and beloved garden. To her sorrow, it had never happened. She had had suitors enough in the years she had been out. Two or three in her first season, and several since. Yet somehow, none of them had stuck. At first, they had smiled and simpered and rushed forward to claim her hand at balls, their attentions so pressing that she grew quite out of patience with them. Then they had simply faded away.
It was only to be expected, for what did she have to attract a man? She was not pretty, like Connie or Hope. Her features were better than Belle’s — poor Belle! — but still, she had never considered herself a beauty. She had none of Grace’s liveliness, or Belle’s sturdy good sense. She could not play as well as Dulcie, or embroider like Hope. Painting and Italian conversation were beyond her. She was woefully short of accomplishments. So it was no surprise that none of her possible suitors had lingered. Somehow, she had suffered no lasting disappointment in this. On the contrary, it had always been a relief to return to her quiet life, and Papa had never berated her for her failure to find a husband.
But now everything was changed. Papa himself had made it necessary for her to marry, and naturally she would follow his wishes. Had he not always told her that a daughter must obey her father in all things? Papa had had her best interests at heart, as always, but it was a frightening prospect.
And now she had seventeen thousand pounds to offer, and her sisters would be doing everything in their power to help her find a husband, for they themselves could not marry until she had done so. Amy told herself she must be very brave, and do everything in her power to secure a husband, for she was determined not to stand in the way of her sisters.
“I am a daughter of Allamont Hall,” she reminded herself, lifting her chin. “I can do this, because Papa wishes it and my sisters are depending upon me. I will do this.”
~~~~~
Grace lost no time in drawing up a list of possible suitors for Amy. Each night, before they retired to bed, the sisters met in the room shared by Amy and Belle, ostensibly to hear each other’s prayers, but in practice to curl each other’s hair and gossip and whisper together for half an hour. The very first night after they had learnt the contents of the will, Grace had brought paper and ink.
“Now, sisters,” she said, settling herself at the tiny table in the window and dipping the pen in the ink. “Let us begin. Who are the most eligible men of our acquaintance? Once I have their names in order, we may consider how best to bring one of them to the point.”
“Grace, I wish you would not be so… so scheming,” Amy said crossly. “Ouch! That is too tight, Belle. Oh, why could we not have hair that curls without all this effort, like Mama.”
“You have Mama’s ears, Amy, and that will have to be enough,” Belle said. “I confess, I am inclined to take Amy’s view of the matter. We should leave it to Mama to guide us, or wait for a man to choose us. Gentlemen always know best what they want.”
“Oh, you talk such nonsense!” Grace said. “Gentlemen have to be led by the nose, like Mr Garmin’s bull.”
“Besides,” said Dulcie, “we cannot wait for a gentleman to fall in love with Amy. That might take forever. Connie, sit still, or I shall never get these papers in your hair.”
Amy flushed, but before she could make a response, Belle rested a gentle hand on her arm. “Dulcie, that is most unkind, even for you. You take no account of the limited society in which we move.”
“At least Amy and you had a proper season,” Dulcie said sadly. “She has had more opportunity than the rest of us to meet gentlemen. How are we ever to find husbands if we go nowhere?”
“Hope is the youngest, and look how quickly she secured Mr Burford,” Grace said.
“I do not consider a country curate much of a triumph,” Amy said at once.
“Sisters!” Belle said. “This is unbecoming in you. Grace, will you not begin your list, before your pen dries up?”
Grace hastily bent to her task. “The cousins must be first,” she declared, pausing over each name as the pen scratched away. “James. Mark. Hugo.”
“Really!” Amy snapped. “I am hardly so desperate as that.”
“Hugo is only sixteen,” protested Belle.
“They are all quite dreadful,” said Dulcie. “They throw snowballs and put frogs in our beds.”
“That was a long time ago, sister,” Grace said. “Oh! I have got ink on this gown. This pen is very badly made.” She dabbed at the stain ineffectually with a handkerchief before giving it up. “I should hope the cousins have grown out of such pranks by now. No, they must be on the list. They are very eligible, and they could inherit. Amy would be well advised to marry one of them, for then she would get the Hall, you know. Who else? We must have the Marquess of Carrbridge, of course.”
The sisters groaned in unison. The great-nephew and heir to the Dowager Countess of Humbleforth had been long anticipated in the neighbourhood, but season after season passed by without a sign of him.
“The mythical Marquess of Carrbridge,” Hope said. “He will not come.”
Grace shook her head at them, waving the pen so that drops of ink spattered across the paper. “He is the most eligible man we have in the entire county, so he must be included. Although it is true he will not come just for Amy, you know. Next — Mr Wills.”
Several of the sisters exclaimed in horror.
“He is so fat!” Dulcie said. “Quite horrid.”
Amy shuddered, finding no words to encompass her detestation.
“We must consider all the possibilities,” Grace said firmly. “He has a very pleasant house, and a substantial income. I am sure I heard Mama say he was very comfortably off.”
“Three thousand a year, at least,” Belle said. “More than enough for a family, but—”
“You see?” Grace said. “Perfectly eligible.”
“But fat!” Dulcie repeated.
