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    A Connoisseur of Beauty
    A Connoisseur of Beauty
    A Connoisseur of Beauty
    Ebook78 pages1 hour

    A Connoisseur of Beauty

    By Daphne Coleridge

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    About this ebook

    Hunter Lewis’s exquisite taste, eye for beauty, and business acumen have earned him an international reputation. He is captivated by Amy’s beauty and resemblance to her ancestor whose portrait hangs in Wolfston Hall. But he already has a complicated love-life and it seems that Amy is just part of one more game that he is playing simply because he likes to win. A novella.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDaphne Coleridge
    Release dateJul 3, 2015
    ISBN9781310427862
    A Connoisseur of Beauty

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      Book preview

      A Connoisseur of Beauty - Daphne Coleridge

      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 Jane’s Tearooms.

      I put posters up there. Well, we’ll see, replied Amy without much hope. By the way there was a car outside Wolfston Hall just now.

      Yes, I was going to tell you. Judy said the new owner was going to come and collect the keys today. American, I think: a Mr Lewis. Alice paused, It must be very hard for you.

      Amy shrugged her shoulders and continued to open the door. She was trying not to think about it. However, the long morning provided little distraction. A few friends and neighbours popped in, mostly just to pass the time of day. A couple bought paintings, allowing her to put two red spots on the frames. Not a complete waste of time, then. She was just contemplating locking up and going over to the pub for a late lunch when the door creaked open, letting in a flood of sunlight. Silhouetted in the doorway was a tall male figure, broad of shoulder and long of limb. There was something intimidating and impressive in his sheer proportions as he blocked the sun from the room. And then he came in, the light falling on his face. Strong features, dark brows, and an expression that immediately conveyed both strength and intelligence. Dressed in an immaculately elegant suit he seemed out of place in the dusty, run-down gloom of the parish rooms.

      Good morning – may I look at the paintings? He had a pleasant deep voice and English accent and smiled as he turned to Amy. And then his expression changed; a fleeting moment of recognition, a sudden eager flash in his grey eyes. I’m sorry, I thought that... He swiftly regained his composure. It’s coming in from the bright sun. I’ll have to acclimatize my eyes. Do you mind? He indicated that he wanted to look around at the paintings. Amy nodded mutely. She too felt suddenly discomposed. Even as she withdrew to the table she had set up and sat down to pretend to look at the price list and tick off the couple she had sold, she was profoundly aware of the potent presence in the room. She stole a glance as he studied a large oil painting of Wolfston Hall which she had painted the previous

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