The Wedding Game

There was something in the unwavering and intelligent gaze she returned that made him wonder if he might be better off if Amelia Summoner could vote. Perhaps, if her quick wits were acknowledged and put to use, she would not be using them to bedevil the men in her life.

‘Let us call a truce, then,’ he said. ‘I acknowledge that my behaviour has been abominable, demanding that you speak to me when you clearly did not want to. I should not have done so.’

At this, she turned to look at him and he saw the faintest shift in the fleck of her eye, as if deep waters had been stirred to give a glimpse of what rested beneath. ‘And I had no right to mock your ambitions. They are noble ones, though I suspect they are doomed to failure.’ Then the vulnerability was gone and she was just as hard and brittle as she always was. ‘But that does not mean I will allow you access to my sister. You can want only two things in gaining an introduction to her.’

‘Really?’ he said, his apology forgotten and sarcasm coming to the fore again. ‘Enlighten me.’

‘You either seek a dishonourable liaison...’

‘Dishonourable?’ He blew his breath out in a great puff that would have been a curse if he had not been in the company of a lady. The terrier reappeared and gave a low growl to remind him of his manners. ‘I can assure you I would never intend such a thing.’

‘Then you are thinking of marriage,’ Miss Amelia said, tipping her head to the side as she looked at him, as if observing some exotic creature. ‘Since that is not to be, it hardly seems necessary for you to seek her out for a deeper acquaintance.’

‘I have barely spoken to her yet. How, exactly, would you know that there is no hope?’ he asked. Then he studied her just as closely as she did him. ‘Are the lady’s affections fixed upon another?’

‘To the best of my knowledge, they are not,’ she said. ‘But the lack of a rival does not automatically make you a good candidate for husband.’

‘Nor should it exclude me,’ he replied, doing his best to be perfectly reasonable. ‘I ask again, have I done something to make you set against a possible match?’

Again, he saw the movement in the depths. And again, it resulted in nothing. ‘I know her. And I know you.’

‘You hardly know me at all,’ he reminded her. ‘We have just met.’

‘I know you well enough to see that you will not suit,’ she countered.

He swallowed his denial. Could she really see past the façade so easily and know that he was unworthy?

‘I know that you are exactly like all the other gentlemen of the ton,’ she finished.

So it was nothing about him that she specifically disliked. ‘Then you have a problem with males in general,’ he said.

‘Not at all.’ She gave a slow, cat-like blink of her mismatched eyes. ‘I merely think that you are ordinary. My sister will require the extraordinary.’

The last word touched him like a finger drawn down his spine. His mind argued that she was right. There was nothing the least bit exceptional about him. If she learned the truth, she would think him common as muck and far beneath her notice. But then, he remembered just how far a man could rise with diligence and the help of a beautiful woman. He leaned in to her, offering his most seductive smile. ‘Then I shall simply have to be extraordinary for you.’

For Arabella.

That was what he had meant to say. He was supposed to be winning the princess, not flirting with the gatekeeper. But he had looked into those eyes again and had lost his way.

She showed no sign of noticing his mistake. Or had her cheeks gone pink? It was not much of a blush, just the barest hint of colour to imply that she might wish him to be as wonderful as he claimed.

In turn, he felt a growing need to impress her, to see the glow kindle into warm approval. Would her eyes soften when she smiled, or would they sparkle? And what would they do if he kissed her?

He blinked. It did not matter. His words had been a simple mistake and such thoughts were an even bigger one. They had not been discussing her at all. And now her dog was tugging on his pants again, as if to remind him that he should not, even for an instant, forget the prize he had fixed his sights on from the first.

She shook her head, as if she, too, needed to remember the object of the conversation. ‘If you must try to be extraordinary, Mr Lovell, then you have failed already. You either are, or you aren’t.’

He gave another shake of his leg, trying to dislodge the animal, and glared down at her. ‘So you think a man who is not born as pure as Galahad is not worthy to marry into your family.’

