The Wedding Game

He stood to indicate the interview was at an end, leaving her little choice but to leave the study, return to her room and plan her counter-attack.

Chapter Four

The difficult morning discussion was followed by an afternoon too beautiful to stay indoors. If Amy wished to circumvent her father’s plans, there was no better place to spend it than on Rotten Row, where anyone of importance took to horse or carriage to see and be seen by the rest of the ton.

Belle was seated on her gentle, brown mare, looking her best in a bright blue riding habit with a tall hat dressed in lace. With hair of spun gold and eyes as blue as a summer sky, there was none to compare to her.

It was a shame.

As she did, each time the thought crossed her mind, Amy felt guilty and silently enumerated a few more of Belle’s virtues. She was kind and loving. She was loyal and had a gentle heart. In comparison to all that, did her deficiencies amount to so much?

‘I like to ride,’ Belle said. Her hands stroked the horse’s mane.

‘As do I, dear,’ Amy agreed and adjusted her own grip on her sister’s reins to better lead her horse. ‘Did you have a nice time at Almack’s last night?’

‘Yes,’ Belle replied. ‘I like to dance.’

‘Did you speak with anyone of interest?’ she probed gently.

As she tried to form an answer, Belle’s smile dimmed. Thoughts flitted across her face like clouds. Then she smiled again. ‘I danced every dance.’

‘But with no gentleman more than once, I hope.’ She had kept a close watch on Belle’s dance card to prevent any partner from monopolising her time. But Belle, Lord bless her, was exceptionally easy to trick.

‘I danced every dance,’ she repeated, still smiling.

‘You did, indeed,’ Amy said, sighing.

‘Will there be dancing at the wedding?’

‘What wedding, dear?’

‘My wedding.’ There was much that her little sister did not understand. But she had grasped the main purpose of the Season. It was left to Amy to help her with the details.

‘Weddings are held in the morning, Belle. There will be a breakfast, not a ball.’

‘Oh.’

‘But we must be sure that your husband likes to dance as much as you do.’

Belle nodded, satisfied. ‘Who is he?’

‘Your husband?’ It had been too much to hope that Belle could understand her need to participate in the process of choosing such the man. ‘We do not know as yet. We cannot choose just any man. We are looking for someone whose company you enjoy. Is there anyone you particularly liked last evening?’

‘I liked the dancing,’ she repeated again. ‘And I liked all the boys who danced with me.’

Good-hearted soul that she was, Belle liked them all equally. Amy sighed again. ‘I am making a list of gentlemen who might be good husbands. I have talked to Father about them.’ And enough said about that, since there was no point in spoiling this conversation with the truth. ‘We will find someone who loves you as much as we do.’

‘Someone who likes to dance,’ Belle added.

‘Most definitely,’ Amy agreed.

‘And who likes dogs,’ Belle added.

‘Definitely,’ Amy agreed. In her experience, all men loved dogs. Unfortunately, it was often a matter of like being drawn to like. ‘But if there is any man you meet who likes dogs and dancing, and who you favour above others, you must tell us of him, immediately.’

‘Everyone was nice to me,’ Belle said, her smile as bright as ever. If she had a current favourite, she gave no indication of it. On their next outing, Amy would need to watch carefully for any signs of a preference that could be guided into something more.

For now, she must pay attention to the horses. She gave a gentle pull on the reins to slow them so they did not overtake two gentlemen who were stopped on the path ahead. Instead of resuming their ride as the girls approached, the men turned their mounts to look back at them.

In front of them, blocking their way, was the person she least wanted Belle to meet. Mr Lovell rode a dapple-grey stallion every bit as perfect as he was. And as usual, he was the picture of masculine perfection. He sat the horse as if he’d been born in its saddle. His hacking jacket and breeches stretched over muscles that he had not got from leisurely rides in Hyde Park. Rich, handsome and athletic.

She must stop ogling him and remember that he had designs on her sister. That meant he was also as loathsome as the snake in Eden. Amy sighed in frustration. She could not very well cut him without risk of offending Mr Templeton, who figured prominently on her list of acceptable suitors. It was a shame that such a fine gentleman had such horrible taste in friends.

