Read Online Amy (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 1) by Mary Kingswood - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mary Kingswood
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church, Lady Sara smiled benignly at Lady Hardy, and the two ladies exchanged stiff remarks on the weather for a minute or two. Amy stood meekly behind her mother, feet together, hands clasped in front of her, hoping that she would not be required to speak. Better still, perhaps her ladyship would not even notice her there.
But Lady Hardy noticed everything. Her eyes raked Amy from head to toe. “Humph. Good day to you, Miss Allamont.”
“Good day, my lady.” Amy curtsied. By the time she had risen, Lady Hardy had turned away and was making her farewells to Mr Endercott, who was bobbing his head up and down like a chicken.
“What is she doing here?” Belle whispered in Amy’s ear. “I have never seen her here before.”
“Hush!” Amy hissed, agitated. “You know Papa does not like us to speak on Sundays unless addressed.”
Belle looked as if she would say more, but instead she subsided, nodding. It was the turn of Grace and Hope to ride in the carriage with Mama, so the remaining Allamont sisters walked home, with not a word spoken the whole way.
Two days later, soon after breakfast, Amy was in the music room, practising upon the harp. She had tried a range of instruments over the years, achieving proficiency with none of them, but Papa had insisted that every young lady should play, so she continued to make the effort.
A short knock on the door was followed moments later by Young, the butler.
“Begging your pardon, Miss, but Lady Hardy is here.”
“Oh.” Her bewilderment was absolute. “What is to be done? I daresay Mama is not yet dressed.”
“I do not know about that, Miss, but it is you Lady Hardy is asking for.”
“Me?” Amy jumped up in agitation, knocking over the music stand. “ Only me?”
“Yes, Miss. I have taken the liberty of showing her ladyship into the book room.”
“The book room. Yes. The fire is lit?” He nodded. “Good. The book room. Lady Hardy.”
Seeing her frozen in terror, the butler helpfully held the door open for her, and then there was nothing for it but to walk through, head held high.
Trembling with fear, Amy crept down the stairs. What could Lady Hardy possibly want with her? Could she wait until her mama was by? No, she could hardly leave the relict of a baronet waiting while her mother was laced into her gown.
In the hall, she froze again. But there was Young, ever helpful, holding the door of the book room open for her.
“Miss Allamont, my lady,” he announced.
And then the door clicked shut behind her, and Amy was alone with Sir Osborne’s mother.
Lady Hardy was sitting in Papa’s chair by the fire, the great leather wings dwarfing her, whereas Papa had filled it comfortably. How incongruous to see Lady Hardy’s thin frame sitting there, like a child trying to fill the place of a grown man. She was so thin, and in her purple coat she looked like a stick of rhubarb. She looked Amy up and down, and Amy could not tell whether her assessment was favourable or not.
“Come forward, child. Do not loiter by the door as if you wish to run away.”
But she did wish to run away! If only she could. If only her mama were with her. Or Belle — she was so sensible, she would know exactly what to say. But obediently she crossed the floor to stand before Lady Hardy, just as she had stood before her father so many times, reciting Greek or Latin or French, or an extract from the Bible or Shakespeare. She dipped a curtsy, then stood in the correct position, feet together, hands clasped before her.
“Well, now, I daresay you know what I brings me here, eh?”
“No, my lady.”
“Ah, I like that. A little dissembling is no bad thing. But we can speak plain, I think. You are aware that my son is a delicate boy, not well suited for vigorous pursuits. His health has always been a concern to me, ever since he was an infant. I dared not even engage a wet-nurse, for fear of contamination or neglect. And indeed, my own health suffered abominably as a result,
But Lady Hardy noticed everything. Her eyes raked Amy from head to toe. “Humph. Good day to you, Miss Allamont.”
“Good day, my lady.” Amy curtsied. By the time she had risen, Lady Hardy had turned away and was making her farewells to Mr Endercott, who was bobbing his head up and down like a chicken.
“What is she doing here?” Belle whispered in Amy’s ear. “I have never seen her here before.”
“Hush!” Amy hissed, agitated. “You know Papa does not like us to speak on Sundays unless addressed.”
Belle looked as if she would say more, but instead she subsided, nodding. It was the turn of Grace and Hope to ride in the carriage with Mama, so the remaining Allamont sisters walked home, with not a word spoken the whole way.
Two days later, soon after breakfast, Amy was in the music room, practising upon the harp. She had tried a range of instruments over the years, achieving proficiency with none of them, but Papa had insisted that every young lady should play, so she continued to make the effort.
A short knock on the door was followed moments later by Young, the butler.
“Begging your pardon, Miss, but Lady Hardy is here.”
“Oh.” Her bewilderment was absolute. “What is to be done? I daresay Mama is not yet dressed.”
“I do not know about that, Miss, but it is you Lady Hardy is asking for.”
“Me?” Amy jumped up in agitation, knocking over the music stand. “ Only me?”
“Yes, Miss. I have taken the liberty of showing her ladyship into the book room.”
“The book room. Yes. The fire is lit?” He nodded. “Good. The book room. Lady Hardy.”
Seeing her frozen in terror, the butler helpfully held the door open for her, and then there was nothing for it but to walk through, head held high.
Trembling with fear, Amy crept down the stairs. What could Lady Hardy possibly want with her? Could she wait until her mama was by? No, she could hardly leave the relict of a baronet waiting while her mother was laced into her gown.
In the hall, she froze again. But there was Young, ever helpful, holding the door of the book room open for her.
“Miss Allamont, my lady,” he announced.
And then the door clicked shut behind her, and Amy was alone with Sir Osborne’s mother.
Lady Hardy was sitting in Papa’s chair by the fire, the great leather wings dwarfing her, whereas Papa had filled it comfortably. How incongruous to see Lady Hardy’s thin frame sitting there, like a child trying to fill the place of a grown man. She was so thin, and in her purple coat she looked like a stick of rhubarb. She looked Amy up and down, and Amy could not tell whether her assessment was favourable or not.
“Come forward, child. Do not loiter by the door as if you wish to run away.”
But she did wish to run away! If only she could. If only her mama were with her. Or Belle — she was so sensible, she would know exactly what to say. But obediently she crossed the floor to stand before Lady Hardy, just as she had stood before her father so many times, reciting Greek or Latin or French, or an extract from the Bible or Shakespeare. She dipped a curtsy, then stood in the correct position, feet together, hands clasped before her.
“Well, now, I daresay you know what I brings me here, eh?”
“No, my lady.”
“Ah, I like that. A little dissembling is no bad thing. But we can speak plain, I think. You are aware that my son is a delicate boy, not well suited for vigorous pursuits. His health has always been a concern to me, ever since he was an infant. I dared not even engage a wet-nurse, for fear of contamination or neglect. And indeed, my own health suffered abominably as a result,
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