Amy (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 1)

by Mary Kingswood

  He was shown into the drawing room, where Lady Sara and all her daughters were now seated, embroidery in hand, feet correctly positioned, heads demurely lowered unless addressed. Bowing to an excessive degree, and enquiring briefly after Lady Sara’s health, James appeared to consider his duty done, and bounded across the room to claim a seat beside Amy.

  “Well, this is a turnabout, eh, coz? We have always rubbed along famously, and it seems your papa noticed it, for why else would he push us together in such a way? Such fun we shall have when we are married, do you not agree?”

  Amy had no patience with such absurdity. She never knew what to say to James when he talked such nonsense, but at least with family there was no need for false civility. “Really, cousin, you have never paid me any attention before this, and I wish you would not pretend otherwise.”

  James merely smiled at her, and responded with some fulsome compliments on her dress.

  She flushed, embarrassed. Compliments always threw her into such turmoil. Her mother accepted them so gracefully, with the slightest of smiles, but then she was an earl’s daughter, and a famous beauty, her dress always so elegant, that such remarks were no more than her due. Amy had no such advantages which could attract the least comment, so when a gentleman admired her appearance she knew it for a falsity. That put her quite out of temper.

  “Stuff and nonsense, James!” she snapped. “Do not say such foolish things.”

  He laughed and patted her hand. “There, now! I suppose your purpose is to encourage me to repeat myself, in even more extravagant terms. I know how you ladies love to hear a man express his admiration. So I will oblige you, dear cousin. You look quite charming, for black, you know, despite the melancholy reason for it, sets off your complexion to the greatest advantage.”

  She flushed even more, too angry even to respond to such silliness. How he could imagine she would be gratified by such words when her papa was not long buried was beyond her. James laughed even more, not in the least discomfited by her disapproval, and appeared quite ready to continue in the same nonsensical vein.

  Amy could not listen to any more of his outrageous overtures. Making the exertion to divert him away from the subject of herself, she enquired after his health with as much politeness as she could muster.

  “Oh, I am well, as always, coz. Never better, never better. I have a splendid new hunter, too. Bought him from Sir Matthew. Expensive, but very showy, and that is the important thing, eh? Spirited chap, I have quite left Mary behind. Such a slowtop she is.”

  “You set out with Mary? And left her behind? Really, James! I am glad you are not my brother. Your care for your sister leaves much to be desired.”

  He laughed, not in the least shamefaced. “Mary will be fine. She knows your fields as well as her own, you know. I daresay she will be here at any moment.”

  Indeed, a few minutes later the door opened and Mary was announced. The eldest of the cousins, she was a handsome woman, and sensible without excessive cleverness. She was received with pleasure by all the ladies, with whom she was a great favourite. She was a particular friend of Amy and Belle, between whom she now seated herself, chasing away her brother, who lost no time in making himself agreeable to Grace and Hope with a stream of little compliments. They blushed and scolded him roundly, and under cover of their conversation, Mary leaned forward to whisper confidentially to Amy.

  “I am so happy for you. Your father has left you very handsomely provided for, and you will be settled in no time, I doubt not. That must be such a comfort at this time of sorrow.”

  “I wish I could be so sanguine,” Amy said. “I have been out for seven years, Mary, without so much as a single offer. Is it likely I will now be surrounded by suitors?”

  Mary hesitated. “Do you want my truthful opinion? I suspect your father frightened away a number of suitors. And although your dowry was much talked of, the amount was always uncertain. But now…”

  “But who will want me?” Amy said. “Even with seventeen thousand pounds, I am no great catch. Yet I must marry, for the sake of my younger sisters. Grace has drawn up a list of possible beaux, but I cannot see myself married to any of them.”

  “Not even the Marquess of Carrbridge?” Belle said, leaning across Mary to speak in a low voice.

  Amy smiled. “Sister, if ever the Marquess of Carrbridge comes here and makes me an offer, you may be sure that I will accept him at once.”