‘Miss Summoner. Miss Arabella.’ Mr Templeton tipped his hat and gave them a smile that was soft and welcoming.

‘Mr Templeton,’ Amy replied with a smile and ignored the other man.

Beside her, she could sense Belle’s confusion.

‘We danced la Boulanger last night at Almack’s,’ Templeton supplied to remind her.

‘And a Scottish reel last week,’ Belle said, with a surprised smile.

She could not possibly be as surprised as Amy. The single sentence was more than Belle had spoken outside the family in ages.

‘You remember me because I stepped on your toe,’ he said, with a proud nod.

‘Both times,’ she said, nodding back happily.

There was a moment of silence as the gentlemen experienced the full effect of Miss Summoner’s smile and were left dazed. Then Mr Templeton regained his composure. ‘Last night, you left us so quickly I did not have the opportunity to introduce my friend, Mr Lovell.’

Belle’s face registered her panic as she tried to remember the name and choose an appropriate response. In the end, she simply gave the other man a puzzled nod and another smile.

Amy had hoped an introduction to this scoundrel could be delayed until her sister had been directed towards an acceptable suitor. Now, she must pray that Belle forgot Lovell, as she did so many others who’d crossed her path so far this Season. Or perhaps he would realise that he was not wanted and simply go away. Amy gave him a frosty nod of acknowledgement. ‘Mr Lovell.’

‘Are you ladies enjoying your ride?’ Was she mistaken, or was the smile Lovell offered to Belle more intense than the one he offered her? Given the plans she’d overheard, it was not surprising. It made no sense that Amy should care one way or the other about the lack of attention directed her way.

Belle was silent, but it did not matter. Amy was accustomed to speaking for both of them. ‘We like it very well, sir.’

‘We must not block the path with our chat,’ Templeton said, still smiling. ‘Miss Arabella, would you care to ride ahead with me and allow Mr Lovell to escort your sister?’

Belle gave her a look that was half-hopeful, and half-fearful. The larger the group, the more confused she became. But it appeared that she was accustomed to speaking with Templeton. Or, at least, she did not mind listening to him. Amy gave her an encouraging nod and offered Belle’s reins to him as she manoeuvred her own horse backwards.

With a triumphant smile, Templeton took control of her sister’s mount and the pair trotted a few steps ahead so they might converse in private.

Did she see a flicker of annoyance on Lovell’s face at being so quickly cut out of his first conversation with Belle? Or was it merely a shadow from the leaves on a nearby branch? When Amy looked again, he was all pleasantness, as if it had been his intention all along to ride at her side instead. ‘Miss Summoner?’ He tilted his head, indicating that they hurry to catch up.

Amy slackened her grip on the reins and let her horse proceed at a leisurely walk.

Ahead of them, things seemed to be going well. She could hear Templeton droning on about something that evoked a delighted laugh from Belle. But between her and Lovell there was a silence that would have been uncomfortable had she wanted to speak to him, which she did not.

‘It is a lovely day for a ride,’ he said, when he was unable to bear it any longer.

‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘It is.’

‘And that is a very...serviceable habit you have on today.’

She smiled. Next to Belle’s her costume was hardly a fashion plate. When they went on these little outings, it was usually her job to manage both horses while giving Belle an illusion of control. But it left Amy little energy to fuss over her appearance. Her current ensemble was dark green and devoid of ornament, except for a muddy footprint at the hem that had been gained when she’d ridden too close to Belle’s horse and scraped against the stirrup. Despite his excellent manners, Mr Lovell could not bring himself to lie and call it pretty.

‘It suits me well enough,’ she replied, staring down at a loose button on the sleeve.

‘If I may be so bold as to suggest it, a little lace at the cuffs might be quite flattering.’

She snapped her head up to look at him. ‘Are you a dressmaker, Mr Lovell, that you question the design of my clothing?’

‘Merely making an observation,’ he said blandly. ‘Miss Arabella is most fetchingly attired. You cannot expect gentlemen to notice you if you insist on standing in your sister’s shadow.’

Now she was not just looking at him, she was staring. ‘If you mean to offer me insults in the guise of friendly advice, please refrain, sir. I am quite content with both my sister’s popularity and my choice of attire.’

