Amy (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 1) (5 page)

What a life those girls had led! It was abominable. He was not in the least surprised that none of them had married, for what prospective husband would dare the wrath of Mr Allamont of Allamont Hall? But now… now everything was changed.

He returned home in the most cheerful of spirits.

5: Sir Osborne Hardy

Once the first month of mourning had passed, Lady Sara deemed it proper for her daughters to return some of the condolence visits which had been paid to them.

“I am not yet in sufficient spirits to venture abroad,” she said, languidly. “However, there can be no objection to you girls going about. You may go to Lady Humbleforth first, and tomorrow to Sir Matthew and Lady Graham. Give them my best regards. Tell them I keep to my room a great deal, and read sermons.” She waggled the book under her arm.

“Should you like me to fetch you a different book, Mama?” Belle said. “I believe you have been studying that particular book for some time now.”

“Well, now, Belle, you must not be so noticing of what other people are doing, for what I read is not your concern, I vow.”

Belle curtsied, eyes lowered. “I beg your pardon, Mama. I did not mean to pry.”

“Very well. Go along now, all of you. And perhaps I will choose a different book. I declare, I am sure I know every word of this one already.”

It having been so long since any of the young ladies had left the house, apart from church, and the weather remaining mild, all six of them ventured forth. They were permitted to walk in pairs as far as the village, in order to practise their Greek or Latin or Italian, one to recite and one to correct as they walked. Amy and Belle struggled with a passage from Vergil for some time, but behind them was much whispering and the occasional giggle. At the first houses of the village, the sisters formed into a single line, eyes lowered, hands clasped before them, and all conversation was at an end.

The Dowager Countess of Humbleforth was an elderly lady. Indeed, she was so elderly that even her replacement as Countess was now a Dowager in her turn. This had obliged the senior Dowager to move out of the Dower House at Grisham Park, where her grandson was now the earl, and find alternative accommodation. The White House, in quiet Lower Brinford, was the answer, and in vain her relatives protested at the twenty miles of road that would be required to pay her a visit.

“If you wish to see me badly enough, you will suffer the journey,” she told them equably. But they very rarely did.

To those of consequence in the neighbourhood, Lady Humbleforth was a great asset, for although she accepted no invitations and held no entertainments herself, she welcomed morning visitors on any day except Sunday. “You may come at any time, for I am always at home,” she told everyone. Any callers were plied with copious refreshments, and given a selection of the latest journals and books to peruse, or allowed to rearrange her extensive collection of snuff boxes.

The only disagreeable aspect was that Lady Humbleforth’s eyesight was so poor, she required her visitors to read extracts to her whenever conversation flagged. Amy had never minded this constraint, indeed had always regarded it as a distinct advantage, for while reading she was not required to converse with anyone, or cast about for answers to difficult questions. To Amy, almost all questions were difficult.

Today, however, there would be no requirement for reading aloud, for Lady Humbleforth’s guests were unusually numerous. It was fortunate that her saloon was large enough to undertake service as a ballroom, if required. Apart from Lady Humbleforth and her companion, Miss Durrell, the elegant chairs were occupied by most of the important residents of Lower and Higher Brinford.

The principal amongst them was Sir Osborne Hardy, accompanied by his mother and one of his sisters. Sir Osborne was a fine gentlemen, attired always in the latest styles from London. Indeed, even though he spent most of the year on his own estate, his dress was more suited to city pavements than country lanes. As a consequence, he went about in a carriage and never walked or rode for fear of mud on his person.

He had not long had the enjoyment of his title, his father having died only three years before, at the age of ninety five. Sir Rupert’s first wife had struggled in vain to provide her husband with an heir. Many children had been brought into the world. The boys had all left it again shortly thereafter. Eventually, the lady herself had faded away and followed them, leaving behind her nought but four daughters. But at the age of seventy, Sir Rupert had astonished the world by marrying an unassuming governess from a neighbouring estate, and she had then astonished the world even more by producing a fine, healthy boy.

