The Sign of Death by Callie Hutton (children's books read aloud .TXT) 📗

seats, and when Lady Wethington merely stared at the teapot, Amy sighed. Lady Wethington apparently expected her to act as hostess.

“Mrs. Pringle, can you please bring more hot water for her ladyship? I believe this one has chilled.” Thank goodness Amy had spent enough time at William’s house that the staff didn’t seem to resent requests from her.

“Wonderful,” Lady Wethington said, and beamed at Amy. She turned to William, who looked as if he had something caught in his throat. “I do hope I am not interrupting anything … personal?”

Amy had reached the point where she found the entire situation comical. She’d thought her papa was anxious to see her married off. Absolutely nothing could compare to William’s mother. There was no doubt in Amy’s mind that Lady Wethington was mentally composing the invitation list for their wedding and would soon join William’s cook to work out the wedding breakfast menu.

“No, Mother. You have not interrupted anything personal. Lady Amy and I belong to the same book club. We were merely discussing the current book.”

“Book club? How very edifying.” She beamed again at Amy. “It must be your influence, my dear.”

Amy cleared her throat. “Actually, my lady, his lordship belonged to the book club before I did.”

Undaunted by that revelation, Lady Wethington waved her hand. “Women are always good influences on men. Don’t you agree?”

Amy had no desire to be an influence on anyone. She had a hard enough time trying to keep herself out of trouble. But she just nodded and offered an innocuous murmur.

A young maid entered the room with the refilled teapot and placed it on the tray in front of the three of them. Lady Wethington smiled warmly in Amy’s direction. Apparently it was expected for her to continue to play the hostess, which had thrown her so off guard that it almost had her choking and fumbling.

Lady Wethington appeared to be a lovely woman, but Amy had the feeling that whatever William’s mother set her mind to was accomplished posthaste.

William still sat like a stone statue. A terrified stone statue. Amy wanted to hit him over the head with the teapot. She couldn’t do this all by herself; she needed rescue.

“How was your journey, my lady?” As far as social intercourse went, that was probably the dullest question she could ask. Right now, however, she was feeling far from brilliant.

Lady Wethington took a sip of the tea that Amy had just poured and fixed for her.

“The trip was not overly unpleasant. I came from London, as I’m sure my son told you, but the roads, in part, have improved. I do believe the city of Bath itself could do with improvement, however.”

“Why did you not take the railway?” William asked.

Lady Wethington waved her hand. “I don’t trust them. It is risky riding with all those strangers. A carriage is much better. However, as I stated, ’tis past the time the roads were fixed.”

Silence fell, since Amy couldn’t think of another thing to say. She could see William’s chest rising and falling, so she knew he hadn’t died from fright; he’d merely been struck dumb.

It would be far too rude for Amy to take her leave so soon, so she would just have to make the best of it. “My lord, how far into the new book have you read?” At this point, Amy was so rattled that she couldn’t even remember the book they were currently reading. Hopefully William did.

He took a deep breath, obviously realizing he would have to contribute to the conversation. “I would say about a third of the way through the book.” Since he didn’t mention the title, she had to assume he didn’t remember which book they were reading either.

“What sort of books do you read in this book club?” Lady Wethington took a delicate bite of a biscuit. Amy couldn’t help but notice that everything about the woman was delicate, graceful, and elegant. She sighed. Another Aunt Margaret.

“It is the Mystery Book Club of Bath. We meet once a week at the Atkinson and Tucker bookstore.” William had actually put two sentences together.

“Oh, I do love mysteries. Do you ever read E. D. Burton’s books?”

Amy sucked in a breath just as she was biting down on a biscuit. A full three minutes of coughing, being pounded on the back by William, and hand-wringing by his mother commenced.

Amy patted her eyes with the handkerchief William had handed her—an action, Amy noted, that was not lost on his eagle-eyed mother.

“Yes. We have read one or two of his books,” William said.

Lady Wethington leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I have read every one of Mr. Burton’s books.”

“Mother! I would think they were too—intense for you.”

His mother waved her hand. “Nonsense. Men always think women are such weak creatures.” She turned to Amy. “I will wager you don’t believe that gibberish, do you, Lady Amy?”

“No. I do not believe we are too weak-minded to read Mr. Burton’s books.” There, she had managed to get that one out without choking. But she really did need to take her leave. She placed her napkin alongside her plate. “I am so sorry to break up our little visit, but I have an appointment later today with my dressmaker.” Lie number one. “I would love to stay and chat.” Lie number two. “I hope we can have a longer visit another time.” Lie number three.

Amy rose, and William stood. “Mother, I escorted Lady Amy here, so I will be seeing her home.”

Lady Wethington beamed at the two of them in a most disconcerting way. “That is fine, children. Run along.”

William looked as though he would love to throttle the woman, but one did not do such things to one’s mother. No matter how strong the urge.

Amy and William hurried to the front door, shrugged into their coats, and practically raced down the path to where his carriage stood. They climbed in and settled themselves.

As the vehicle moved forward, William raised his hand, palm facing her. “Do