The Wedding Game

by Christine Merrill

  It proved that she had been right all along about men. They thought no further than their own needs, unless forced to do otherwise, as Ben had been by her father. It was all the more annoying that a part of her would always wonder if Ben’s response to her today might have been different had she had allowed him to finish what they’d started.

  It was a sign of weak character that she was thinking about that at all. If she had any regrets, they should be that she had not put a stop to things much sooner than she had. What had happened was unchaste, undignified, unladylike...

  And wonderful. She sighed.

  At the sound Mellie, who had been dozing on the hearth rug of the parlour, looked up and growled at no one in particular.

  ‘Silly dog,’ said Belle, tossing the last bit of her biscuit to him and setting her tea cup aside.

  ‘Do not spoil him,’ Amy said, stretching out her foot so she could rub his exposed belly with the toe of her slipper.

  ‘I still have not taken him to the park to play ball with Guy,’ Belle said, staring out the window as if hoping that the gentleman would appear.

  Amy frowned. And there was another fine example of manhood. They must consider themselves fortunate that they had stopped him before he had irretrievably compromised her sister. Though he had been all but underfoot for the entire Season, they had seen no trace of Guy Templeton since the incident at Vauxhall, four days ago. Hopefully, the formal announcement of the engagement would be enough to scare him away permanently.

  But none of that made it any easier to explain his absence to Belle. ‘Now that you are to marry Mr Lovell, you will not be able to socialise with other men as you used to.’

  ‘We are not going to socialise,’ Belle said, looking at her as if Amy was the one who did not understand. ‘We will be playing with Mellie. And it is not other men. It is just with Guy.’

  And there was another problem to be corrected. ‘Now that you are engaged, you must go back to calling him Mr Templeton.’

  ‘But he said I should call him Guy,’ Belle said, clearly confused.

  ‘Things have changed between you since then,’ Amy said, as gently as possible. ‘Mr Lovell would not like you being so informal with another man.’

  ‘But Mr Lovell is Mr Templeton’s friend,’ she offered hopefully, sure that this would make a difference.

  ‘No one’s friendship is that strong,’ Amy replied.

  ‘When I see Mr Lovell, I will ask him if it is all right.’ Belle was clearly not convinced.

  Just then, a footman entered with the afternoon post. At the top of the stack was a letter from Mr Benjamin Lovell. It was addressed to The Misses Summoner. Amy stared at it for a moment, afraid to break the seal.

  If the contents were in any way personal, he would not have addressed it to both of them. But that did not keep her from wishing that it was a billet doux. When she had been actively courting, no man would have had the nerve to send such a thing to Lord Summoner’s daughter. But if she was to spend her life alone, without even Belle for company, it might be nice to have a stack of ribbon-bound letters to remind herself of what might have been.

  It would be even better if they were written in Ben Lovell’s elegantly masculine hand. She stared down at the folded paper in front of her, memorising each line and loop of the address, focusing on the sight of her surname. Without thinking, she ran a fingertip across the words, imagining the forceful pressure of his pen to the paper.

  In response, she felt a rush of heat, sudden as a lightning strike. It coursed through her body to settle in the wet place between her legs. If this was all it took to make her want him, than he had been right. There was no way they could reside under the same roof. Even if nothing happened between them, ever again, people would have but to look at her to know what she wanted from him.

  Now he’d sent a letter. It was better that it go directly to his intended, if only to teach Belle that future communications between them did not have to be shared. Amy took one last look at it, then handed it to her sister. ‘Mr Lovell has written you. Open it and see what he has to say.’

  Belle cracked the wax that held the paper closed and looked at it only a moment before handing it back with a confused shrug. ‘Help me, Amy.’

  No wonder she needed help. The tidy script on the outside degenerated into a confusion of crossed writing inside. Why had he bothered to turn the paper on its side to write the second half of the missive? There was no need for economy. They could more than afford the postage for a second sheet of paper.

  She looked across at her baffled sister. Belle sometimes had trouble deciphering a regular letter, if the writer did not have a clear hand. Separating one direction of writing from another was far too difficult for her to manage. To send such a letter, Ben might as well have been writing in Latin.

  Or in code.

  There could be no more innocent way to get a private message to her than this.

  ‘What does it say?’ Belle was eagerly awaiting her half of the letter.

  ‘Let us see.’ Amy smiled at her sister as if the paper in her hand was just ordinary social correspondence and not the most important message she had ever received. Then she looked down, forcing herself to focus only on the first part of the letter, making no effort to let her eyes dart to the left to read the sideways writing crawling in and out between the words. ‘It seems we are invited to a house party at Mr Lovell’s estate in Surrey.’

  ‘A house party,’ Belle said, her worry over Guy Templeton forgotten. ‘I have never been to one of those.’

  ‘No, you have not,’ Amy agreed, glanced down at the letter again and then tucked it into her pocket so as not to be distracted by it.

  ‘What will it be like?’

