A Connoisseur of Beauty
A Romance
Daphne Coleridge
Copyright © Daphne Coleridge 2013
Chapter One
Amy Montford stood on the hillside above Wolfston Hall, marvelling at its mellow beauty bathed in the bright sun of a late spring day. Taking in the fine Elizabethan architecture and the weathered stonework of the medieval old hall, she knew that every timber and every brick was beloved to her. She knew every nook and cranny, every secret that it held and all the stories of past glories, treacheries, loves found and battles lost. She belonged to Wolfston Hall. But it did not belong to her. Perhaps it had been lost when her great grandfather had handed it on, crippled by death duties, to his son, Henry. Yet somehow her grandfather had clung on to it, refusing to sell any of its treasures and living hand to mouth all his life. Certainly it was all but lost when her father had inherited it, saddled with crippling debts. Any hope of him reviving its fortunes had been dashed when the young wife he adored had died when their daughter was only two. Turning to drink and lost in despair, Amy’s father had allowed Wolfston Hall to be sold to a close family friend, James Wilson. James had been quite happy for his old friend and daughter to make free use of the place whilst he travelled the world. Meanwhile Amy’s father had moved into a small terraced cottage in the village, eventually refusing even to visit his old family home. Amy, however, spent much of her childhood running wild about the corridors and learning to draw and paint the lovely old house. Then, a year ago, James Wilson had died and the property was put on the market. For a year rumours had abounded about potential buyers and now the deed was done. Wolfston Hall had been sold and she was no longer free even to wander its grounds.
No longer free to wander its grounds, but about to walk down the hill, through its gardens and out through the front gate! Enough sadness and loss in your life and you begin to feel defiant, Amy thought to herself. And for her it had all been sadness and loss, culminating in the death of her dear, sweet, gentle, flawed father last winter. The only thing that had helped her carry on had been her love of painting. She may have had to drop out of her art course to look after her ailing father, but she would continue to paint as long as she continued to breathe. And now she was having her first exhibition! All right, not the prestigious art school stuff or London gallery exhibitions that some of her ex-art student friends were now enjoying. That was the cost of dropping out. This was just the parish rooms next to the old Norman church, but she was just as excited as if it had been the Royal Academy itself. Down through the wilderness and into the rose garden, Amy followed through the walled garden at the side of the house and onto the sweep of the drive. The gardens were a little overgrown but it would take more than a half century of neglect to detract from the beauty of such a house. Just as she turned the corner to the front she caught the sound of wheels crunching on the drive as a car pulled away. Taken by surprise, she didn’t even have time to pull back. The new owner? There was a glimpse of a pair of broad shoulders and a dark head as she watched a sleek silver sports car moving away at speed. Had the driver caught sight of her in his mirror? Who cared!
As Amy went to unlock the door to the parish rooms she was met by Alice Davy , who lived next door to the church.
“Hallo, Amy. Lovely morning. I’m coming to look at your paintings as promised.” She smiled brightly.
“Come in. If you’re lucky I can muster up coffee and biscuits. I spent yesterday hanging the paintings, so I should have a quiet day today, especially if no one else comes in for a look!”
“Well, Montford may be a beautiful village, but we are a bit out of the way,” mused Alice. “Your best bet is if anyone stops off at the Five Bells or
A Romance
Daphne Coleridge
Copyright © Daphne Coleridge 2013
Chapter One
Amy Montford stood on the hillside above Wolfston Hall, marvelling at its mellow beauty bathed in the bright sun of a late spring day. Taking in the fine Elizabethan architecture and the weathered stonework of the medieval old hall, she knew that every timber and every brick was beloved to her. She knew every nook and cranny, every secret that it held and all the stories of past glories, treacheries, loves found and battles lost. She belonged to Wolfston Hall. But it did not belong to her. Perhaps it had been lost when her great grandfather had handed it on, crippled by death duties, to his son, Henry. Yet somehow her grandfather had clung on to it, refusing to sell any of its treasures and living hand to mouth all his life. Certainly it was all but lost when her father had inherited it, saddled with crippling debts. Any hope of him reviving its fortunes had been dashed when the young wife he adored had died when their daughter was only two. Turning to drink and lost in despair, Amy’s father had allowed Wolfston Hall to be sold to a close family friend, James Wilson. James had been quite happy for his old friend and daughter to make free use of the place whilst he travelled the world. Meanwhile Amy’s father had moved into a small terraced cottage in the village, eventually refusing even to visit his old family home. Amy, however, spent much of her childhood running wild about the corridors and learning to draw and paint the lovely old house. Then, a year ago, James Wilson had died and the property was put on the market. For a year rumours had abounded about potential buyers and now the deed was done. Wolfston Hall had been sold and she was no longer free even to wander its grounds.
No longer free to wander its grounds, but about to walk down the hill, through its gardens and out through the front gate! Enough sadness and loss in your life and you begin to feel defiant, Amy thought to herself. And for her it had all been sadness and loss, culminating in the death of her dear, sweet, gentle, flawed father last winter. The only thing that had helped her carry on had been her love of painting. She may have had to drop out of her art course to look after her ailing father, but she would continue to paint as long as she continued to breathe. And now she was having her first exhibition! All right, not the prestigious art school stuff or London gallery exhibitions that some of her ex-art student friends were now enjoying. That was the cost of dropping out. This was just the parish rooms next to the old Norman church, but she was just as excited as if it had been the Royal Academy itself. Down through the wilderness and into the rose garden, Amy followed through the walled garden at the side of the house and onto the sweep of the drive. The gardens were a little overgrown but it would take more than a half century of neglect to detract from the beauty of such a house. Just as she turned the corner to the front she caught the sound of wheels crunching on the drive as a car pulled away. Taken by surprise, she didn’t even have time to pull back. The new owner? There was a glimpse of a pair of broad shoulders and a dark head as she watched a sleek silver sports car moving away at speed. Had the driver caught sight of her in his mirror? Who cared!
As Amy went to unlock the door to the parish rooms she was met by Alice Davy , who lived next door to the church.
“Hallo, Amy. Lovely morning. I’m coming to look at your paintings as promised.” She smiled brightly.
“Come in. If you’re lucky I can muster up coffee and biscuits. I spent yesterday hanging the paintings, so I should have a quiet day today, especially if no one else comes in for a look!”
“Well, Montford may be a beautiful village, but we are a bit out of the way,” mused Alice. “Your best bet is if anyone stops off at the Five Bells or
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