Bewitched Read Online Free PDF Page B

“Actually, I grew up in the Midlands—not quite an absolute wilderness, I should say.”
    Mrs. Bentham’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “A nest of disquiet and riot. Very shocking, if you ask me. Don’t you think so too, my lord, Mr. Fermont?” The latter opened his mouth, yet was interrupted. “Of course,” Mrs. Bentham continued, “I expect it is quite natural for a young girl to be attached to her home, wherever that is.” She leaned slightly forward, which apparently worried Lord Munthorpe so much he grabbed yet another sandwich in defense. “But imagine our shock when we found out that the poor dear couldn’t even paint a vase of flowers!”
    “Er…” Mr. Fermont looked from Mrs. Bentham to Amy.
    A third-rate farce indeed! Amy wondered how she was ever supposed to find a husband when Mrs. Bentham was so fond of listing her deficiencies to every man in the vicinity. “Yes, fruit bowls are quite beyond me, too,” she muttered darkly.
    “Our Amelia doesn’t even find enjoyment in the fortepiano,” Isabella fluted.
    By now, the whole of Mr. Fermont’s ears glowed rosily. “Er… don’t you?”
    Amy gave him a bland smile. “No.” For how could she learn when Matthew was almost always glued to the keys and the fortepiano had the unfortunate habit of snapping at everybody else—one of Mattie’s charming little tricks to ensure nobody would touch his beloved instrument. And her uncle had never found out, because all those years ago the music master had left the house in such a hurry and with squashed fingers, and had never been seen or heard from again.
    Mrs. Bentham nodded sagely. “Yes, it is quite sad,” she confided to the gentlemen. “But of course we will do our utmost to help little Amelia brave the foreign seas of genteel society.”
    “Very laudable indeed,” Lord Munthorpe mumbled, and gazed forlornly at the empty sandwich plate. “I… er… must go, I’m afraid. I… um…”
    “But I hope you will you come to Lady Worthington’s musicale on Friday night, my lord?” Mrs. Bentham pierced him with a look.
    “Er… I… um…”
    “Oh, you must come, my lord.” Isabella clapped her hands. “It will be the musical entertainment of the month, I am sure. You cannot want to miss that.” She batted her lashes at him.
    “Er. . .” He turned this way and that, but did not find much help in Mr. Fermont, who just stared at him glumly. “Well, I say … perhaps I should—”
    “How very good of you, my lord.” Mrs. Bentham beamed her approval. “I am certain it would give my daughter great pleasure to discuss the music with you.”
    Amy wrinkled her nose. No, this was not a third-rate farce. It was a fourth- or fifth-rate one: Grandchildren-Craving Woman Throws Daughter at Hapless Rich Nobleman.
    “Er… ”
    “So, this is settled then. And you, Mr. Fermont?” Mrs. Bentham turned on her second unfortunate victim. “I hope we will see you there, too.”
    “I…” Mr. Fermont glanced at Amy, and something like pain flickered across his face. “I… well…”
    “Oh, but you must come.” Mrs. Bentham watched him intently. “Perhaps you could help to explain the music to our dear Amelia.” After all, he wasn’t an earl with land and sheep in abundance. These were plainly reserved for Isabella alone.
    “I…”
    “I absolutely insist, Mr. Fermont. Shouldn’t we all help Amelia to settle into the genteel world?”
    Mr. Fermont threw Amy another desperate look. Finally, he bowed his head. “Quite so, madam,” the gentle swain said, resigning himself to his utterly ghastly fate. Amy nearly snorted, finding his lack of enthusiasm far from flattering.
    Mrs. Bentham, though, had no such reservations. “How delightful!” she exclaimed. “And will your friends come, too?”
    “My friends?” He raised his head. His blond eyebrows drew together in puzzlement. “They… Probably.”
    “Good, then.” With a strange smile, Mrs. Bentham leaned back in her chair. Perhaps Amy