  When at length the visitors had all departed and the ladies dispersed to their usual employments, Amy returned to the silent book room. Standing before her father’s empty chair, hands clasped in front of her, she began her Greek recitation all over again.

  ~~~~~

  Mr Ambleside wasted no time in returning to his home at Staynlaw House, startling the housekeeper with his abrupt arrival, and throwing the servants into a frenzy of activity, removing dust sheets, opening up rooms long unused, restocking the cellars and unpacking glass and china from storage. Never was a house cleaned and scrubbed and polished so swiftly.

  Precedence required that he pay his first call on his return to the neighbourhood to the Dowager Countess of Humbleforth, and then Sir Matthew and Lady Graham. Mr Ambleside cared not a fig for precedence. Instead, directly after breakfast, he sent for his horse and set off at once for Allamont Hall.

  The ladies received him with great surprise, for no word of his arrival had yet reached them. He greeted each of them in turn, according to age, offering his condolences. With six daughters in the family this might have been awkward, but with the Allamont ladies there was no difficulty. The chairs were arranged in a precise circle, and the ladies arranged with equal exactness, Lady Sara facing the door, and the young ladies in sequence in order of age. So Mr Ambleside was able to begin with Lady Sara, proceed to Miss Allamont next to her, and thus round the circle.

  However, the ladies were not alone. Miss Endercott, whose brother held the living of Lower Brinford, and Mr Burford, the curate, were already seated in the morning room. Miss Endercott was one of those spinsters who said little and did less, who went nowhere and sat quietly in a corner during social engagements, yet managed to know everything that went on. If there was an attachment forming, or a new baby expected, if a servant had misbehaved or a young man had lost money at the gaming tables, Miss Endercott would know all.

  Mr Burford was less interesting. He was neither handsome nor rich, and had no great skill in the art of conversation. Moreover, he was in love, a state which is liable to render the most articulate man speechless. Since the moment he had first set eyes on Miss Hope Allamont, his heart had been lost. Now he gazed adoringly at the object of his affections, his face as red as his hair, while she blushed and simpered and threw quick, secretive glances at him. He hardly noticed Mr Ambleside enter the room and make his way round the circle.

  So it was Miss Endercott who exclaimed in her gruff tones, “Gracious, Mr Ambleside, I am all astonishment. We do not see you for two years, yet you walk in as coolly as if you had never been gone!”

  He had to smile at her effrontery. Miss Endercott was the cool one, for it was she who had alerted him to the recent change in circumstances at Allamont Hall.

  “Mr Ambleside is among friends,” Lady Sara said serenely. “He need not stand on ceremony with us. Pray be seated, sir.”

  She waved him to the only remaining seat, between Hope and Miss Endercott. He was about to take it, for from such a position he could enjoy looking at the object of his visit, even if he had not the pleasure of conversation with her, when one of the Miss Allamonts — was it Grace? — called across the circle.

  “Belle, I am in difficulty with my thread. Your hands are steadier than mine. I should be obliged if you would lend me your assistance.”

  Belle at once jumped up and moved across to her sister, leaving her chair vacant. Mr Ambleside needed no greater opening. With alacrity, he took the free seat, smiling at the sister on his right — what was her name? Clara? Clarissa? Cora? — before turning, as pre
cedence required, to Miss Allamont. She gazed at him nervously, as if unsure what he might do, but he knew how to set her at her ease.

  “I cannot describe my astonishment,” he said, almost before he had taken his seat, “to hear of the most untimely demise of your father. I should have thought him the very last man in the world to succumb to violent illness, for he enjoyed the most vigorous health. How could such a thing happen?”

  Miss Allamont’s face assumed a solemn expression. “Indeed, it was most unexpected,” she said, in low tones. “Papa had gone out for his Sunday walk, for he always wished to reflect upon Mr Endercott’s sermon before dinner. The Endercotts and Mr Burford always dine with us on a Sunday, and Papa liked to discuss theological points with them. The weather was most inclement, but Papa would not be deterred by such a trivial matter. However, he unfortunately took a severe chill, which settled on his chest and within a sennight he fell into a fever from which he never recovered.”

  Her voice wavered as she spoke, and Mr Ambleside was stricken with guilt. “I must apologise, Miss Allamont, for raising these most distressing thoughts. I wished only to… you will forgive me, I trust. I did not know the nature of Mr Allamont’s illness. But I am relieved — very much relieved — to find that you are in good health. All of you,” he added hastily.

  Amy smiled wanly, her eyes demurely lowered, but made no reply.

  Miss Endercott stepped into the breach, her deep voice booming across the room. “I hope you mean to make a long residence, now that you are returned to the neighbourhood, Mr Ambleside.”