‘That is not what I meant and you know it.’

Then she had heard the lie everyone believed about his parentage, judged him by it and found him wanting. If illegitimacy shocked her, how distasteful would she find the truth? ‘Is your view of the world really so narrow that you cannot acknowledge a man might rise above his birth and endeavour to improve his character when he sees deficiency in it?’

She glanced away from him, down the street towards the confectioner’s shop where her sister must have gone. ‘My view is not the least bit narrow. But I know for a fact that there are some obstacles that cannot be overcome by wanting, Mr Lovell. You are not the right man for my sister and that is that.’

He had been foolish enough to speak of his ambitions and she’d seemed to agree. But apparently he was still not good enough. Not for her or her precious sister. He gave her a pitying smile. ‘While it is kind of you to want the best for her, perhaps you should let Miss Arabella choose her own husband and tend to your own future. If she is just down the street, there is no reason I cannot meet with her now and see what she thinks of me.’

‘Don’t you dare.’ Amelia glared back at him, like a five-foot three-inch pillar of fire. ‘Your fine and idealistic talk is nothing more than that, Mr Lovell. Nothing but words. And I will not have you making sheep’s eyes at Arabella, only to abandon her when your conquest has been successful. Leave her alone or I shall set the dog upon you.’

The animal in question was still tugging at him, as if to emphasise his mistress’s words. Ben gave a yank and heard cloth rip as his pants leg tore. When he looked down, her dog was holding a piece of his best pantaloons between its crooked teeth, tail wagging furiously as if he expected a reward.

For a moment, his temper got the better of him and he grabbed the scrap of cloth from its mouth, glaring at the girl who held the leash. ‘Miss Summoner, if you cannot control this miserable cur, then you should not bring him out in public to trouble the rest of us.’

Miss Amelia looked down at the dog with a triumphant smile. ‘Good dog, Mellie. You see him for what he is, don’t you? A man who does not care one bit for our Belle. If he did, he would know that you are not a miserable cur. You are Belle’s best friend in the world.’

Then she looked back at him, her smile disappearing. ‘Belle has very few requirements of the men who court her, Mr Lovell. She has requested someone who likes both dancing and dogs. When you were at Almack’s, a place where there is little else to do but stand up for a set, you did nothing but stand at the side of the room and speculate on others.’

‘You cannot mean to judge me on a single evening,’ he countered.

She gave no quarter. ‘It is plain from your opinion of Mellie that you have failed in the second requirement as well.’

‘I like dogs,’ he argued. Perhaps not this one. But it was hardly the standard bearer of its kind. ‘I like them as well as any man.’

‘But they do not like you,’ she said. ‘And neither do I.’ She gave a sharp tug on the leash and abandoned him to find her sister.

Chapter Six

Amy sat with her sister in the parlour of the Summoner town house, waiting for the maid to bring their tea. Their shopping trip that afternoon had been, for want of a better word, illuminating. To his credit, Mr Lovell had made no effort to hide his ambitions and his views did him credit. He would make an admirable politician and, perhaps, if he was not ground down by bitter reality, he would do the world some good.

The earnestness of his manner as he had talked of the future had come close to breaching the barricades she had created between herself and the masculine sex. Here was a man she might like to talk to and who was willing to treat her like something more than a silly girl who was Summoner’s daughter.

And when he had looked into her eyes...

It was an autonomic reaction on her part, more biological than rational. He was pleasant to look at and quick witted. When he turned his full attention on her, it was only logical that she became flustered. If his plans had involved her and not her sister, Amy might even have liked him.

But they did not. He wanted Belle. And Amy had only to look at their father to know that a politician would be the worst type of husband for Arabella. The eyes of such men were ever on the horizon and their minds were fixed on the future. It left no time or interest for the problems in their own homes, right under their very noses.

