Amy (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 1) (18 page)

“Yes, sir,” Connie said, her tone subdued, for she had never managed two farthings in her entire life. She walked meekly down the stairs by his side, her head down.

Ambleside’s heart misgave him at this point. The poor child looked so despondent that his conscience was afire. But he must not give way to sympathy now. That would be fatal. It was essential to hold his nerve in order to test the steadiness of her affection for him.

So he sat her down in the book room and harangued her on the subject of household economics until he detected tears in her eyes, and thought it best to send for refreshments. Over a carefully-planned array of unappetising dishes, which she picked at in a desultory fashion, he explained in exhaustive detail his thoughts on the raising of children.

In the carriage on the way back to Allamont Hall, she said not a single word, so he took the opportunity to advise her that, as a married man, he would have many business affairs to take care of which would necessitate him being away a great deal.

“But you will not mind that, I daresay. It will give you ample opportunity to get into the way of running the house exactly as I wish it, for I am sure you would not want to disappoint me. Yes, we shall do very well together, my dear, do you not agree?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And your gown — something plainer would be more appropriate for our station. I should not wish you to be aping your superiors in the matter of dress.”

“Yes, sir.”

He nodded, satisfied.

18: An Invitation

Amy’s new friend insisted on her attendance every day at the White House.

When the weather was fine, they strolled arm in arm around the extensive grounds and Amy became animated, naming each plant or, on the rare occasions when she could not, applying to the head gardener for clarification. Then there was the planting of the beds to admire, the neatness of box hedging and topiary, the splendour of the early roses and some happy arrangements in the shrubbery. It was the only occasion when Lady Harriet stopped talking for any length of time.

When it rained, they sat indoors, reading aloud to each other, playing easy duets on the pianoforte and examining the latest fashions in the journals sent from London. Once, Lady Harriet taught her to play billiards, and another day they wrote very bad poetry, which had them both shrieking with laughter.

On one occasion, the Dowager Countess showed them her collection of snuff boxes.

“Not that I ever took snuff,” she said. “I acquired them as beautiful objects. See the inlay on this one? It is exquisite, is it not?”

“They are very beautiful,” Amy said. “Papa must have liked them, too, for I found several in his desk just as beautiful as these.”

The Dowager Countess turned searching eyes on her. “Is that so?” There was a long pause. “It may be — and I could be wrong, but it is just possible that I
lent
some of my own collection to your Papa. If so, I should be happy to have them back. Now this blue one, this was given to me by — well, I had better not say the name, for you girls might be shocked by the company I kept when I was young. And this — ah, I almost married him! So handsome and charming, but not a feather to fly with.”

Amy understood, of course. Papa must have stolen the snuff boxes, and it would have been easy enough to do, for they were laid out on tables quite openly. She should have been shocked, but she knew her father a little better now, and such a revelation merely left her sad. The following day, she took the snuff boxes with her and the Dowager Countess accepted them with delight, put them back where they belonged and nothing more was said.

Each afternoon, the carriage took Amy home to change, then returned her to the White House in time for dinner. She had not looked at a passage of Greek for days, or practised upon the harp, or read her current history book, leaving the Plantagenets stranded in the middle of the Hundred Years War. Occasionally, when Lady Harriet stopped talking long enough to take a breath, Amy wondered if she should feel guilty, but she was enjoying herself too much to repine for the routine left behind. She had never in her life before given herself over entirely to pleasure, and it was delightful. Besides, she told herself, she was only obliging Lady Harriet, and this wonderful interlude would be over soon enough.

Even Sunday, usually a quiet day of no visits or excursions, enlivened only by the Endercotts and Mr Burford at dinner, Amy was not allowed to escape. Instead, she was conveyed to the White House even earlier than usual, to accompany them to the splendid church at Higher Brinford. Fortunately for Amy’s peace of mind, Mr Ambleside’s pew was empty, since he had taken to spending Sundays with Connie. She understood why, when the clergyman gave such a dull sermon that she almost fell asleep.

Eventually the day came when she arrived at the White House to find Lady Harriet waving a letter. “Can you believe it, my dear friend, but I am summoned back to Drummoor. Gil has been sent home from school with some spotty disorder or other, and the housekeeper does not wish him to expire without one of the family at his side.”

