Hounds of Autumn Read Online Free PDF

enter. He held the door open an extra moment to allow Giles to enter behind his mistress.
    The dining room was decorated in deep reds and browns and was dominated by a long oak table, large enough for twenty, but set for nine. Chairs upholstered in burgundy matched the curtains, which were pulled shut to keep out the chill. The fire in the marble-mantled fireplace crackled gently, leaving the room comfortably warm.
    All three men at the table rose. At the head was an elderly man, gray-bearded and stout, with the build and bearing of a formerly muscular man. This must be William, the patriarch. Ambrose introduced Chloe to him first. She then curtseyed to Ian, whom she had already met, and Robert, the youngest of the Aynesworth children. Robert was a gangly youth, thin, tall and long of face like his brother Ian.
    Ambrose pulled out a chair for Chloe, and Giles settled himself nearby. Four of the place settings were still unoccupied, and a minute later, Alexander came in, his wife Beatrice on his arm. She was a petite woman, finely boned with thin, mouse-brown hair that fell in frizzled curls around her face. She smiled gently as they were introduced and was seated.
    “We are so glad you could come and visit us,” Beatrice said. “We don’t often have visitors. I know my mother and Dora will be so glad.”
    “I’m certain I will,” said the woman in the doorway. She was tall, like her siblings, with thick dark hair. Her deep red dress was two or three years out of date, but favored her coloring and figure. She had a statuesque beauty that made her look like a young gypsy.
    “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” said Dora as her father introduced Chloe and Ambrose. She took the seat that Ian held out for her. “I thought I’d be the last one down.” She frowned. Mrs. Malone, Beatrice’s mother, and a permanent houseguest, had not yet arrived.
    Chloe watched her husband and their host, William, each try to keep a conversation going. The years of animosity and lack of contact had left them with little to speak of, but Ambrose was trying hard to be pleasant and agreeable. He was uneasy, but only a wife would notice. His left hand remained in his lap instead of gesturing good-naturedly. He took too many sips from his crystal water goblet, which a helpful servant refilled promptly.
    “Please tell me,” said Ambrose, “is my old friend John Hammond still in town?”
    “He is,” said William.
    The two men discussed Ambrose’s friend, whom he had met while visiting his sister Rose in the early days of her marriage, thirty-odd years before. A fellow natural science enthusiast, he and Ambrose had formed a friendship after meeting one day while observing a juvenile meadow pipit trying its wings. Sadly, their correspondence had dwindled and then ceased altogether.
    The clock chimed once, indicating a quarter past the hour. Mrs. Malone had still not arrived and Beatrice motioned a servant over and whispered instructions. The servant girl bobbed a curtsey and left.
    “Do you think your mother is unwell?” asked Chloe.
    “Unlikely,” said Beatrice with a weary smile.
    William motioned for the first course of asparagus soup to be served. A servant placed a bowl of soup at Mrs. Malone’s empty place.
    “Have you decided on the trim for the dress?” Beatrice asked Dora.
    Dora lifted the lid of the cut crystal butter dish and spread butter on her bread. “I think so. I do wish Father would allow me to go to London and have a proper dress made up.” She shot a glare down the table at William, who was nodding over something Alexander said. “The dressmaker in town lacks the imagination for a truly fashionable dress. Too much time spent making wedding dresses for the daughters of farmers and tin miners, I think.”
    Beatrice smiled and turned to Chloe. “Dora is getting married in just three months. We’re so excited—well, Mother and I mainly. You see, Dora wants a unique dress, but can’t make up her mind on what she