Ever since, she had kept her son close, and guarded him from the ills of the world with such care that he had rarely left her side. He had spent only one term at school before refusing absolutely to return, and university had never been attempted at all. He was now eight and twenty, and it surprised no one that not one young lady had ever been deemed suitable to supplant his mama at Brinford Manor.

Despite the presence of Sir Osborne’s name on Grace’s list of possible husbands, Amy had no expectations from that quarter. Sir Osborne was a wealthy man, to whom her dowry would be insignificant, and he would hardly want a wife who likened him to a frog. As for his mother, her elevation in station rendered her incapable of speaking to anyone but the nobility. Lady Hardy would exchange pleasantries with Lady Sara, but the Miss Allamonts were beneath her notice.

Today, however, Amy noticed Lady Hardy watching her as she made her bow to Lady Humbleforth. When she turned and made her curtsy to Lady Hardy, that lady waggled her fingers and patted the empty chair beside her.

Amy looked about her, sure that a mistake had been made. Why should Lady Hardy wish to speak to her? But a frown and a more decisive gesture towards the chair convinced her that she did. What could be the meaning of it? She had not the least notion, but Belle’s hand in the small of her back started her moving towards Lady Hardy and without a word she took the proffered chair.

One side of Lady Hardy’s mouth twisted up. A grimace or a smile? Amy could not tell.

“Well, Miss Allamont, and how goes your dear mama? Very cut up, I daresay.”

Amy had received enough enquiries on that subject to answer readily. “Mama is in low spirits, my lady.”

“No doubt. And not at church, so I hear. That is setting a bad example to those who look up to us, Miss Allamont, and you may tell her I said so. She must rally, and be seen about the country. I was distraught when my dear Rupert passed away, but one must not succumb to one’s feelings. It is not becoming to be prostrate with grief in that manner. One must not give way beneath the trials of life, do you not agree?”

“Yes, my lady.”

Lady Hardy’s mouth twisted again. Amy was almost convinced it was intended as a smile.

“There, now, you are a good girl,” Lady Hardy said, patting Amy’s neatly clasped hands. “Osborne! Come here and talk to Miss Allamont.”

Her son had been deep in conversation with Lady Humbleforth, but he jumped up at once and went to his mama.

“Sit beside Miss Allamont, Osborne. Yes, yes, that chair there. Now you may tell her of your new curricle, if you please. Osborne is to obtain a curricle in the spring, Miss Allamont, what do you think of that? It will be the smartest little outfit imaginable, and just the thing for town, you know. He is going to take me driving in the park in it… or it could be
another
lady, you know. Yes, indeed. Is it not a good scheme, eh? Osborne, tell Miss Allamont all about your curricle.”

“No use talking about m’curricle, Mama,” he said, laughing. “Not got the thing yet.”

“But you
will
get it, I am sure. You have been talking of it for ever. Tell Miss Allamont your plans, for I am sure she is avid to hear all about it, is it not so, my dear? But you will have to choose the horses most carefully, Osborne. They must be a matched pair, or it will not do at all. I am not certain you are a good enough judge of horseflesh to choose properly.”

“Daniel’s the expert, Mama. Advises on all m’horses. Need not concern y’self over that.”

At that moment, Miss Endercott, who had been sitting quietly talking to Lady Humbleforth’s companion, Miss Durrell, now came across to take the seat on the other side of Lady Hardy, and began to talk about some improvements to the church at Lower Brinford which had been modelled on those made at Higher Brinford, and this distracted her ladyship’s attention.

Amy was now left with Sir Osborne. He wore a brown-spotted waistcoat today, so that he looked like a huge thrush. It was most disconcerting. He was exactly the sort of gentleman who terrified her. What topic could possibly be of interest to a young man of fashion? What did she know of curricles? She sat silent, her mind churning, fear clutching at her. In her head, she seemed to see her papa sitting across the room, as he so often had, his brows lowered, his eyes fixed on her, judging her performance in company. She always fell short of his expectations. She could never think what to say, and the more nervous she became, the more her mind spun.

