Amy (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 1)

by Mary Kingswood

  But settling their own squabbles was something they seemed unable to do, to Amy’s distress. Dulcie would no longer speak to her at all, and if communication could not be avoided, would use Belle as intermediary. “Belle, would you be so good as to ask Amy to pass me the scissors, if you please?” When Amy jumped up to oblige before Belle could speak, Dulcie would say, “Thank you, Belle.” It was mortifying. And Connie could barely look at Amy without bursting into tears.

  Amy had no idea how to restore either of her sisters to their usual equanimity, or herself, either. She could not be mistaken about Mr Ambleside’s wishes, but she did not feel equal to the task of convincing her sisters of them. Nor could she conceive of accepting an offer from him when it would distress Connie beyond all measure. So she said nothing, and tried not to think about Mr Ambleside at all. In this she was unsuccessful, and even in church her mind churned and misery gnawed at her.

  So it was not until the Allamont ladies rose at the end of the service to file slowly out of church that Amy saw Mr Wills. He bowed at her as she passed, creaking slightly, which unusual attention startled her so much that she was quite unable to respond.

  Outside, Lady Sara stopped to talk to Mr Endercott, and her daughters stood in their line behind her. Amy kept her head down, remembering to place her feet precisely together while she waited. Behind her, she heard giggles — Hope, probably, making sheep’s eyes at Mr Burford, like a parlour maid.

  Still looking down, Amy found a pair of highly polished shoes within her vision.

  “Good day to you, Miss Allamont.” Her head shot up. Mr Wills, contorting his rounded features into the semblance of a smile. “I trust you are quite well?”

  An easy question! Such a relief. She bobbed a curtsy. “Thank you, sir, I am quite well.”

  He thrust something towards her, creaking again. Perhaps he wore corsets. “I saw these in the hedgerow this morning, and… they quite put me in mind of you.”

  She stared at him, open-mouthed, then down at his gloved hand, clutching a nosegay of spring flowers. What was she to do? Should she take them? It would be rude to refuse, but… what did he mean by it? It was too confusing.

  “I hope you will accept them,” he said, lifting her hand and pressing the beribboned flowers into it. “Perhaps you will think of me when you look at them?”

  “Thank you,” she said automatically. Then, thinking that was not quite grateful enough, she added, “You are too kind.”

  “I have some better blooms in the hot-house,” he went on. “I shall bring some for you. You are at home on Thursdays, I believe?”

  “At home. Thursdays. Yes, sir.”

  “Then I shall see you on Thursday, Miss Allamont. Good day to you.”

  Amy was speechless. She greeted a few friends, although she hardly knew what she said, and followed her mother to the coach as if in a dream.

  “There you are, girls,” her mother said as the coach swayed off down the road. “You see how your papa’s generosity brings you attentions you could not have earned on your own merits? Amy, you will have an offer before the summer, I wager, and be married by Michaelmas. What a pleasant thought, to have one at least of you off my hands.” She turned her head to gaze out of the window.

