The Wedding Game

by Christine Merrill

  Only then did she sit down at her writing table to write a response to Mr Lovell’s brilliant suggestion of a house party. The words were polite, prosaic and completely unsatisfying.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The journey to Ben Lovell’s country house was largely uneventful. With Parliament in session, their father politely declined the trip, citing too much work in town to take even a few days away.

  After her brief excitement at the thought of a party, Belle continued to brood about the impending marriage and her lack of control over her own future. It took almost a full day after their argument before she was willing to leave her room and even longer before she spoke to Amy. She complained of pains in her stomach and insisted that Miss Watson bring her meals upstairs, and replied in monosyllables, even if Amy avoided the subject of marriage.

  When Amy reminded her of their need to pack for the house party, so they might set off on the morrow, Belle flatly refused. Though the thought had excited her as they’d read the invitation, she now declared she was far too sick to leave the house. When all of her usual tricks to manage Belle had failed, she was forced to appeal to their father to convince her.

  He had called Belle to the office and closed the door before Amy could follow her in. There followed almost an hour of ominous silence. Then the door had opened and Belle had emerged, white faced and teary, but prepared to go to Surrey the next morning.

  Amy breathed a sigh of relief at this partial return to normal. But while there was no more talk of stomach aches and wanting independence, there were fewer smiles as well. Belle was still answering most questions put to her with a shrug and announced that it did not matter what she wore and that they should simply pick the first dress in the cupboard and be done.

  The final straw had been when Miss Watson had declared herself a victim of Belle’s imaginary illness and taken to her bed, unable to accompany them. This left Amy to organise both of them, their maids and enough luggage for a week’s worth of parties in Belle’s new home. She could have left it to the servants. But the more she thought about the letter she had thrown into the fire and the man who had written it, the more anxious she became.

  While Belle had decided to do nothing, Amy found it was much easier to occupy herself matching hair ribbons to gowns and deciding if it might be necessary to take the large trunk and not the small one. Then they would have room for their habits, in case there was an opportunity to ride.

  She would make sure everything was perfect, just as she always did. Then, perhaps, Belle would be happy again. The time was fast approaching when she would have to abandon Belle to her new life. And what would become of either of them, after that?

  For now, she imagined a dozen ways to keep herself busy that did not involve talking with the master of the house. She hoped that Belle’s new home had grounds to explore. Perhaps there would be a chance to visit the nearby Royal Botanic Gardens. She could leave one of the maids to watch over her sister and escape for a while.

  There might be a library that held books she had not yet read. If there was a music room and sheet music, she might attempt to teach herself a new tune on the pianoforte. Her skills were little better than adequate, but that was probably reason to seek improvement. Beyond that, there were cards, games, needlework...

  But suppose the house was small and ill suited to entertain? Suppose, wherever she went, she saw Ben? It would be hard enough being in his home and learning the intimate details of it. If she was near him, there would be a constant threat of intimacy. She never should have agreed to the trip.

  But then she reminded herself of the perfectly reasonable request in the letter. They were doing this for Belle’s sake. She must learn to love her new husband and the man she was to marry. No amount of talking had put an end to her rebellion. But if this brief and painful trip was needed to convince her, then Amy would make the best of it. There was nothing she could not attempt, if it meant that Belle would be happy again.

  * * *

  The roads were dry and they had made fair time, pulling up the sweeping drive to the house less than an hour and a half after leaving the Summoner town house. She had not meant to be impressed by his home. But if Amy’s only concern had been to place her sister in the nicest house, it would have been impossible to deny Ben Lovell her hand.

  The structure was new and had been designed by no less than the great John Nash, himself. The majestic symmetry of the white limestone walls was framed by terraced gardens and carefully trimmed boxwood hedges.

  The well-ordered building was tended by an equally efficient staff. Footmen and butler greeted them with warmth and were spiriting their luggage above stairs before they had even come down from the carriage.

  The tall front door opened on to a breathtaking hall with spotless marble floors and ivory walls rising to a vaulted ceiling trimmed with gilded rosettes and wreaths.

  But while Amy viewed it with wide-eyed admiration, Belle reached out for Amy’s hand, clutching it in fear. ‘Mr Lovell lives here?’

  Amy patted her hand to comfort her. ‘Yes, dear. And soon, you will live here too. Is it not beautiful?’

  Belle shook her head. ‘I do not like it. It is too big. Too big and too white.’

  ‘That is not such a bad thing,’ Amy whispered. ‘But if you tell Mr Lovell it does not please you, he will let you repaint it, I am sure.’

  ‘It will still be white underneath,’ Belle said, not moving.

  Amy took her hand, tugging her forward over the threshold. ‘It is bigger than our house, to be sure. But that does not mean that it is not a nice place. And I doubt you will live here all year.’

  ‘There will be more?’ Now Belle looked truly helpless, unable to comprehend how her small, secure world had become so large and strange.

  ‘He has rooms in the city and will likely get a town house once you are married. And if he means to stand for Parliament, perhaps he will have a house near our land in Dorset.’

  While Amy felt a perfectly reasonable envy at the idea of three fine homes, Belle could manage to do nothing but shake her head in denial.