“Gracious!” Amy said. “Is it so bad as that?”

“By no means, but he will not listen to the servants at all. He will only keep to his bed if I am there to scold him to it. So I must go, and tomorrow, I fear.”

“Of course. I understand. May I help you to pack?”

“Certainly not.”

“Oh. I daresay your maid will do it.”

Lady Harriet laughed. “I have no maid here. No, you will not be able to help me pack because you will be attending to your own packing.”

“My own…? But I am not going anywhere!”

“Of course you are, dear Amy. I cannot possibly spare you yet, so you will come with me to Drummoor, I am quite decided. Is that not the most delicious plan?”

Amy could not utter a word, so shocked was she. Lady Harriet laughed and laughed, and, linking her arm through Amy’s, began to tell her all the many delights of Drummoor which she would soon see. Eventually, Amy managed to say, “Th-thank you! Thank you so much, Lady Harriet!”

“You must call me Harriet, for are we not good friends? But now you must go home and tell your maid to pack. Bring everything, for the travelling coach has room for any number of boxes.”

“What if Mama will not permit it?”

Harriet threw her an amused glance. “Not permit her daughter to be a guest at the Marquess of Carrbridge’s seat? I do not think we need consider such unlikely events.”

Even so, Amy was nervous about asking her mama for permission, given their last encounter. If she wanted to keep her daughters away from her own noble family, she must surely feel the same care towards other members of the aristocracy. She had no desire to delay the moment of decision, so she marched straight to her mother’s sitting room, quite prepared to argue the case.

Lady Sara barely looked up from the book she was reading. “Yes, Amy, what is it?”

“Mama, Lady Harriet has been so kind as to invite me to stay with her at Drummoor. Please may I say yes?”

“Go or not, whichever you wish. It is of no consequence to me.”

“Thank you, Mama. I am most grateful to you.”

