Amy (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 1) (12 page)

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.”

As soon as the cousins had left, she fetched her gardening cloak and made her way by the side door to the new shrubbery. The gardeners, and the three boys from the village engaged to help with the work, had gone inside for their dinner, so she was able to prowl about the workings, pacing out widths and testing the firmness of the path, now partly laid to gravel.

She was glad to be alone. Belle, she knew, would want to discuss it, and gently probe her feelings to determine just how miserable she was. Not as miserable as she ought to be, she decided. The loss of Mr Wills was not so great. The loss of Sir Osborne to the contessa was not unbearable, either. As for Mr Ambleside… but no, she would not think of him. It was too difficult. Should he ever make the offer, she would have to come to a decision, but since it seemed to be a simple choice between breaking Connie’s heart or breaking Ambleside’s, she hoped he would never make it.

But there was an alternative. Much as she hated to admit it, she still had the option to marry James. There would be no affection on either side in the marriage, which was rather a discouraging thought, for it was no more than a pragmatic choice for both of them. But he was familiar, and there was the comfort of knowing that Papa had as good as pushed them together by leaving the estate in such a way.

She was so engrossed in her own thoughts that she scarcely noticed the carriage that rolled up the drive. It was not until a voice hailed her — “Miss Allamont! Hello there, Miss Allamont!” — that she turned and saw Mr Ambleside striding towards her, that delightful smile lighting up his face. So handsome, when he smiled! She found it difficult to catch her breath, suddenly.

“Miss Allamont, I am so glad to find you alone. You are well, I take it?”

“Oh! Oh yes.” She blushed, but she couldn’t say why.

“And in looks, as always. I am so glad to see you out of your black, you cannot imagine. It is perfectly acceptable for the dowagers, but such a dreadful colour for a young lady. But here you are, looking such a picture in lavender. So much better.”

Amy blushed and blushed again. She had never heard Mr Ambleside pay her so many compliments, or speak in so intimate a manner, and she was all confusion.

He laughed suddenly. “Ah, but I must remember to compliment your appearance more often, for you blush so prettily. It is quite distracting.”

“I wish you would not, sir!” she snapped. “Such nonsense! I believe I shall go back to the house.”

“No, do not run away,” he said, reaching for her hand and pressing his lips to it. She had forgotten her gloves, and the warmth of his lips on her hand reduced her to inarticulate embarrassment. To her shame, he continued to hold it, and even dared to turn it over and press kisses into her palm.

Mortified, she snatched her hand away. “Leave me alone!”

With that, she would have turned and stormed away, but he was quicker, placing himself in front of her to block her way. She stepped to one side; he matched her. She stepped the other way; he did the same.

“I beg you to go, sir. It is unkind in you to tease me so.”

“Tease you? Amy, I would not distress you for the world. I can only beg your forgiveness, for I have quite mistaken your mood, I see. I had thought — Amy, are you not pleased? Are you not happy, now that Hardy and Wills are gone away? For you do not have to worry about them now, you know.”

He looked contrite, but she frowned. This was unexpected. “You know something of Mr Wills?”

“I know that you are safe from him.”

“Safe?” It was too confusing for words.

“Yes, safe. You need not fear that he will offer for you, or that you might have to marry such an odious man. Or Sir Osborne, either. I have taken care of everything for you, for I do not like you to be troubled by such matters.”

“Taken care?” she repeated. “I do not understand you in the least.” She was reminded of the time Mama and Papa had taken her to the opera in London, and although it was very pretty to look at, the words were all in Italian, and she had not grasped any of the story. All around her, people had laughed or sighed or shed tears, and she had not the least notion why. It had been very disconcerting. Now she felt at just such a disadvantage.

“Why, yes!” he said, smiling again. “Lady Hardy wanted a timid little mouse for a daughter-in-law, and Sir Osborne wanted to go to Italy, and who should happen along but the Contessa di Varese, the meekest young lady imaginable, who agreed with everything Lady Hardy said. And now she has seemingly gone off to Italy, with Sir Osborne in pursuit, and his Mama all complaisance.” He laughed. “The Italian was quite a trick to pull off, for Bessie knew not a word of it, you know. But I think she managed it very convincingly, do you not agree?”

“Bessie?” was all Amy could think to say. She was too stupefied to think straight.

“Bessie. An actress from Newcastle. The younger of the tutors is her husband, and the older couple her parents. All terribly respectable, you understand. All of them actors of the first water, and fortunately between engagements just now.”

“Oh.”

“Now, Wills — that was much easier. He was a little embarrassed for funds, and had some nasty gaming debts, which by the greatest good fortune I was able to buy. He will be less pressured now, and I suggested to him that his gratitude might take him out of the country for some time. I proposed that he visit Bath, a wonderful place for heiresses, so I have been informed. There — you see how I look after you, dear Amy. For I cannot have these men turning their greedy gaze on
you,
can I? I had to get rid of them for you.”

As Amy began to understand, her bewilderment was replaced by despair. For if Mr Ambleside had truly chased away her two best suitors, what on earth was she to do?

“I do not see why you had to do anything of the kind,” she said, lifting her chin. “You have no right—”

“Not yet, but—”

“No right!” she said firmly. “It is not for you to interfere with who I marry. You are not my father!”

He jumped back, as if stung. “Of course not! What a thing to say!”

“Then you have no business to interfere, none at all. You have destroyed all my chances of finding an acceptable husband, and now I shall have to marry Cousin James.”

“Nonsense,” he said, making a grab for her hand again.

She retreated out of reach, the gravel crunching under her boots, clasping her hands firmly behind her back.

“Amy… dearest Amy, you can marry
me
. Surely you understand that?”

“But what about Connie?”

He made a low growl in his throat. “The devil take Connie! What do I care for Connie? I am sure I have never spoken to her above twice in my life.”

“Indeed you have, and she is quite in love with you.”

He took two paces away from her, then two back, and she could see the struggle to compose his features. “Amy,” he said more gently. “Connie is nothing to me, except as your sister. I wish her well, but I have given her no encouragement to develop an affection for me. I have no intention of offering for her.”

“But she is quite expecting it,” Amy said. “As a gentleman, you cannot ignore that. How can you be so cruel?”

“Cruel? I—” He stopped, shaking his head. “I cannot understand this obsession with Connie. My only object is
you
, Amy. If I were a wilder sort of man, I would carry you off at once and marry you this day, but I cannot bring myself to do it. I
will
wait until the proper time. I had thought to wait the full year, you know, but then Hardy and Wills were clearly not so punctilious. I had to intervene, for you are such a goose, Amy, you might have accepted one of them, and then where would we be, eh? But you are free from them, free to marry me, and as soon as your mother returns I shall speak formally, for it is best to get her approval, you know, even though you are of age. And then I shall have you safe at Staynlaw House, and you will never be upset or anxious or nervous ever again, for I shall take the greatest care of you, dearest Amy, and I shall always be there to tell you what to do and how to go on.”

This was such an appealing prospect that Amy was quite overcome.

“Now do not cry,” he said. “What have I said to make you cry?”

“Everything!” she sobbed. “For I cannot marry you!”

“Why ever not?” he said, exasperated. “Not because of Connie, surely?”