‘And your lack of escort?’ he said.

‘Lack of escort?’ She looked around, pretending surprise. ‘Correct me if I am mistaken, but are you not escorting me at this very moment? Or is this some fever dream that I’ve concocted featuring a man I’ve just met?’

‘You met me yesterday,’ he reminded her. ‘There was no formal introduction, of course.’

She gave him a blank look, pretending to forget.

‘You spilled your drink on me last night at Almack’s,’ he prompted.

‘Of course,’ she said, giving him a smile that was as overly sweet as the lemonade had been. ‘I apologised. And you said we would not speak of it again.’

He gave a dismissive shrug, as if to say the circumstances had changed now that he knew her identity.

‘And it was two drinks,’ she prodded.

He responded with such benign sympathy that it made her wish for a pitcher of the stuff so she might pour the whole of it over his insufferable head. ‘It was not necessary to do that to achieve this meeting,’ he said. ‘I would have been more than willing to ride with you even if you had not wasted two glasses of lemonade on my new waistcoat.’

‘You think I did that on purpose?’ she said, outraged. Of course, she had done it on purpose. But somehow, he had got the idiotic idea that it had been a ploy to gain his attention.

‘I think there are some young ladies who take naturally to society. And the ton rewards them for it.’ He cast a brief, longing look forward at her sister, before turning back to her. ‘While others, even though they are blest with many of the same gifts, lack a certain something.’ He shrugged. ‘Confidence, perhaps? That natural ease amongst people. As a result, they are quite unfairly overlooked by gentlemen when it comes time to marry.’

She bit her lip before she could blurt that her sister’s inability to string two sentences together was not actually feminine wisdom masking some sort of magical self-assurance. It was as she’d often suspected: though some might call Belle a fool, it was the men chasing her who were the idiots. And she was speaking to their king. ‘Suppose these poor, neglected unfortunates you describe are quite happy with their lot?’ Her tone rose slightly. ‘Perhaps, having met the gentlemen of London society, they would much rather remain single than spend the rest of their lives pretending an unworthy man is not just their equal, but their divinely ordained superior?’

Now she definitely saw anger in his eyes, but it was stifled almost as quickly as his earlier annoyance. He sucked in his lips for a moment, biting back the words he wanted to say, burying his true feelings. He was clever enough to think before he spoke. But it proved his amiable courtesy was little more than a thin veneer that might peel away if she continued to pry at it.

‘Then...’ he said, pausing again, ‘I would say that...’ another pause ‘...if they were truly content with their unmarried status, they would not find it necessary to giggle unceasingly, to flap their fans like deranged parrots and orchestrate accidents to call attention to themselves.’

‘Accidents like this, you mean?’ She brought her riding crop down in one swift motion, slapping the tip of it against his horse’s flank with a force equivalent to a wasp sting.

The enormous grey obliged with an irate whinny and reared.

His rider, who had been far too occupied with whatever condescending response he had been composing in his head, lost his grip on the reins and landed on the tan-covered trail behind his horse.

A few heads turned to stare at the man sitting in the mud. But not nearly enough of them, in Amy’s opinion. This minor embarrassment might go largely unnoticed if she did not help it along. ‘Mr Templeton,’ she sang out in a shrieking soprano. ‘Oh, dear. Mr Templeton! Mr Lovell has fallen from his horse! Someone help him, I pray.’

‘I am fine.’ He stood to prove the fact, one hand in the air in a self-deprecating wave to show the mildest embarrassment. But she was close enough to hear shattered pride in each of the three words. He followed them with a wry smile and an admonition. ‘Really, Miss Summoner. Do not distress yourself on my account. There is nothing to worry about.’

But the look he gave her said something far different.

You have nothing to worry about, yet.

Chapter Five

Ben stared out of the window of his rooms at the busy crowds below him on Bond Street, contemplating his future. Hopefully, it would be devoid of the humiliation he had experienced on yesterday’s ride in Hyde Park.

He was an expert horseman, able to handle even the most spirited cattle with ease. But after five minutes of conversation with Miss Amelia Summoner he had been displayed before all of London society as a man who could not hold his seat on a walk down a bridle path. Worst of all, her sister had turned back to see him muddied and bruised. Her laughter at his predicament was a hundred times more painful than the fall had been.

