Amy (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 1) by Mary Kingswood Page A
Authors: Mary Kingswood
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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
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
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