To his credit, he was persistent. She doubted he was ready to concede. In another man, such unwavering devotion would have been a virtue. But his cold-blooded approach to courtship ruined everything. Her attempts thus far had done nothing to put him off. She must have a better plan in place before their next meeting.

She glanced over at her sister and smiled. ‘How is your needlework coming?’

‘It is done.’ Belle handed her the handkerchief she had been hemming, picked up Mellie from his place on the floor at her feet and scratched his ears.

Amy glanced at the row of uneven stitches, then moved it over to her pile to rip and redo.

‘I tried,’ Belle said, more to the dog than to anyone else. Then she gave Amy the worried, frustrated look that she sometimes got when forced to do a thing that was beyond her ability. ‘Is it good?’

‘You did your best.’ Amy gave her an encouraging smile in return and watched as her sister’s brow unfurrowed. She had tried. But years of watching had taught Amy her sister’s limitations. It did no good to try and push her past them.

‘I don’t like sewing,’ Belle said, gathering the terrier in a hug and being rewarded by a lick on the nose.

Amy nodded sympathetically. ‘You must try, for Father’s sake. He says it is important that young ladies know such things.’

‘Maybe my husband will know how to sew,’ Belle said, using her embroidery scissors to trim the stray locks of hair that were obscuring Mellie’s mismatched eyes.

Amy sighed. It would be far easier to find a man in London capable of sewing a button that did not immediately fall off than to teach Belle to do it. ‘Instead, we will find you a husband who does not care who does the mending.’ Then a thought struck her. ‘And, in case he should ask, I do not think you should marry Mr Lovell. When I saw him on Bond Street, he had holes in his trousers that needed fixing.’

‘I do not know how to do that,’ Belle said, frowning.

‘Neither do I,’ Amy assured her. Short of turning them into knee breeches, she suspected the aforementioned garments were a total loss. In gratitude, she took a biscuit from the plate on the table between them, tossed it to Mellie and added, ‘Also, he did not like dogs.’

‘Then I do not like him.’ Belle frowned. ‘Which one is Mr Lovell?’

The fact that he had already been forgotten made Amy regret introducing him into the conversation. ‘The man who fell off his horse in Hyde Park.’

Belle smiled. ‘He looked very funny.’

Amy toyed, for a moment, with the idea of reminding her sister that it was not kind to laugh at the unfortunate. Then she answered, ‘Yes, he did. And you must trust me to know what is best for you. You would not be happy married to a man like that, even if he is funny.’

Now her sister’s lips pursed, ever so slightly, as she tried to imagine what it might be like to be unhappy. All the more reason that Amy must care for her. While she might have no trouble imagining circumstances that were less than ideal, Belle really had no idea what that would be like.

After a long pause, Belle spoke. ‘I think I would like to marry Mr Templeton.’

The words came as such a surprise that Amy stabbed her finger with the needle. She jammed the injured digit into her mouth, to forestall a response until she had chosen the correct words.

Belle took advantage of the silence to tell her more. ‘Mr Templeton has no holes in his clothes and has promised to bring a ball for Mellie when I take him to the park.’

Amy pulled her finger out of her mouth and shook the sting from it. ‘Mr Templeton is a fine gentleman. He seems very pleasant.’ He was also near the top of her list of candidates and seemed to enjoy her sister’s company even though he must have some clue by now as to her difficulties.

Belle smiled and patted her dog. ‘The next time I see him, I will ask him to marry me.’

This resulted in another missed stitch and poked finger. ‘You will do no such thing.’

‘Why?’ Belle was staring at her with wide, guileless eyes, probably fearing that she was to be scolded for yet another thing she did not understand.

Amy took care to moderate her tone and smile, as she delivered her explanation. ‘Ladies do not do the asking.’

‘I am better at talking than at sewing,’ Belle reminded her.

‘Yes, you are. All the same, you must wait for Mr Templeton to decide that he wants to marry you. If he does, he will ask you. Then he will talk to Father about it. And then...’