“Yes, yes, but we must be practical,” Grace said cheerfully. “We will be in mourning for months. It limits the possibilities. And — we must all take what we can get, so that Hope may marry Mr Burford before she is as old and dried-up a spinster as Miss Endercott.” They all shuddered. “Now — Sir Osborne Hardy. A title and a fine manor. You would be exceedingly comfortable there, Amy.”
The sisters were less loud in their disapproval. Sir Osborne would certainly be a fine catch.
“I do not like him,” Amy said, pulling a face. “He cares too much about his clothes. It is not fitting for a gentleman. I am sure Papa never cared so much about his attire. Once or twice he criticised my dress, too, telling me I should wear shorter sleeves or a lace frill or some such. I thought it very rude of him, and besides, Papa directed what we should wear, and if Papa approved what could Sir Osborne’s opinion signify? So I do not like him at all. And… and I believe he does not like me very much, either. I insulted him once and he did not speak to me again for two years.”
Hope gasped. “Amy! Whatever did you say to him? It must have been something quite dreadful!”
“It was. He asked me if I did not admire his waistcoat, and I could not think what to say so I told him it made him look like a frog. It was green, you see. And it did make him look like a frog. So I do not think he would want to marry me in the least, for he is very fond of green waistcoats. And I do not want to marry him, either. Or anyone on the list.”
Hope heaved a great sigh, and Grace patted Amy’s hand reassuringly, leaving an inky stain. “They are none of them so bad, I am sure. It is just a question of you setting your mind on one of them, and then I am certain you would like him perfectly well.”
“I do not think that is quite the way of it, sister,” Belle said. “Amy must not be forced to marry a man she dislikes.”
“But then what is
to become of us?” Hope wailed. “If Amy will not like any of her suitors, we shall all die old maids, and think what a dreadful spectacle we will make. The whole world will laugh at us.”
“You are too pessimistic,” Belle said. “Have you any more names for us, Grace?”
“Only Mr Ambleside, but…”
“That is no good,” Dulcie said. “He was quite in love with Connie when last he was in the neighbourhood. He would have offered for her, too, only Papa sent him away.”
The girls sat in silence for a moment, mourning Connie’s lost opportunity. But there was never a prospect that Papa would have allowed her to marry before her older sisters, and so Mr Ambleside had given up hope and gone away, leaving his house empty.
“He has been gone for almost two years,” Amy said. “Why should he come back now? Not for me!”
“No, perhaps not, but he will come,” Dulcie said. “As soon as he knows that Papa is dead, he will come back, I am sure of it. He will come back for Connie.”
“Then I hope he is a patient man,” Belle said crisply. “Connie must wait her turn.”
“I do not want him, I am sure,” Connie said, pouting. “He is so old! Amy is welcome to him, for she is nearer his age. They would get along very well, I think. She has more patience than I for gout and dyspepsia and all those things that afflict old men.”
“He is not old,” Amy said, trying not to laugh. “And I am quite sure he does not have gout. He is perfectly healthy.”
“Then you will not mind being married to him, I daresay,” Connie said.
Amy refused to answer that. “You are being ridiculous, Connie,” she said, blushing. “If ever… No, the idea is too silly for words.”
“True, for I daresay he has never even thought of you,” Grace said bracingly. “But if ever he returns to the county, we will work on him. I am sure we can turn his head in your direction. Is there anyone I have forgotten?”
But none of them could think of another name. It was a very short list. Amy lay awake for a long time that night, thinking about the names on it, but mostly she thought of Mr Ambleside, and wondered if he would indeed rush home to pay court to Connie.
~~~~~
Amy was with her mother in the book room when Cousin Henry was shown in, the first to pay his condolences.
The late Mr Allamont’s cousin owned a modest estate to the west of Brinchester. It was several hours by road from Willowbye to Allamont Hall, but no more than an hour across the fields, so Mr Henry Allamont arrived on horseback. He was a sensible man, but he had made some unlucky choices in his life. His first wife had died bringing their daughter into the world, and his second had presented him with three sons and then taken herself back to her native France to live.
Amy was very glad to see Cousin Henry, who had seldom visited in recent years. The two branches of the family had been close at one time, and the cousins had even lived at Allamont Hall for a while after a fire had damaged Willowbye, but Amy’s father had never quite approved of them and gradually intimacy had been lost. Mary had continued to visit and had even shared their lessons for several years, but even that arrangement had lapsed.
It was unfortunate, but no doubt Papa had had his reasons. Now, perhaps, the cousins could become frequent callers again. Amy had no great affection for the boys, who tended to wildness, but she would be very glad to see more of Mary, and Cousin Henry too.
“Well, Sara, this is a sad business,” Cousin Henry said, taking her proffered hand rather formally. “But what are you doing in William’s book room? I should have thought the morning room more congenial for you at this hour.”
“It is Amy’s Greek recitation, you know. All the girls take their turn to learn a piece and recite from memory. William liked to correct their errors.”
“Oh.” Cousin Henry cast his eyes towards the empty chair beside the fire, where his cousin had been wont to sit. “And you feel obliged to continue the practice?”
“What else should we be doing?” Lady Sara said to him equably.