  Extremely difficult for all concerned, thought Amy. But she continued to smile. ‘This one is to celebrate your engagement to Mr Lovell. I suspect there will be fine dinners, parlour games and perhaps a ball where you can meet his friends.’ Belle would be under the scrutiny of everyone there for several days. Since she was the guest of honour, they could hardly creep away home if things got too difficult. Amy grew tense just thinking about it.

  ‘Dancing and games,’ Belle said happily.

  ‘It will also be a chance to see your new home,’ Amy said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.

  ‘And I will get to see Guy again,’ she said. Then she remembered she was not to be familiar and added, ‘Mr Templeton.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Amy said, hoping that, after Vauxhall, Ben would know better than to trust him.

  ‘And it will be your new home, too,’ Belle finished, smiling as though relieved that it was all settled.

  Amy wet her lips. ‘After you are married, things might be quite different than you expected. Still good,’ she added hurriedly. ‘But different.’

  ‘I like things the way they are,’ Belle said, with a surprising show of independence.

  ‘I know, dear. But we cannot always have things the way we want them.’

  Belle frowned, trying to understand.

  ‘For one thing, even if Mr Templeton is there, you must not go off alone with him, as you did at Vauxhall. You must not go off into the dark with any gentlemen. It is not a polite thing to do.’

  ‘It was bad to go off with Guy?’

  That answered the question of what had happened when she had disappeared. Belle had been alone in the Dark Walks with a man. And despite what she’d hoped of him, Guy Templeton had not stepped forward to make an offer or done anything else to prove that his intentions toward her had been serious. ‘You did nothing wrong. It was my fault for encouraging you to spend so much time with him.’ She had been so sure that a proposal was imminent that she had thought there would be no harm done.

  ‘It was all Mr Templeton’s fault,’ Amy said, firmly, knowing it was her own fault as we
ll. ‘And I am sure Mr Lovell would agree with me.’ He would not like it any more than she liked to think of Ben kissing Belle. ‘But you must not let it happen again.’

  Belle gave her a doubtful look. ‘When we see Guy at the house party, I will ask him if we did wrong.’

  Amy looked back in surprise. It sounded almost as if her sister had disagreed with her. If that was true, it was the first time in ages she had heard anything like rebellion. ‘You should not even speak to Mr Templeton,’ she said, in a firm tone. ‘And in no case should you listen, if he tells you to do something. From now on, you must let Mr Lovell make these decisions for you.’

  ‘But what if I do not want to do as he says?’ It was a legitimate question and one Amy had asked herself many times, when forced to follow one of the many rules that men expected women to abide by. Men were not always right. And when they were wrong, it was stupid to follow them.

  But it was a very different matter when Belle was the one who wanted freedom. ‘Mr Lovell is to be your husband. It will be his duty to decide what is best for you in all things.’

  ‘Papa makes decisions for me,’ Belle said slowly. ‘And so do you.’

  Amy nodded.

  ‘And now Mr Lovell will.’

  Amy smiled, relieved that she was beginning to understand.

  ‘When do I get to decide things?’ Belle asked.

  It was a question Amy had hoped that she’d never hear, for she did not have a good answer to it. ‘We all want what’s best for you,’ she began cautiously. ‘And on some things...the very important things like marriage...what is best is that you let the people who love you make the decisions.’

  ‘Then why does Mr Lovell get to do it?’ Belle’s smile had disappeared. Her lower lip jutted out in a pout that would have been unattractive on any other face. ‘He likes me. But that is not the same as love.’

  For someone thought to be simple, her sister had an excellent grasp of the current situation. ‘He is a good man,’ Amy said, still not sure if that was true. ‘He will take good care of you.’

  ‘But he does not love me,’ Belle insisted. The lip that had pouted now gave a warning tremble.

  ‘Love is not really all that important.’ Even as she said it, she knew she did not believe it. Love was the most important thing there was. If it was not, then why did it hurt so much when one did not have it?

  Belle recognised the lie as well. And for the first time in ages, she dissolved into tears. ‘Liar.’ She pointed a finger at Amy. ‘Guy says love is all that matters.’

  ‘And where is your precious Guy, now that you need him?’ Amy snapped, tired of hearing his name. ‘If love was so important to him, he would have been the one to offer for you. But he did not. It was a mistake to let him anywhere near you.’

  ‘It was not!’ Belle wiped the tears from her face with the back of her sleeve. ‘Mr Lovell is the mistake. And so are you.’ She gave a loud sniff, trying to clear her running nose. ‘He does not love me. And I do not love him. You cannot make me marry him.’ With that, she was out of her chair and running towards her room.

  ‘Belle!’ It took only an instant for Amy to drop her needlework to follow. But Belle had outdistanced her easily, taking the stairs two at a time. By the time Amy had gained the landing, she heard the slam of the bedroom door.

  ‘Belle!’ She knocked and then pounded, trying the door to find that it was locked. She gave it a futile rattle, as though wanting would be enough to make it open. She had the key in her own room. It would take only a moment or two to run down the hall and get it.