  ‘Welcome, ladies. Please come in.’ Ben was coming down the stairs towards them, his midnight-blue coat a perfect foil for the austere design of his home. As his eyes met hers, the flame of envy in Amy’s heart turned into a raging covetous fire. It did not matter that he was to marry Belle. He was hers and always would be. Without thinking, she stroked the chain of the locket and the scrap of love that it contained.

  When he took the last steps down to their level and came towards them, his eyes were focused upon her sister. At her hesitant smile, he got the same stunned expression that all men wore when confronted with Belle’s full attention.

  Then he bowed low and took her hand, kissing the knuckles. ‘Welcome, Arabella. Please, treat my home as your own, for thus it will be.’

  For the first time in days, Belle’s foul mood improved and she smiled back.

  ‘Let me show you about the house, while your rooms are being prepared. Then, after you have refreshed yourselves, I will introduce you to my friends. They are all eager to meet you.’

  Ben offered his arm to Belle and after a brief hesitation she took it and let him lead her out of the hall. Amy followed a pace or two behind, regretting each step. It had been a mistake to accompany Belle here. She should have forced Miss Watson out of bed and sent her instead. She might have stayed in London for the Season’s festivities.

  Perhaps it would have looked odd when she did not attend her sister’s engagement ball. But society was used to thinking her odd. It did no harm to her reputation to reinforce that opinion with her actions.

  Anything would be better than spending the next few days feigning approval as Ben escorted Belle about the grounds, rode with her, danced with her and fostered the intimacy necessary to make a happy union. Even the affection
she felt for her sister was not without bounds. It was one thing to sacrifice the man she loved and quite another to pretend to be happy as she did it.

  * * *

  Ben escorted the Summoner sisters on a tour of what was to be the home of one of them. The wrong one, of course. It was too much to hope that it might be home to the pair of them, just as Amy had always planned.

  He had told her it was impossible. He knew in his heart that it would be. But he could not help hoping that she would ignore him and come anyway. If she did, he would not be able to send her away.

  Maybe this week they could find the restraint that had been lacking in their previous encounters. If they could aspire to a platonic relationship, he would be spared the terrible emptiness he’d felt as he’d written the letter. Even if he could not have her, he could still see her. It was something, at least.

  At the moment, Belle was on his arm, following with less spirit than Mellie the dog. If she was impressed by the size and modernity of his home, he saw no sign of it. If anything, she looked frightened.

  One step behind them, Amy kept up a running commentary on his tour, pointing out the smoothness with which the kitchen ran with no help from the master, the spacious bedrooms and the pleasant view of the gardens where Mellie could chase rabbits while his owner sat in the shade of the oaks.

  Did she actually like the place, or was she only encouraging her sister? Damn his pride, but it was important that she be impressed. But she sounded no more attached to it than an agent hired to rent the house.

  ‘If you like dancing,’ he reminded Belle, ‘you will find the ballroom delightful.’ He opened a door and brought them out on to the little balcony that had been designed to hold the musicians. The sound of their voices echoed through the room below.

  ‘Think of the lovely parties you will have here, Belle,’ her sister said coaxingly. ‘And you will dance every set.’

  It was likely not true. As hostess, she would have to attend to the happiness of her guests before her own. But the idea that she might dance here brought back the sparkle that had disappeared from her smile. ‘We will dance here tonight,’ he agreed, ‘After the rest of the guests have arrived.’

  ‘I would like that,’ Belle agreed hesitantly.

  Now that he knew her better, her beauty did not have the same, devastating effect on him that it had. Was it really so easy to become jaded with perfection? Or was it simply that she was not the one who had been meant for him?

  When had he begun to crave a love match? He had learned when he was much younger that love was a dangerous business. Life was better when one was not caught and suffering like a fly in a web, about to be devoured by the teeth of one’s own passion.

  He had come to London well aware that love was not necessary for a successful marriage. He wanted tranquillity. And he might still have it, if he learned to take satisfaction in the smiles of the pretty but simple girl.

  There were likely many tricks to making her at ease. He would need Amy to teach them to him for it might take years to learn them on his own. If he could have her here, just to talk to...to explain...

  And there he was again, standing on the edge of a cliff and wanting to jump just to feel the wind in his hair as he fell. If he could not even turn around to look her in the eye without being near to overcome by lust, his future was not likely to be full of innocent conversations about her sister’s happiness.

  ‘Ben?’ The young voice came from the doorway, directly under the balcony they were standing on. Belle stepped forward to peer cautiously over the edge, wondering at the source.

  ‘In the gallery, above you,’ he called, then turned to the girls, leading them to the steps down to the main floor. ‘I have been looking forward to this moment for some time. I would like to introduce you to a special friend of mine.’

  It was hardly fair to the boy who stood at the foot of the steps, watching their approach. Even travel-weary, the Summoner girls were intimidatingly beautiful. Despite his recently acquired sangfroid, John was still, underneath it all, a fourteen-year-old boy, struggling with the same feelings that showed no more mercy to kings than they did to bootblacks.