“I hardly know. A thousand things more enjoyable, I should imagine. However, I fell out with Greek a great many years ago, and it with me, so it is no use asking my opinion on the matter. Amy may recite in Greek if she wishes. All of you may do exactly as you please, now. You are free of William’s rules. But enough of that. How are you bearing up?”
“As well as might be expected, Henry,” Lady Sara answered in her placid way. “I depend upon you to take care of me now, cousin, for I am quite alone.”
“Well, as to that, you may always turn to your father if you need help, Sara,” he said briskly. “Lord Harkwood never got along with William, but he has always held you in affection. And you have four brothers and two sisters who will be very glad to offer you whatever assistance you might need. Although it seems to me that you are rather well set up here. You have the income from the estate, after all, which must be substantial.”
She said nothing, turning her head away from him as if he had offended her.
He took the hint to change the subject. “Amy, I am happy to see you again. You are well, I trust? Not too distressed by this will, eh?”
She hardly knew how to answer that, so she addressed only the simpler question. “I am well, thank you, Cousin Henry.”
“Excellent! You must find it a strange business, this tying up of the dowries. I cannot imagine what my cousin meant by it.”
There was no answer possible, so Amy made none, clasping her hands together in her lap and casting her eyes downwards.
Cousin Henry turned back to Amy’s mother. “Forgive me, Sara, but I must speak bluntly. I do not at all like the odd way matters have been left. To set aside so much money for the girls and then hedge it about with conditions. And leaving the estate to whichever of the boys marries one of the girls. It was badly done of William, very badly done.”
This was a shocking suggestion to Amy, for surely Papa knew what he was about? It may have seemed a strange provision, but he must have had a good reason for it.
“You know what sort of man he was, Henry,” Lady Sara said mildly. “He liked everything just so.” There was a hesitation in her manner. “Henry, you must be disappointed that he chose not to leave the estate to you. Or the Shropshire house, perhaps. It would have been a help to you.”
“I should have liked something for Mary, at least,” he said. “Well, it is done and we must make the best of it.”
“You do not suppose, then, that we may over-set the terms of the will, if we take the matter to law?”
He thought for a moment. “I am not sure that you would be successful in such a suit. A judge may well consider that William was taking very good care of his family by these conditions. The girls must marry, after all, and it is customary for the elder to marry before the younger. It is an unusual provision, perhaps, but not especially detrimental to the girls, nor onerous, given the astonishing size of their dowries. I should warn you that James is champing at the bit to help one of the girls keep the Hall, so I fear you must bear a deal of his company. He and Mary will be here shortly, but I came ahead to talk to you privately first.”
She inclined her head graciously in acknowledgement. “That was thoughtful, but you need not be concerned. James is always welcome here. As indeed are all of you. I trust we will see you more frequently now.”
“That is my hope, also.” His tone softened as he spoke, a little smile playing on his lips.
“Perhaps if we are expecting additional company, we should go to the drawing room after all. Amy, dear, you will not mind your lesson being curtailed? For it is a kindness in our cousins to visit us in our grief.”
Amy followed as they moved towards the door side by side, her cousin remarking with astonishment that much had changed in the house since his last visit, and her mother teasingly pointing out that it was his own fault for staying away for so long.
And now Cousin Henry and Mama were smiling and laughing together like old friends, and agreeing to meet often
, as if there had never been a breach between the two families. Papa was barely in his grave, and already his wishes were being set aside. It was shocking.
~~~~~
Far away in the very northernmost reaches of England, Mr Wilberforce Ambleside leapt from his chair in astonishment, barely able to comprehend the words he was reading. Having reached the very end of the letter, his eyes jumped to the top to begin again. Was it possible? But his eyesight was not failing yet, and Miss Endercott’s neat script was perfectly legible. There could be no mistaking the meaning. Mr Allamont was dead, and the consequence was…
“Herbert! Herbert, come in here at once!”
He strode across to the fireplace and gave the bell-pull a sharp tug, then another, and yet a third.
“Herbert! Where—? Ah, there you are at last.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Herbert, you must pack immediately. At once, I tell you!”
“Very good, sir. May I enquire…? What will you be requiring, sir? Town clothes or country? Any riding to be done? And how long a stay?”
“You must pack everything, everything! We are going back to Higher Brinford at last.”
“Indeed, sir. Then may I take it that… circumstances have changed?”
“Yes! Her father is dead, and may God have mercy on his soul. Yes, Herbert, everything has changed at last, and for the better. Oh, very much for the better.”
3: Mr Ambleside
Amy’s cousin, James Allamont, arrived shortly after his father, his face wreathed in smiles, as if he were paying a regular morning visit instead of comforting a recently bereaved widow and her daughters. He was a young man who made a good appearance in society. His looks were not above the average, but he showed himself off to advantage with the most fashionable clothes and fine horses. But his character was weak, and since leaving school he had given himself over entirely to a life of pleasure. His father’s reduced circumstances prevented him from disgracing himself in London or any of the fashionable towns, but within the county he was a notorious flirt, and happy to attend any social occasion which provided a meal and some pleasant company.
Amy (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 1) Page 2