  “That is certainly my intention,” he replied. “Now that I am home, I daresay I shall not stray far again. I have seen much to please the eye in my wanderings, but nothing compares with my own neighbourhood, and the great beauty to be seen therein.”

  Miss Allamont lifted her eyes to him, her composure recovered. “Ah, you have been in Northumberland lately, have you not? Did you enjoy your stay there?”

  He turned to her with a smile. “Yes, indeed. When blessed with sunshine, it is a beautiful, wild country. One might walk all day without seeing a living soul.”

  “Oh, that does sound very wild. I am not sure I should like to be so far from civilisation.”

  “I can assure you, Miss Allamont, that one would have to have a heart turned entirely to stone to be unmoved by such great beauty, quite unspoilt as it is. If you could see it, I am certain you would delight in it, just as I did.”

  “When blessed with sunshine,” Amy pointed out.

  That made him laugh. “Which, regrettably, it seldom is. I confess, I have rarely seen such endless rain.”

  She smiled at him, then blushed and lowered her eyes. In a different sort of female, he might have thought it coquettish and calculating, but in Miss Allamont he knew it to be mere awkwardness. Not every man would find such timidity alluring, but to him it was enchanting. So many young ladies pretended to be demure, but here was one who did not even know how to pretend.

  “Have you never been to the North, Miss Allamont?”

  “No, never, sir. I was never outside the county, except for a month in London once.” She answered readily, but her cheeks were still suffused with a flush.

  “Do you not wish to travel?”

  “Oh, I am sure it must be most interesting, but Papa would never leave home. He thought it too unsettling and awkward a business. It is much better to stay on familiar ground, he always said.”

  There was no possible answer to that which would not reflect badly on either Mr Allamont or Mr Ambleside himself, so he gave it up. While he cast about for some safer topic of conversation, Grace leaned forward from the opposite side of the circle and said loudly, “Do you not think Amy is looking particularly well, Mr Ambleside?”

  He was tempted to smile at such a provocative remark. He understood her, however. She was determined to push him into Amy’s way. He had not the least objection to that, but he knew better than to rise to her bait.

  So he answered her gravely, choosing to misunderstand her meaning. “Indeed, and I am glad of it. But I believe Miss Allamont has always enjoyed excellent health, apart from the influenza four years ago.”

  “Really, Grace!” Lady Sara said, breaking away from her conversation with Miss Endercott. “What are you about to be saying such things? You must forgive her forwardness, Mr Ambleside. She has not been much in company as yet, and without the benefit of a London season, she has not achieved the refinement of manners that I or her papa would have wished.”

  “One cannot expect wisdom in youth,” Mr Ambleside said. “The young must be allowed to fall when first they learn to walk.”

  “You are tolerant, sir, but Grace allows her high spirits to carry her too far sometimes. Yet she has been well taught.”

  With great energy, he said, “A young person may have the best teaching in the world, and have high principles and sound morals, and still be drawn into an impulsive mistake.”

  They were all silenced, and he saw from their faces that they were surprised by his forcefulness, so he began again, in a lighter tone. “No one meeting any of your daughters would be conscious of any imperfection of manner, Lady Sara. They are all delightful, and must be a great comfort to you in your grief.”

  She acknowledged it with an inclination of the head, and he was relieved when the conversation moved on to less dangerous ground. Shortly afterwards, Miss Endercott decided to leave and, Mr Burford desiring to remain a little longer, Mr Ambleside politely offered to escort her home.

  It was a long enough visit, he reflected. Next time, he could perhaps linger a while longer.

  Miss Endercott set off at a good pace, and Mr Ambleside, leading his horse, had to stretch his legs to catch her.

  “I must thank you for your most timely letter,” he said, as soon as they had passed the lodge and turned into the lane.

  She strode on for several paces, crunching through fallen leaves, before replying. “You may thank me after the wedding, as fulsomely as you wish. I am especially partial to a drop of good Madeira.”

  That brought a smile to his lips. “You may have to be patient. I cannot press my suit too earnestly yet, not while she is still in deep mourning.”

  “Nothing official, naturally, but you could perhaps come to an understanding? Or at least hint at your intentions?”

  “A hint might be acceptable, but it would be most improper in me to attempt to engage her affections at such a time. I could not do it.”

  “You are very strict in your adherence to the proprieties, Mr Ambleside.”

  “I believe you know the reason why.” Her silence confirmed it. “Then you see why it may be some time before your Madeira is secure.”

  “I can wait.”

  They walked on amicably, talking of indifferent matters. After leaving Miss Endercott in the village, he rode the rest of the way home, his mind fully occupied with considering how soon he might call at the Hall again.