It seemed that Sir Osborne had nothing to say, either, so for some minutes they sat in silence, and Amy was able to look about the room. No one was watching her, for they were all caught up in their own conversations, and she had time to compose herself. She recollected the name Daniel that had been mentioned earlier. Mr Daniel Merton was a friend Sir Osborne had made during his brief sojourn at school, a young man of gentle but undistinguished background who had made his home at Brinford Manor for some years now. The two were inseparable, as a rule, but not today.

Amy licked her lips and lifted her head hesitantly. “Your friend Mr Merton… is he well?” she said.

Sir Osborne’s face filled with pleasure. “Kind in you to enquire, Miss Allamont! Much obliged, I’m sure. No, Daniel is not at all the thing today. Has a little chill, nothing serious, but
so
susceptible that I told him — practically ordered him, if you want to know — to stay in his bed today. Trust he’ll be recovered by this evening, for I can tell you, m’house is deadly dull without him. Deadly dull, indeed. Surrounded by petticoats, Miss Allamont, quite surrounded. M’mother and m’sisters are tolerably good company, but not the same, not at all the same. A man needs a masculine companion on occasion.”

Amy had not the least idea how to respond, but he did not seem to expect it, chattering on for some time about Daniel — how clever and well-read he was, and such wit! And the very epitome of elegance in his dress. He was so much admired in town, nothing could be like it. Amy smiled and nodded and said, “Goodness me!” twice and “Is that so?” once, which was all the attention Sir Osborne required.

His affection for his friend was most pleasing, and for the moment she almost liked him. She had had some unfortunate encounters with Sir Osborne in the past, but today he was all affability. At least there was no requirement for her to think of anything to say. How restful that was.

~~~~~

Every step of the way from Staynlaw House to the White House, Mr Ambleside maintained his determination not to speak to Amy. Or at least, he told himself firmly, not exclusively so. It would not be proper to be too particular when she was still in deep mourning, and he dared not risk attracting censure by the least breach in the proprieties. He of all people must be absolutely correct in his behaviour.

He had not yet decided which of the other sisters he would choose to converse with. Belle was the most sensible of them, but she was often engrossed in reading one of the new novels or a journal. They saw nothing of the sort at Allamont Hall, that much was certain, and he did not like to deprive her of the pleasure. It was of no consequence to him. He could as well talk to one of the younger girls, although they blurred together rather in his mind, with their identical gowns and identical hair. He could never remember which was which.

He was confident that they would be there, for they visited Lady Humbleforth on the same day and at the same hour every week without fail. Only illness or the worst kind of weather kept them away. The daughters of Allamont Hall were entirely bound by routine.

So when he was shown into the saloon by Lady Humbleforth’s butler, who was even older than she was, he was not in the least surprised to see Amy there. He was, however, outraged to see her deep in conversation with that paragon of fashion, Sir Osborne Hardy. The man was a veritable dandy, with his silks and brocades and his hair arranged in just that artful way that looks careless but in fact takes hours to achieve. A worthless, over-decorated fool, and there he was, his head bent towards Amy, speaking in the most animated manner, while she gazed up at him with pleasure.

At once his resolution flew out of the window. He wanted nothing in the world so much as to sit beside Amy and turn her beautiful face away from that overdressed popinjay. Yet it was impossible. Hardy sat to one side of Amy, and his mother sat the other.

Mr Ambleside forced his features into an expression of pleasure as he moved towards The Dowager Countess, and said all that was proper. She was engaged with Sir Osborne’s sister just then, so he made himself agreeable to her companion, Miss Durrell, for a few minutes, in the hope that Hardy or his mother would move on. It was not to be, and he began to be aware that one of the Misses Allamont was waving at him from across the room. But which one was it? And what could she want of him?

He turned back to Miss Durrell. “You were telling me about the cold you suffered, madam, and what Mr Torrington said.”

She giggled. “You are very good, sir, but look — you have more charming company awaiting you. See? Miss Dulcie is trying to attract your attention.”