If the experience in Rotten Row had gained him anything, it was proof that his friend Templeton was only partly correct in his assessment of Miss Summoner. Ben could see no sign that she was romantically attracted to him or anyone else. But it seemed that she was, in some way, obsessed with him. Her fixation bordered almost on mania. Could it be an untreated madness, or was there something he had done to set her off? He could not think what that might be. She had seemed set against him, even before an introduction was made. Perhaps she had chosen him at random to bear the brunt of her jealousy over her sister’s success. Or maybe she simply hated men.

After ten years in the thrall of one, he was more than wary of the focused attentions of overly clever women. At first he had been drawn to Cassandra’s intellect and aspired to become her equal. To be worthy of such a woman, a man had to strive for constant improvement.

The day had come when he’d finally been ready for the verbal fencing matches he’d dreamed of. He’d honed his wits to a rapier point only to discover she was wielding a stiletto. She had made him suffer for his impudence in believing he could ever be her master.

Never again.

Such women might make the best mistresses. Like the mote in Miss Amelia’s eye, even their flaws seemed to sparkle with a tempting vivacity. But now that he meant to marry, it would be to the quiet beauty of an Arabella. It would be like coming home to a house filled with fresh flowers, each day. Just the thought of her smile made the tensions in his soul relax. After what he had been through, he deserved peace.

It did not matter what fate Amelia Summoner planned for him. He wanted no part of it. But in one thing, his friend Templeton, had been totally right. To gain the ultimate tranquillity of a life with Belle, Ben would need to douse the conflagration that burned in her sister. If the elder of the two became a member of his household, his life would be far more difficult than he wished it to be. There must be some man in London who could take her off his hands.

First, he must find a way to charm her out of the irrational antipathy she displayed towards him. Once a truce had been declared, perhaps, he could gain some insight into her character and find an acceptable match for her where Lord Summoner had failed. He took a moment to imagine the happy gratitude of that gentleman at settling a matter that no doubt weighed heavily on his mind. It would be one more thing that would smooth the way when Ben asked for his younger daughter’s hand.

And there, on the street just below him, were the two women he most wanted to impress, admiring the bonnets in the milliner’s shop opposite his rooms. The older woman who accompanied them, and who he assumed was their chaperon, was swaying slightly as the terrier on the leash in her hand strained at each passer-by.

Perhaps today he might make an impression on the pair of them without Templeton swooping in to monopolise Arabella. Ben gave a brief glance in the mirror to assure himself that his cravat and coat were spotless before racing down the stairs. At the door, he took only a moment to compose himself again, so that their meeting might seem a chance encounter on London’s most popular shopping thoroughfare.

But in the moments it had taken to get from sitting room to street, his future wife had disappeared along with her keeper, leaving Miss Amelia and the dog as grim sentinels prepared to thwart his plans.

The girl glanced in his direction for only a moment, before turning back to stare at the shop window in a deliberate attempt to ignore him. The terrier, however, pivoted on the line holding him to give Ben’s shoes a thorough sniffing. The little beast was uncommonly ugly for a lady’s pet. It seemed to be made of the parts of a variety of animals, stuck together in a haphazard fashion by someone who had no clear idea of what a dog was supposed to look like. Its long body supported an enormous head and waddled along on hardly any legs at all. The whole of it was covered with a layer of unevenly cropped white-and-tan fur. When it had completed its investigation of his shoes, it looked up at him with an air of resigned embarrassment at its own appearance. It was then he saw that its eyes were no more coordinated than the rest of it. They were large as a bug’s and mismatched in colour, one blue, one brown, like a ridiculous parody of the woman who controlled it. It ambled forward and flopped down upon his foot, giving him far more notice than its owner, who was still stubbornly ignoring him.

If he meant to join her family, he could not allow her to cut him on the street. He nudged the dog gently aside and stepped forward, smiling. ‘Miss Summoner.’

He was sure he had spoken loud enough to be heard, but she remained purposefully oblivious.

‘Miss Summoner,’ he said more loudly to prove he would not be denied. Then he took his place beside her, trying to meet her eyes in the reflection of the glass.