Her sister’s eyes were beginning to glaze, lost in the many steps between her and an absolutely perfect solution.

Amy reached out and patted her hand. ‘Your way would be easier, but it is just not done. Do not worry. I will help you discover his intentions and it will be settled in no time at all. Perhaps we will see him tonight, at the Middletons’ musicale.’

* * *

Lord and Lady Middleton’s entertainments were a favourite of Belle, who loved anything to do with music. But since they were usually concerts with no dancing, the crowds tended to be smaller, older and more sedate than those at Almack’s. Guests sat for the majority of the evening in rigidly arranged gilt chairs listening to the musicians before partaking of the cold supper at midnight. If the Summoner girls left early, there was little time for conversation, which worked to Belle’s advantage. And by careful selection of seating, Amy was able to control her companions.

Tonight she seated Belle on the aisle and near the front. From there, her sister would have a clear view of the soprano performing and no gentleman would dare drag a chair to sit on her opposite side without calling undue attention to his actions and blocking the way for others. Amy took the seat on her other side, watching the door for the appearance of Mr Templeton. She meant to hold the place until he arrived. Then she would find an excuse to go to the ladies’ retiring room, yielding the chair to him so he might spend the rest of the evening beside her sister. It would be far easier to encourage the right man than to battle a slew of wrong ones.

The performance was almost ready to begin. Lady Middleton was talking to the accompanist and Belle was facing front, printed programme clutched in eager hands, ready for the first song. But despite Lord Middleton’s assurance that he was expected, there had been no sign of Mr Templeton.

Amy was almost ready to give up when she heard a commotion in the hall and the sound of a man’s voice, apologising for his lateness. It was him! She touched her sister’s shoulder in apology and was out of her seat and halfway down the aisle before she realised the truth.

Mr Lovell stood in the doorway to the room, scanning the crowd for an empty chair. By leaving hers, she had played directly into his hands, all but saving the perfect seat for him. Past him, she heard the sound of another latecomer. Certainly, that was Mr Templeton. If it was not, any other man would be a better companion than the one she had been trying to discourage. What was she to do?

She continued forward blindly, pretending she did not notice him, though she could see through the lashes of her downcast eyes that his mouth was open, ready to greet her. When she was barely an arm’s length away, she feigned a swoon.

His fingers closed around her upper arm in support catching her before she collapsed. ‘Amelia.’ His urgent whisper of concern sounded surprisingly sincere.

‘Please,’ she whispered back. ‘Help me from the room. The air is so close. The heat...’ It was neither warm nor stuffy in the music room. If anything, she was glad of her shawl. But he had not been there long enough to notice, nor did he show any signs of questioning her distress.

Instead, he maintained his grip on her arm, turning to add a gentlemanly hand at the centre of her back as he escorted her from the room. A footman who was dealing with Mr Templeton’s hat and stick leaned in, ready to help.

Amy waved him away with a gloved hand and then gestured to the other late arrival. ‘Please, Mr Templeton,’ she said, fluttering her lashes as though struggling to remain conscious. ‘See to my sister. She is alone at the front of the room.’

Mr Templeton hesitated, ready to help her instead.

She shook her head and, as they passed him, she gave a sharp jerk of her head to indicate that he go immediately to the place he really wanted to be. Then she followed it with an annoyed roll of her eyes to the man at her side.

Mr Lovell was too busy ushering her forward to notice this silent communication. But clearly, Mr Templeton understood. He responded with a slow smile and a nod of thanks before turning towards the music room so he might take her unoccupied chair.

Now that he was settled, she must figure out how to free herself from the situation she had created with Mr Lovell. It was a large house. Large enough to hide a body in, she thought with a grim smile. She need do nothing as dire as that. She just had to find an empty room with a key still in the door, or a chair that might be propped under a handle to detain this troublemaker.

‘I will find someone to help you.’ He looked around. ‘A maid, perhaps.’

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