The Sign of Death by Callie Hutton (i like reading .TXT) 📕

man. It would be nice to meet his mother. Additionally, we are considering another business venture here in Bath, and ’twas a good time to investigate that potential acquisition.”

Amy bristled. “He is not my young man, and why would you be interested in meeting Lady Wethington?” She still felt a bit uneasy. Not that she was as much against marriage as she’d been at one time, but she certainly wasn’t interested in being pushed to the altar anytime soon, which seemed to be Papa’s favorite pastime.

Papa shifted in his seat so that he was able to look her in the face. “Amy, Lord Wethington appears to be a nice lad. I’ve been asking around, and he is well thought of in both London and Bath. Furthermore, it seems every time I visit Bath, he is hanging about the place.”

Amy groaned. Papa had been “asking around” about William? She gritted her teeth. “And?”

“And perhaps Lady Wethington also feels as though you and he would suit.”

“Aha!” she almost shouted. “I knew you had ulterior motives in this.”

Papa frowned. “Settle yourself, daughter. We have no ulterior motives. I merely plan on having a nice dinner with a well-bred family of the nobility and then spending some time perusing the business in which we are interested.”

They were all silent for the rest of the trip.

Amy had to smile when they were led to the drawing room and William walked toward her. He looked fine and dandy in his charcoal trousers, striped waistcoat, fashionably tied cravat, and deep-blue jacket.

“Good evening, my lady.” William turned to Aunt Margaret, bowed to her, and addressed Papa. “My lord, may I present you to my mother, Lady Wethington?”

Lady Wethington glided across the room, moving much like Aunt Margaret. Amy feared she would never acquire that grace. She would forever fumble her way through life, always looking for the handle.

William’s mother extended her slim hand, and Papa accepted it with all the dignity and arrogance of his station. He bowed. “Good evening, Lady Wethington.”

William continued. “Mother, this is Lord Winchester, his son, Lord Davenport, and of course you are already acquainted with Lady Amy’s aunt, Lady Margaret.”

“How very delightful for you all to join us this evening.” Lady Wethington turned to Amy with a warm smile. “I have simply fallen in love with your daughter, my lord. Lady Amy is charming, witty, and a pleasure to visit with.”

If only the floor would open, allowing her to drop through, Amy would donate her yearly allowance to the church.

Sensing her embarrassment, William stepped in. “Why don’t we all relax with a drink before dinner is ready?”

Beverage preferences were noted, and William and Michael poured for everyone while Amy, her papa, and Aunt Margaret joined Lady Wethington in a cozy corner of the room between the long windows and the fireplace, which gave off toasty warmth to those within its reach.

Michael and William delivered the drinks to Papa and the women. Instead of sitting, they both chose to stand as they swirled their drinks. Amy knew she was not imagining the looks her brother cast at William. Good grief, they looked like two warriors from times past, eyeing each other up for a duel.

Amy glanced at William, who winked. Perhaps he was as uneasy about this cozy family gathering as she was.

Despite Amy’s misgivings, the dinner was fine, the food wonderful—no one commented when she ate the roast beef—the conversation light and harmless. Lady Wethington and Papa got on quite well, and it disturbed her the way the two of them glowed with happiness whenever William spoke to her. If William noticed or felt uncomfortable with the attention, it didn’t show.

After dinner, they retired back to the drawing room for tea. It had grown close to the time for their departure when Lady Wethington said, directing her comments to Papa, “I was quite pleased when I visited the book club the children belong to.”

The children? Amy almost lost her dinner. She threw William a side glance. He looked as stunned as she felt.

“It’s a lovely place, but the most exciting thing I heard was that the bookstore is having a book festival.”

Papa smiled. “Indeed? That sounds wonderful. I am a great believer in reading, myself.”

“And”—Lady Wethington stopped to make sure she had everyone’s attention—“the owner of the bookstore has promised to have the very well-known author E. D. Burton at the festival to meet his readers and autograph books!” She grinned at the great news.

Aunt Margaret choked on her tea.

William closed his eyes and groaned.

Michael laughed and downed his brandy.

Papa glared in Amy’s direction.

Amy offered him a sick smile and again prayed for the floor to open and swallow her. Two years’ allowance to the church.

The following Monday, Amy’s ears still blistered from the tongue-lashing Papa had given her on the ride home from William’s house. To say he was displeased was a gross understatement.

It had been quite surprising—and painful—when Lady Wethington made her announcement. If she noticed the strange reactions from everyone else in the room, she did not show it.

Shortly after that, Amy and her family had taken their leave.

Presently, she was waiting for Aunt Margaret to join her in the drawing room. They were making afternoon calls, something Amy viewed as akin to suffering from ague.

Her main motivation was Aunt Margaret’s assurance that Mrs. Whitney would be at one of the three places they planned to visit. Amy prayed she was at the first one so she could return home with her brain still intact. Gossiping women turned her mind to mush.

“I’m ready.” Aunt Margaret sailed into the room, pulling on her gloves. As always, she looked wonderfully put together. Her deep-green wool suit with black piping accentuated her warm brown eyes. Although her aunt bemoaned her straight brown hair, she always managed to keep every hair slicked back and in place.

Amy, on the other hand, dealt with her messy curls by fixing them into a sort of chignon from which obstinate strands escaped before she had even put