Amy (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 1) by Mary Kingswood Page B

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.”
    Dulcie! Of course. And another sister nearby, deep in a fashion journal. That would be unexceptional, and he might hold to his resolution while awaiting an opportunity to sit beside Amy.
    So he moved across to sit between Dulcie and the other sister, whose name escaped him, although she politely set aside her journal to talk to him. He had no idea what was said. He talked more or less at random, his eyes wandering frequently across the room to where Sir Osborne was still holding Amy’s attention, in the most particular manner.
    He held himself in check for several minutes. But then Amy happened to look up and see him. Was that a tremulous smile upon her lips? And those eyes — so speaking! They were summoning him, he would swear to it.
    Without another thought, he jumped up and crossed the room in three strides. “I am astonished to see you out so late today, Hardy.”
    Sir Osborne started. “What’s that, Ambleside? Why should I not be about?”
    “Why, because of the rain, naturally. Appearances can be so deceptive, and even though all is calm now, I do believe quite a storm is expected. A great deal of rain. You will not like to be out in it, I am sure. I recall your distress when your carriage became mired in Hog’s Lane.”
    “Indeed, no! Most kind in you, sir, to warn me. Do you hear, Mama? There is rain coming, and we must be away before it turns everything to mud, you know.”
    “Rain? Oh, dear! We must hurry, Osborne. Clarissa, come along, dear. We are leaving.”
    It was too easy for words, and in the bustle and exclamations and farewells, Mr Ambleside slipped triumphantly into the chair beside Amy.

6: A Proposal
    The walk home to Allamont Hall was a relaxed one after the visit to Lady Humbleforth. Language practice was set aside, and the object of study was nature. Spring and summer provided ample flowers and leaves and bird’s nests to show Papa and to draw, and autumn offered fruits and nuts and seeds to plant in abundance. But winter was holding Brinmorton Woods in its chilly clasp, and there was not a toadstool or a bird to take note of.
    Amy looked about her for anything of interest, but there was no need to talk, so she was occupied with her own thoughts. They were, for once, happy ones. The attentions of Lady Hardy and Sir Osborne were bemusing. She did not understand why they had distinguished her in that way for she could hardly suppose that her dowry would be of interest to a man as wealthy as Sir Osborne. Nevertheless, it was gratifying. It was the longest conversation she had ever enjoyed with either of them.
    However, the real reason for her happiness was, of course, Mr Ambleside. Ever since Connie had said that she felt no especial warmth towards him, Amy had begun to consider the possibility for herself. Granted he was above the average age for a wealthy man to marry. Why, he must be five and thirty, at least. But he hardly looked a day over thirty, and was free of afflictions, despite Connie’s talk of gout. Besides, Amy was no longer so young herself, and really, eleven years was nothing, if there was affection in the case.
    There was the nub of the matter. What did her heart say to her? There were thoughts, secret thoughts, that she had not shared with any of her sisters. Of all the gentlemen of her acquaintance, Mr Ambleside was by far the most amiable. He never made her feel awkward or uncomfortable, and if she stumbled over her words, he waited without impatience until she had got them out. She felt so at ease with him.
    He had been very pointed in his attentions so far. Not that it meant anything… he was merely showing courtesy to her as the eldest… it was no more than kindness in him, she knew that. She could