  ~~~~~

  The young ladies’ days were filled with improving activities, their late papa holding to the opinion that until they were married and had establishments of their own to occupy their time, they must continue to increase their accomplishments. Every hour, therefore, carried its allotted task, each of the six following a different system of learning, according to their talents and inclinations. Much of the instruction still fell to their governess, Miss Bellows, but Sir Matthew Graham taught them Latin and history, and Mr Endercott contributed Greek, Biblical interpretation and the ancient world. The expensive dancing master engaged for Amy and Belle had been dispensed with as soon as Miss Bellows had memorised the steps well enough to teach the younger girls.

  Meals were solemn affairs, with conversation limited to matters of topical interest only. The evening was taken up with the reading of sermons, or approved works of literature, followed by a discussion of the same. No gossip or idle chatter was permitted, lest their minds become corrupted.

  So it was not until they retired to bed that an
opportunity presented itself to discuss Mr Ambleside.

  “Did I not tell you how it would be?” Dulcie said triumphantly, as she threaded curling papers into Connie’s hair. “I said he would come at once, and so he has. And he sat beside her as soon as the opportunity presented itself. How in love with Connie he must be!”

  “Pfft!” Connie said. “He may be in love if he chooses, but he is of no interest to me. Amy may have him, for all I care.”

  “I saw no sign of love in him for any of us,” Grace said. “He was very happy to sit by Amy, was not he? He paid Connie no great attention. We must put Amy in his way, so that he notices her above all, and she will have an offer in no time. Or as soon as the mourning period has passed,” she added hastily, seeing Belle’s frown.

  “Amy?” Belle said gently. “What do you think? He is better than Mr Wills!”

  Amy laughed a little consciously, for her own thoughts had been following a similar path. How easy Mr Ambleside had been to talk to! They had chatted for several minutes, and she had not once stumbled over her words, or said anything foolish, or lapsed into silence. Yes, Mr Ambleside was very agreeable. “Oh yes! Much, much better. He is very amiable, and if he had no other attachment—”

  “Exactly!” Dulcie said, tugging Connie’s hair so hard that she grimaced in pain. “He has excellent manners, and does not show his preference openly, but it is easy enough to see when one looks for it.”

  “Do you think so?” Belle said. “He has never distinguished Connie in any way.”

  “Oh, sister!” Dulcie said, abandoning Connie’s hair altogether, so that it unravelled itself. “You must all remember the excursion to Monkswood three years ago. On Connie’s happening to mention that the primroses would be in bloom just then, Mr Ambleside insisted we all go to see them. Do you not remember? He would listen to no one, but would arrange it all himself, every detail. Nothing was too much trouble. And all for Connie.”