  But that had never been necessary before. The door had never been locked. Nor had it been slammed. Even when it was closed, she was seldom on the wrong side of it. She had kept the room key safe and untouched, just as she’d kept Belle safe for eighteen years. And now everything was falling apart.

  She knocked on the door again, harder this time. ‘Do not be a child, Belle. Let me in.’

  But Belle was not being childish at all. She was acting like an adult. She had been all but sold to a man she’d never met. And when she’d had the audacity to question the decision, the person who loved her most in the whole world had lied to her and dismissed her feelings as unimportant.

  ‘I am sorry that I did not listen to you,’ Amy said, running her fingers over the panel of the locked door. ‘Come out and we will talk.’ Then she could explain again, but better, this time. And then everything could go back to the way it had been and they would be happy.

  But that was not true, either. No amount of explaining could take them back to a time before Ben Lovell. Nor could it make Guy Templeton into the sort of man who was worthy of her sister.

  ‘I know this is hard to understand,’ she began again. It was hard to explain as well. ‘But this marriage is for the best. You cannot simply lock yourself in your room to avoid it.’ Nor could they drag her down the aisle and force her to marry a man she did not want. All the plans she’d made for the pair of them had been based on a willing and agreeable Belle. She had sacrificed her own life to that end, knowing that, even if she had no one else, Belle would always love and need her. What was she to do, if Belle no longer wanted her help?

  She stroked the door again, as if it were possible to transmit the comfort through the wood to the person who needed it. ‘Have a good cry. Later, when you are feeling better, come to my room and we will talk.’

  Then she walked slowly down the hall to her own room, near to tears herself. What was she to say or do that would make any of this better? It had always been her job to take care of Belle. She was always there to make sure things did not go wrong and to fix them if they did. But how could she fix something that was just the way it had to be?

  Perhaps Ben Lovell had an answer. It was his ambition that had brought them to this point. He should take some responsibility for the misery he was causing. He had been so kind, when they had been together in Vauxhall. If only he were here to help her.

  Then she remembered the letter in her pocket. As Belle had done, she locked her door, wanting to savour the moment of reading, whether it brought pleasure or pain. She unfolded the paper again and turned it on its side to read the second half.

  Amy, dearest,

  I have no right to call you such. And yet I cannot help myself. No matter what you feel in return, to me you are and always will be dearest.

  I have been trying to find the words to explain my behaviour towards you. But there is no justification for what I have done and what I would do in the future if the opportunity presents itself. I cannot see you without wanting you.

  Please accept my apology for the liberties I took. I know how you responded to another who overstepped himself. And I have earned far more from you than the blackened eye you gave to Haines.

  She stopped to smile and touched the letter to her lips before reading more.

  I am promised to another and bound by oath to the current course of action. The engagement is unbreakable as you warned me it would be. But when I am with you, I forget all that. Honour has no value. The future has no meaning. I only see the moment. I only see you.

  Though you might not want me, if I could find a way to free myself, I would run to you. Perhaps you would cast me off as you did the other men who courted you. Even if it cannot be, you will always have my heart.

  But the rest of me is promised to another. Please, for the sake of your sister, accept the invitation to my home. As I made clear on our last meeting, sharing a household would be disastrous. But we must find some way to be sure that your sister has the help she needs in her new life.

  It will not be easy for either of us, but we must both do what is best for Arabella. I swear, I will not trouble you, as I have in the past. It will be best if we try, as we should have from the first, to abide by the constraints of society and make use of a chaperon, for the sake of your
reputation and my peace of mind.

  She smiled again. Once, he had said he did not need peace. Now that it was gone, he had changed his mind. One could almost feel sorry for him.

  I eagerly await your answer to my invitation and your attendance at my home.

  With love,

  Ben

  She held the letter for a moment, unwilling to admit that she had reached the end. It was everything she could have hoped for. He burned for her, as she did for him. He had called her his dearest and offered his heart.

  He had offered his love in the closing, but that was hardly an uncommon way to end a letter. There was no point in either of them saying that particular word too often. With things as they were, it could mean nothing but pain. It was far better that the feeling they shared was something far less permanent, a flame that would burn itself out once they stopped feeding it.

  But for now all he needed from her was an answer to his invitation.

  She read it through again. Then one more time so she would not forget the words. And then she went to the fireplace, searching for one remaining ember from the previous night’s fire. She dropped the paper upon it, watching the edges blacken and curl. From any other man, it would have been the perfect keepsake of a brief, romantic interlude. But such words from her sister’s future husband should not exist in anything more concrete than memory. In a moment, there would be nothing left to prove they had ever existed.

  When the paper had all but disappeared, she seized the poker and dragged the last scrap away from the flames, picking it up and patting the glowing edges until her fingers singed. The bit that remained had an L, an O and part of a V. The E that would have finished the word was little more than a shadow of ash.

  She went immediately to her jewel case and found a locket to hide it in. Once she had closed it up, she gave it a brief kiss before clasping the chain around her neck.