  ‘Your Grace.’ Ben bowed. ‘May I introduce my fiancée, Arabella Summoner, and her sister, Amelia? Ladies, his Grace the Duke of Cottsmoor.’

  For a moment, he was caught between mutual expressions of owl-eyed wonder on the faces of John and Amy. Belle seemed to understand that she should be in awe. But from her expression, she could not get past the fact that the person who should demand her respect was also barely out of leading strings.

  Amy regained control after only a second or two and executed a perfect curtsy. ‘Your Grace.’

  A single glance to her side demonstrated to Belle what was expected of her and Belle duplicated her sister’s greeting.

  John was the slowest to regain his wits. He looked from one to the other, then managed a clumsy bow, ‘Miss Summoner,’ he said, turning to Belle. ‘Miss Arabella.’ The second bow had a hitch in it, as though someone had punched him in the stomach to make him bend.

  But it was far better than he’d have managed at that age. Ben smiled at the boy, unable to disguise his pride at the success. Then he rescued them all from awkward silence. ‘Cottsmoor has agreed to take a few days from his studies to celebrate with us.’

  ‘We are honoured, Your Grace,’ Amy said, with a smile almost as charming as her sister’s.

  ‘It is I who am honoured,’ John said, looking from one to the other. Then he looked back to Ben in an incredulous aside. ‘This is your fiancée?’

  ‘Try not to sound so surprised,’ he said, smiling. ‘But indeed, I have been very fortunate.’

  ‘We just met,’ announced Belle. ‘But now we are engaged.’

  Inserting the unvarnished truth into a polite conversation was always a hazardous thing. This one brought the exchange to a dead halt.

  It took only a moment for Amy to recover, and give the John another one of her brightest smiles. ‘We consider ourselves fortunate as well, Your Grace. Mr Lovell is quite well known and well thought of. He does credit to your—’

  He could tell by the panicked look in her eye that she had been about to say family before she remembered that the common rumour that they were brothers was both rude and untrue. It took less than an eye blink, for her to finish with ‘—patronage.’

  John had not noticed the hesitation. He had been too busy staring at the gold light in her eye that so fascinated Ben. Proof that the boy had excellent taste in women. Then he pulled himself free of her influence long enough to answer, ‘I have known Ben my whole life. I consider myself just as fortunate to have his counsel.’

  They were headed towards the usual awkward pause, as Amy realised that she could think of no conversational topic worthy of a peer. It was a shame. Though John longed for ordinary human interaction, he had already learned that a few moments of Cottsmoor was all the average person could stand.

  For a moment, he shifted from foot to foot, displaying a child’s eagerness to hold the attention of adults. Then he steadied himself and the Duke reappeared. ‘We must talk further, this evening,’ he said, with a surprisingly adult smile. ‘I look forward to dancing with you both, since, clearly, you will be the loveliest ladies present. And now, if you will excuse me?’

  ‘Of course, Your Grace,’ Ben said. And, after a brief exchange of bows and curtsies, he was gone.

  * * *

  If and when she ever got Benjamin Lovell alone, Amy would give him her opinion on surprise visits from the peerage. It had not been the most mortifying conversation of her life, but it had been one of the most difficult.

  When the boy was properly out of earshot, she turned and pulled her sister aside for a whispered scolding. ‘Belle, in the future, you must not speak so candidly about the circumstances of your engagement, especiall
y not in the presence of Mr Lovell’s friends.’ By the innocent expression on her sister’s face, there had been no malice intended. But that did not make it right.

  ‘It was the truth,’ Belle said, quite reasonably. ‘Miss Watson says we should tell the truth and shame the devil.’

  ‘In this case, telling the truth shames Mr Lovell.’ Of course, when they were alone together, he was the devil. It made Belle’s logic irrefutable.

  ‘You did not shame me,’ he said softly from behind them, making Amy cringe in embarrassment.

  ‘You were not supposed to hear that,’ she said. She’d assumed there was enough distance between them for her comments to pass unnoticed.

  He gave her an innocent smile. ‘As I said before, the acoustics in the ballroom are excellent.’ Then he looked to Belle. ‘Do not concern yourself. Cottsmoor found you both quite charming.’

  ‘He was a nice boy,’ Belle agreed.

  ‘But in the future, you must remember that he is a very important man,’ Amy reminded her.

  ‘And, since he is male, he is just as susceptible to your charms as the rest of us,’ Ben said, with a tone of finality. ‘Do not trouble yourself, Amy. If you smile at him, he will forgive you anything.’

  If Belle knew nothing else, it was how to smile on command. To end the conversation she did exactly that. Ben smiled back at her and held out his arm. ‘Let us continue our tour.’

  Now that she had seen most of it, it was apparent that her initial assessment had been accurate. The house was perfect. Annoyingly so. Just like its owner. It was also impossible for Belle to manage without help, just as its owner would be.

  It was a shame that looks were not enough, for they made the most handsome couple imaginable, walking arm in arm, in front of her. And Ben was doing his best to be the man who was required. He was solicitous of her sister, trying to interest her in the many advantages to the place and tempting her with jam tarts and dancing. He even pointed out a window seat in the library that would be a perfect spot for Mellie to nap.