  Amy could not look on the prospect of marriage to Mr Wills with much pleasure, but she had to marry so that her sisters might have their chance, and perhaps, since Mr Ambleside’s suit was fraught with difficulties, Mr Wills would do for the purpose as well as any other. And there was one happy result of Mr Wills’ interest in her — Connie, who was seated across from Amy in the coach, smiled for the first time in days.

  ~~~~~

  “Truly, Belle, it is much better this way.”

  Belle made a noise that might have been a sigh, or a huff of exasperation. “Nonsense! What about poor Ambleside? Is he to have no say in his own future? He is in love with you, not Connie, whatever Dulcie may say about it.”

  She climbed into bed beside Amy, but made no move to snuff the candle.

  “If you marry Mr Wills, you make yourself unhappy and Ambleside too. Where is the sense in that?”

  “Marriage is not a matter of happiness, sister,” Amy said in subdued tones. “Has not Mama said so a thousand times? It is about making the most advantageous match possible.”

  “I am shocked to hear you talk so, sister. I thought you more sensible than that.”

  “But I must marry, and without delay, not with five more sisters waiting their turn! I cannot be choosy, Belle.”

  “Just so. You are determined to throw away your best chance of a happy match. Amy, I despair of you! Although I am not privy to your heart, you will never convince me of your indifference to Mr Ambleside.”

  Amy twisted the blanket between her fingers. It was a point she had wrestled with herself. “I like him, of course,” she said eventually. “He is most amiable, and… and has always been kind to me. But…” She fell silent.

  “But?” Belle said gently. “Amy, are you or are you not in love with Ambleside?”

  “I do not know!” Amy cried. “How can one tell? I like to be with him but I have known him for ever, and he is merely a friend. A comfortable old friend who makes no demands on one. Like an uncle, perhaps,” she added, although she had never met her own uncles, so had little idea what one might be like.

  “An uncle!” Belle exclaimed. “He is not so old as all that. But if that is how you feel, there is no more to be said on the subject.”

  She blew out the candle, and the sisters lay silently in the dark, each absorbed in her own thoughts.

  ~~~~~

  Two days later, Amy and Belle were in their father’s book room, practising their Greek recitation. Or at least, Amy was reciting and Belle was listening and correcting, for although she no longer took lessons in the subject, she had a much better grasp of the language than Amy. A knock preceded the entrance of the butler.

  “Yes, Young, what is it?” Belle said.

  “Beg pardon, Miss Allamont, Miss Belle, but there is a gentleman here to see her ladyship.”

  “She cannot be disturbed at this hour, Young. The gentleman will have to leave his card.”

  “So I have told him, Miss, but he has already left his card on three previous occasions. He insists that the matter is urgent, and asked if he might speak to one or more of the Miss Allamonts.”

  “Is it a business matter?” Belle said.

  “I couldn’t say, Miss.”

  “What sort of gentleman is he? Might he be a professional man — a lawyer or some such?”

  The butler hesitated. “I would say not. He seems gentlemanlike, but perhaps not from the upper levels of society, Miss.”

  “Ah, in trade, I daresay,” Belle said. “We will see him, Young.”

  When Young had left to fetch the visitor, Amy hissed, “What are you doing? We should leave such matters to Mama.”

  “Mama does not wish to be disturbed, but it might be important — about the will, perhaps, or the estate. Imagine if this man has news of Ernest and Frank, and we turned him away!”

  Amy could see the sense in that, but it still made her uncomfortable.

  The gentleman strode in, beaming from ear to ear as if being received by two of the Miss Allamonts was the greatest joke in the world.

  “Mr Eddington, Miss,” Young intoned, with the slightest hint of disapproval in his tone.

  “How do you do, Mr Eddington,” Belle said, stepping forward. “This is Miss Allamont, and I am Miss Belle Allamont. I am sorry Mama is not able to receive you today. She keeps to her room most mornings.”

  “I am sorry for it, too,” he said, grinning even more widely. “But you two will do splendidly. Yes, splendidly.” And the grin became a chuckle.

  Amy could see what Young meant about Mr Eddington not being from the top echelons of society. His coat was expensive, but not as well-cut as, say, Mr Ambleside’s attire, and the style was rather vulgar. His accent, too, was not as clear as one would expect. He was midd
le-aged, rather handsome, but turning to scrawn rather than fat.

  “How may we help you?” Belle said. “Do you have a message for us to pass to Mama?”

  “Aye! That would do very well, very well indeed. Yes, a message! The very thing. You have a pen to hand?”

  Belle showed him to the big desk, found paper and ink, and trimmed a pen for him. Then he sat in Papa’s chair and scribbled a rather laborious note, taking great care over every letter.

  “There! That should do it!” he said, sanding the paper vigorously. He folded it twice and handed it to Amy. “Pray give that to your Mama, Miss Allamont, and my card as well. Good day to you both.”

  And, still chuckling at some unknown joke, he left.

  Belle unfolded the paper and began to read.

  “Belle!” Amy said, scandalised. “That is private!”

