His position was, and not for the first time, becoming entrenched. Hamilton Whitehall would not be told how to behave, when to smile, and when not to smile. If he chose to forego company for a good deal of the time, then he would do so without explanation.
“Perhaps we ought to have that sherry, my dear,” Lady Cynthia said with an attempt at a warm smile.
“Oh yes, of course.” Hamilton returned her smile before continuing to the drinks table and pouring them both a much larger sherry than he had originally intended.
When he turned back to his aunt with a full glass of sherry in each hand, he was both pleased and a little dismayed to note that Lady Cynthia had made herself comfortable in one of the couches set out around the largest of the fireplaces in the drawing room.
Despite enjoying the current warmth of summer, the drawing room at Draycott Hall was so very large, with such inordinately high ceilings, that it had been necessary to request a small fire be set in the enormous hearth.
Hamilton could not help thinking that the very colour of the walls rather made the room feel somewhat cool, whatever the time of year. Every wall was painted in the palest blue and, despite the numerous and extremely large portraits which hung on every available space, still, the blue seemed to permeate. Whilst it was a pleasing shade, Hamilton rather thought that he might soon decide to have it changed for something which felt a little warmer.
Hamilton strode over to his aunt and placed the glass of sherry down on the walnut table beside her before taking a seat in the dark blue velvet covered armchair opposite. He turned his eyes towards the ceiling and gave himself a few moments to study the ornate plasterwork which had so fascinated him as a child.
Hamilton remembered asking his own father when it was done and finding himself surprised that the old Duke had not known the answer. He had always taken that to mean that the work had been undertaken many generations ago by craftsmen who were now, quite likely, long dead. The idea had always given him the most curious feeling, despite the fact that Draycott Hall itself must surely have been built by people who had long ago departed this world. Quite why the ceiling in the drawing-room elicited such a response from him, Hamilton could not say. It was almost a sense of the ornate plasterwork representing a great moment of creation trapped in time, destined to remain there forever. Hamilton never dissuaded himself in his activity and always rather enjoyed staring at the beautiful and intricate plasterwork patterns, all of which had been gloriously painted in white, the pale blue of the walls, and the richest gold. He had always thought it the most beautiful work of art in all of Draycott Hall and quite wondered why guests and servants alike never seemed to regard it at all.
“You are keeping well, Hamilton?” Lady Cynthia said, clearly looking for another opening line.
“I am just as you saw me a few days ago.” He smiled at her. “Nothing has changed.”
“Well, I am glad that you are keeping well,” Lady Cynthia said, her eyebrows lowering a little as she clearly thought of her next question.
Hamilton almost laughed. When she was set upon a course of action and so very determined to see it through regardless, she always reminded him of his own dear mother. Both ladies had been most adept at inserting themselves into the lives of others and doing what they could to change things and arrange the outcomes in a way which they always deemed to be better.
Again, Hamilton thought his own behaviour a little shabby and looked upon his aunt warmly once more. With her pale hair and incredibly inquisitive face which was still pretty, despite the years, Lady Cynthia Lyndon was a very well turned out woman. Despite being a little rotund, she always looked neat and impressive, and he had always very much liked that about her. Whilst she appeared a little soft at times, Hamilton knew well that she had a will of iron which ran side-by-side with her gentle kindness.
“And I thank you for your kindness,” Hamilton said, knowing full well that he was teasing her just a little.
“Shall I see you in church on Sunday, Hamilton?” Lady Cynthia’s little blue eyes widened, and she seemed pleased to have come up with a new plan of attack.
“As you always see me, my dear aunt.” Hamilton smiled again and found himself rather liking his aunt’s company at last. He was toying with her, albeit kindly, and found he was enjoying the amusement.
“And of course, I shall be meeting the new governess, shall I not?” Instantly, Hamilton could discern the path she had chosen most clearly.
She had undoubtedly decided to ask some questions regarding the new governess as a means of bringing up the one subject he did not care to talk about—the children.