She did not turn, still focusing on the goods displayed. ‘You are not the gentleman you claim to be, Mr Lovell.’

Her words hit so close to the truth that his smile faltered and he bit his tongue to stop the question echoing in his head.

What have you heard?

She continued with the obvious explanation for her words. ‘Surely you know that when a lady does not acknowledge you, you must not persist in trying to engage her.’

It was nothing. He was safe. He let out a relieved breath and shifted his leg to detach the dog, who was now sniffing the hems of his pants. ‘Have I done something to offend you?’ he asked, honestly curious.

‘To offend me? No, Mr Lovell, you have not. But I would hate to spoil that.’

‘Do not be glib with me, Miss Summoner.’

‘I was not attempting to be,’ she reminded him. ‘I was attempting to avoid you.’

‘But why?’ Now he sounded like a petulant child. He gave her reflection another disarming smile. ‘Is there a reason that we cannot have a friendly conversation when we meet on a crowded street?’

She gave him a governess’s sigh of disappointment. ‘Let us be honest, just for a moment. You do not want to speak to me, Mr Lovell. You wish to speak to my sister.’

Did she honestly think he would be rude enough to admit the truth? He glanced around him. ‘Then I will be sorely disappointed. She is not here at the moment.’

‘Because she has gone to Gunter’s for an ice.’

He could not help himself. His head turned in the direction of the confectioner’s shop, revealing his true motive. To hide his embarrassment, he bent down to pet the dog, carefully removing the sodden fabric of his pants leg from the animal’s mouth. Then he looked down at Miss Amelia, all innocence. ‘There is no reason I cannot speak to both of you.’

‘Now who is being glib, Mr Lovell? Your desire to be all things to all people puts me in mind of a politician. Perhaps it is my father you should be talking to instead of Belle and me.’

Was the woman really so astute as to guess his plans, or were his motives transparent? Either way, if he denied it now, she would have reason to call him a liar when the truth became clear. He gave her what he hoped was a winning smile. ‘I will take that as a compliment, Miss Summoner. I would consider it an honour to serve my country by standing for office.’

She responded to this with a shudder of revulsion that surprised him.

‘I would think you, of all people, would have respect for public servants,’ he said.

‘Because of my father?’ She let out a brief sharp laugh. ‘I stand corrected, Mr Lovell. You are far too naïve for politics.’

If he was being naïve, it would not be the first time. ‘Perhaps I am. But that will not keep me from seeking a seat in the House of Commons. It will do more good than harm to have members willing to effect changes to benefit the common men our government supposedly represents.’

‘A reformer?’ Her brows rose, making her eyes seem even larger. ‘I can hardly wait for you to meet my father, Mr Lovell. He will eat you and your ambitions for breakfast.’

Some small part of him quailed at the thought that a man who might be so instrumental to his future could end it before he’d even begun. But he had come too far to quit without so much as an attempt, based on the word of a woman who seemed almost desperate to thwart him. ‘Then I shall work to be so palatable that he digests my ideas and makes them his own,’ he replied.

For the first time, she looked at him with what almost appeared to be admiration.

Emboldened, he went on. ‘And for your information, Miss Summoner, I do not consider myself a reformer. The modern machines found in the factories of the north have workers in an uproar. Soldiers who loyally served their King and country return from our wars missing limbs and with no means of supporting themselves beyond begging. Society changes with or without our help. We must be ready to guide it when it does or the country will fall to ruin.’

She clapped her gloved hands in mock admiration, causing the dog at his feet to release his leg and retreat behind her skirts. ‘Bravo, Mr Lovell. What a stirring speech. But it was hardly necessary to give it to me. The elections for the position you seek are, for the most part, forgone conclusions.’

‘The votes are controlled by men like your father,’ he agreed. ‘But that does not mean I do not belong in government, nor will it stop me from trying to win your favour. Were you able to vote, perhaps you might agree with some of my positions.’

‘Perhaps I would. I at least agree with your position that our country should be concerned with the welfare of the weak as well as the strong.’ She shrugged dismissively. ‘If I have grown cynical over the likelihood of that happening, it is the world and my father that have made me so.’