  “Then he should have sealed it,” Belle snapped. “But there is nothing secret about it. Look.”

  She passed the paper to Amy, who, after only a moment’s agonised indecision, read it.

  “Lady Sara, My regards to you, and trust this finds you in Health. I look forward to seeing you again very soon. Your Daughters are so obliging as to ensure this reaches you safely. John Eddington”

  “Well, that does seem quite ordinary,” Amy said. “I daresay Mama will be sorry to have missed him after all.”

  “I daresay,” Belle said, tucking note and card into her reticule.

  But when Mama emerged from her seclusion and read the note, her face darkened with anger.

  “Such impudence! I have a good mind to—” She looked up at Amy’s stricken face. “Not you, child. But I fear I must go back to London for a day or two to sort this out.”

  “Then it is a business matter,” Amy said, relieved. “We were not sure.”

  Lady Sara began to laugh. “Business? I suppose it is.” Another laugh. “Yes, indeed it is business.”

  And she left to begin packing, still chuckling.

  ~~~~~

  As Thursday drew near, Amy began to suffer from nervous foreboding. Never before had she had a suitor who signalled his intentions quite so clearly. Mr Wills’ attentions after church, in full view of everyone, had been so particular. Impossible to mistake his meaning! And then he had made it quite clear that he would call on Thursday, bringing flowers for her from his own glass houses.

  “What shall you wear?” Grace asked, giggling. “Will he make you an offer on the spot, do you suppose?”

  “Of course not!” Amy said, flushing with annoyance. Really, it was too bad of Grace to tease so. “And I shall wear my Thursday morning dress, naturally.”

  “Oh, stuff!” Grace said. “That is one of the old ones. You should wear one of the new ones. They are so much nicer.”

  “I could not!” Amy said. “Where would we be if we decided to wear whatever we want on any day? Papa set such sensible rules for us.”

  Grace turned her eyes up with a dramatic sigh. “Oh, Amy! You are such a widgeon! We do not have to follow Papa’s rules any longer. We need not dress alike any more, and we can wear whatever takes our fancy. I shall wear one of my new gowns on Thursday, with pink ribbons, but you may do as you please.”

  “Pink?” Amy said, shocked. “But that is Belle’s colour. Your ribbons must be yellow.”

  Grace and Hope laughed. “Pink does not suit Belle in the least,” Hope said. “Grace, on the other hand, looks very well in it.”

  “That is true,” Belle said. “I always thought it rather foolish in Papa to insist that we all dressed alike, with only the ribbons to distinguish us. No one could tell us apart — except for me! No one mistakes me for any of my pretty sisters.” She laughed, not at all discomfited. “But the rest of you…! Even those who know all of you well got you muddled up, and called you by the wrong names.”

  Amy could not reply. How dreadful to be the only one still following Papa’s guidance.

  After dithering and trying on and rejecting so many times that the maid was driven to distraction, Amy settled on the old gown. Although the newer ones looked better, she could not deny, she felt so uncomfortable wearing them, as if she were defying Papa. It felt right to be doing exactly as he would have wished.

  So she took her work bag to the drawing room to await Mr Wills’ arrival feeling almost at ease. He was not a man she could feel much regard for, perhaps, and he was not very agreeable to look at, a state which could only worsen as he aged and grew even more corpulent, but he was respectable, with full command of his estate, which was considerable. It was a good match, and she was content with it. She would have no need to make difficult decisions about Mr Ambleside now, and although he might be unhappy for a while, surely he would console himself with Connie? This way was better for everyone. She was doing her duty, Amy told herself firmly, when the little knot of misery inside her threatened to rise up and choke her.

  She waited patiently, and callers began to arrive. She was glad to see Mary and Cousin Henry, less glad to see James, Mark and Hugo. Mr Burford came, as always, and Miss Endercott. Mr George Graham was there, with several of his friends.

  But not Mr Wills.

  12: Flowers

  Late in the morning, when only the cousins remained, the butler sidled up to Amy.

  “Beg pardon, Miss, but there is something arrived for you.”

  “Something? What sort of something?”