Amy curtsied and ran off to pack before her mother had an opportunity to change her mind.

~~~~~

Ambleside’s conscience had troubled him a great deal as the days drifted past and became weeks, and Connie’s downcast demeanour neither lifted nor prompted her to end the engagement. She was miserable, but not quite miserable enough to call it off.

He was cast into gloom, and the weather matched his sentiments precisely, for the promise of spring had turned to a cold, wet summer. Having no father or mother to advise him, he went, as he so often had in recent years, to Miss Endercott, finding her huddled over a fire in her little sitting room.

“Tell me I am doing the right thing,” he beseeched her.

“If you wish me to answer such a question, you had better tell me exactly what you are doing.”

So he paced about the room and told her, at great length, the many trials he had laid upon Connie.

Miss Endercott listened in silence. When he had finished, she said, “And how much of that was in fact untrue?”

He frowned, thinking that over. “Very little. I should never expect her to sleep in my mother’s bed, but otherwise — I may have
exaggerated
somewhat, it is true, but a great many of my strictures are genuine. It is no more than would be expected of any mistress of such a house. Of course, I should never be so harsh as I appeared, but this is all exactly as I planned, to terrify her into recognising that we should not suit. It has failed, however, for although she is very much in the dismals, poor child, she shows no sign of breaking off the engagement.”

“Ah, but does she show enthusiasm for the marriage? Does she lament the long engagement? Talk of how happy she is? Make plans for the future?”

“None of that,” he said at once. “She says very little altogether.”

“I have noticed the change in her myself,” Miss Endercott said. “She always had a great deal to say for herself, yet now she is almost as silent as Amy. Tell me, Mr Ambleside, do you love Connie?”

“That is hardly to the point.
My
feelings were never in consideration. I felt an obligation towards her, no more than that.”

“Well then, let me put another question to you. Do you believe that, if you marry her, you can make her happy? Or she you?”

“As to the latter, I could be content, I daresay, in time. I am not so foolish as to expect perfect happiness in marriage, or any other part of life. If she provides me with a well-run home, and children, and companionship — yes, that would perhaps be enough.” He paused, for even as he spoke the words and in his heart believed himself sincere, a wave of despair washed over him. He rubbed one hand across his face. “It would have to be enough,” he added bleakly. “But as for the former question — I have no idea what Connie looks for in a husband, or whether I could make her happy.”

“Then perhaps you should ask her,” Miss Endercott said gently. “There is no better foundation for marriage than honesty.”

He stilled his restless pacing, turning on his heel to face her. “You believe the marriage is unavoidable, then?”

“You are betrothed to Connie, and Amy will not have you. What is
your
opinion on the matter, Mr Ambleside?”

“I will give you my opinion. If ever I can escape from this damnable engagement, I shall go directly to Amy, and not leave her side until she agrees to marry me. I shall do whatever it takes, Miss Endercott. Whatever it takes.”

She laughed outright. “That might indeed work for Amy. She would like to be swept off her feet, I believe, so that she forgets all about her father’s strictures. But there is still Connie. You cannot cast her aside.”

“No, and I shall not. But I must know what she truly wants, and whether her affections are quite settled, for only then will I be able to accept my fate. My future is in her hands, but I shall find it out very soon. I bid you good day, Miss Endercott.”

His stormy countenance set the servants leaping out of his path as he strode from the parsonage, taking the steps two at a time, while shouting for his horse. He covered the short distance to Allamont Hall at a gallop, causing a passing farmer’s cart to fall into a ditch, thereby setting loose three piglets. He rode on, the shouts and squeals receding into the distance behind him.

As his horse slithered to a halt in front of the Hall, it began to rain in earnest, which fitted his mood to perfection. However, the ride, the business of waiting for the butler, of handing in his card and waiting, then being led to the drawing room at a stately pace, all served to cool his temper. He found only two of the younger sisters in the room, but Connie was sent for and the others were kind enough to disappear. Perhaps they saw his mood written on his face. Connie could see it, too, for she looked terrified.

All at once, he felt like the most heartless and cruel man. How could he even think of deceiving such a gentle, innocent soul? He could not do it. She was not Amy, his peerless Amy, but she did not deserve to be treated so. He sat on a sofa, and pulled her down beside him, taking her hand.

“Miss Allamont… Connie…” he began, in the gentlest tones imaginable. “I owe you an apology. In our recent dealings, I have portrayed myself as the worst kind of dictatorial husband, with any number of rules and arbitrary requirements. I have deceived you. Although I would hope that a wife would always strive to ensure her husband’s comforts, I do not expect quite such a strict regime as all that. I am deeply ashamed of my behaviour. You must think me the direst of monsters, to abuse your good nature so.”

She gazed at him wide-eyed. “Oh, no. I thought you were just like Papa, and that perhaps all men are so.”

“No, indeed. Most men are kinder than that, I hope, and certainly kinder than I have been of late.”

“But why?”

It was the obvious question, but he had not anticipated it. How could he answer? Honesty would compel him to mention Amy, yet that he could not do. It would be impossibly cruel to tell the lady he was about to marry that he had tricked her in the hope of setting himself free to wed another.

“I did not think we should suit.” Not a complete answer, but it was all he could manage.

“You only offered for me because you felt obliged to, did you not?”

His heart ached for her, so open, so guileless. “That does not necessarily mean that I was unwilling.”

“Is it true that you love Amy?”

“Did she tell you that?”

Connie nodded. She was so pale, and her eyes so huge as she looked up at him, that she seemed the merest child.

Still he could not answer her, and the silence lengthened between them. After a while, she withdrew her hand from his.

“You would marry me if I wished it, would you not?” she said sadly.

“Of course.”

“But you do not love me.”

“Marriage is based on more than romantic love—”

“No, no! Do not say such things! There must be love! You do not love me, and I am not sure whether I love you, not any more.” In a whisper, she added, “I am not even sure whether I ever wish to be married.”

His heart lurched, but he answered her calmly. “I should be very sorry to think that my abominable rudeness had put you off the very idea of matrimony.”

“Oh! Oh, no, it was not what you did!” She smiled suddenly, her face lighting up. “Or rather, what you did was exactly what I needed. You made me realise that I have only just been set free from one man who ruled my life, and I was walking at once into just such another situation. If you had treated me more gently, I should never have known my danger. Amy… Amy likes to be told what to do, and not have to decide anything for herself, but not I! Were you the kindest and gentlest man in the world, still you would order my life and expect me to obey you, and… I am not ready for that. Not yet. I should like to be myself for a while, first. Perhaps one day I will find love — a
true
love that will make me
want
to be married. But you and I — we should not suit, should we?”