  “A box of flowers, Miss, just this minute delivered in the Thornside wagon. There is a note with it, addressed to her ladyship, but since she is not here…?”

  Amy paled. He had sent the flowers, but not come himself? What did it mean?

  Belle put one hand on Amy’s arm. “I think we should read the note. I am sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation, but we will not know what it is until we do.”

  A reasonable explanation? Of course there was — he had had second thoughts, that much was clear. Amy was not surprised. How could she ever have expected to marry such a man?

  The butler brought the note, and Belle read it, then passed it silently to Amy.

  “Pray accept these flowers from my hot-houses, as I promised Miss Allamont a selection to arrange. Regretfully, urgent business sends me to Bath, and will keep me from your company and your charming daughters for some time.”

  Amy could not speak. A selection to arrange? Was that all the flowers meant to him? But mingled with the disappointment of another lost suitor was something stronger — relief. She would not now have to look at Mr Wills over the breakfast table every morning.

  Grace snatched the note from Amy’s hand, and gleefully read it. Then her face dropped. “Oh, Amy! He is not going to offer for you after all! What a dreadful thing, to get your hopes up so.”

  “I am sure Amy does not care,” Hope said. “Mr Wills was so fat!”

  While the others berated Hope for such coarseness, James leaned forward and whispered into Amy’s ear. “Never mind, coz, for now you will have to marry me, and think how much fun we will have, eh?”

  Amy could not quite agree with that, either. Finding a husband was so difficult! Her head ached with it all.

  Whilst everyone was busy talking about the note and Mr Wills, Cousin Henry slipped into the seat beside Amy. “When do you expect your Mama home?” he said.

  “She has not informed us.”

  “Hmm. Because I have had Plumphett over at Willowbye. He has been trying to make an appointment to see her for some weeks now, but she does not reply to his letters.”

  “Mr Plumphett? The solicitor? I trust there is no problem with the will? It is not to be overturned or… or set aside?” Amy was vague on the legal niceties of such matters.

  “Oh, no, nothing of the kind. There is nothing to be done about the will. It is… unusual, but there are plenty worse, I am quite certain. Plumphett said as much, I believe. Did your Mama not explain this to you?”

  “I believe she said something of it, I collect, but I did not understand it.”

  “Well, you need
not worry about that,” he said briskly. “Mr Plumphett came to see me because he has a matter to discuss with Sara — your Mama — concerning… erm, your father’s charitable work in Brinchester.”

  “Oh, the home for foundling children. Papa left them a generous bequest, I recall.”

  “He did.” Her cousin paused, looking at her, then went on, “There is some minor difficulty with the bequest, that is all. But it needs to be discussed with your mother, and Plumphett has been quite unable to contact her. However, if she is away, there is nothing to be done.”

  The talk of foundlings put Amy in mind of Mr Ambleside’s natural daughter. Might she have been abandoned in such a place, if her father had been less considerate towards her mother? And would she then have grown up in any degree of comfort? Would she have received an education and be facing the prospect of respectable work?

  “What happens to them, these foundling children?” she said impulsively. “Do they learn their letters at all?”

  “I do not imagine so. Foundlings cannot have any need to read or write, but I am certain their physical and spiritual needs are met. That is all that can be expected.”

  Amy was struck with a thought. “But who will make sure of that, now that Papa is no longer able to go on his regular visits there? Perhaps we should take it upon ourselves to visit, and—”

  “No,” Cousin Henry said crisply. “Such… charitable homes are not fit places for ladies. Your father left a great deal of money to this particular one, so you may be sure the children want for nothing.”

  “But what about managing such a large sum? There must be trustees and—”

  “Amy! This is not a suitable subject for a lady to discuss.”

  His tone was so repressive that Amy flushed, and hung her head in mortification.

  “There, there,” he said, patting her hand genially. “Do not take on so. I mean no censure. You have a good heart, Amy, but you must think no more about this. Dear me, is the clock striking already? We have overstayed our welcome, and no mistake.”