The Wedding Game

by Christine Merrill

  But if he meant to have a seat in Parliament, he could not also be at home helping his wife to navigate the complexities of married life. Mere good intentions would not be enough. But it was unfair to suggest that he stay away from his own house and allow her to resume her place as Belle’s right hand.

  And though she was pleasant for the Duke, no matter what Ben did to please her Belle moped from room to room to room, not saying a word. It was not until they passed through the front hall again that her mood improved.

  ‘Guy!’ At the sound of his voice in the entryway, Belle pulled free of her fiancé’s hand and galloped down the hall toward the open door.

  ‘Miss Summoner.’ Guy Templeton turned at the sight of her, bowing deeply.

  She ignored the formal greeting and took both of his hands in hers. ‘It has been forever since I’ve seen you.’

  ‘Only a few days,’ he replied, laughing.

  Amy came into the room at a slower pace, not wanting to show the alarm she felt at the sight of Belle’s enthusiastic greeting. ‘Mr Templeton,’ she said, catching his eye to give him a warning glare. ‘What are you doing here?’

  The smile he returned was as innocuous as ever. ‘I was invited. I have a house not a mile from here and I am a good friend of our host. It is hardly a surprise.’ He gestured toward Ben, who was still standing in the doorway.

  ‘You are a good friend of my sister, as well,’ she said, watching carefully for his reaction.

  ‘That I am,’ he agreed.

  ‘And this is still my house,’ Ben said quietly beside her. ‘I will invite who I choose to visit me. And Templeton is not just a good friend. He is my best friend.’ He stepped forward then and offered Mr Templeton his hand, which forced him to release Belle to accept it. ‘So good to see you. We will have far too many unpartnered ladies tonight. I cannot be expected to dance with all of them.’

  ‘Guy is a good dancer,’ Belle announced. Apparently, the recent lecture on discretion had gone unheeded.

  ‘You flatter me, my dear.’ Templeton smiled at her and held her gaze for longer than was necessary.

  ‘I am sure Mr Lovell is a good dancer as well,’ Amy said, trying to get her sister’s attention.

  But Belle did not turn away from Mr Templeton. ‘I do not know. I have never danced with him before.’

  In a lifetime of caring for her sister, Amy had learned to think of her disposition as placid, docile and agreeable. But never before had she been so consistently contrary for such a long period of time. She looked helplessly at Ben, readying another apology.

  He warned her off with a slight shake of his head and then said, ‘That is true, Belle. But we will dance tonight and you will be able to judge for yourself.’

  Then he turned to his friend. ‘It is clear that my fiancée is eager to speak with you, after so much time apart.’ He continued to smile as if there was nothing untoward in Belle’s reaction. If there was irony in the statement, it was very well concealed. ‘Perhaps you can be the one to escort her about my gardens. You know them almost as well as you do your own.’

  ‘I would be honoured.’ Templeton responded with a bow that was a trifle too formal to be given to a close friend. ‘Miss Arabella?’ He held out his arm to her.

  Her sister embarrassed herself yet again by responding with such a relieved sigh that he might well have been rescuing her from a dungeon and not her own future home.

  When they were gone, she turned to confront their host. ‘Are you sure that was wise?’

  ‘Allowing my best friend to escort my fiancée on a tour of the grounds?’

  ‘Some might say you are too good a friend in return,’ Amy said. ‘He was your rival before the engagement.’

  ‘As was every other man in London,’ Ben responded.

  ‘But none of the other men were such particular favourites of my sister,’ she reminded him.

  ‘Perhaps so. But I have faith that he will honour her commitment to me,’ Ben said.

  It was surprising that a man who seemed so worldly could be so naïve. Amy rolled her eyes. ‘You trust him. Very well. But now that she is engaged, Belle should not be cultivating the attentions of other men.’

  ‘You make your sister sound quite calculating, Amy. We both know that she is not.’

  ‘It is not a matter of subtlety,’ she said. ‘It is quite the opposite. She barely understands the effect she has on men, much less knows how to use it. It is why I have been guarding her so closely.’

  ‘And now it will be up to me to protect her,’ he said with a sigh.

  Which meant that her job was ending. What would Belle do without her help? And what was left for her, if there was no Belle to give meaning to her life? She could imagine nothing ahead but emptiness. ‘I do not think she is ready to be married,’ she said. ‘Many things have changed for her in the last week.’

  ‘For all of us,’ Ben agreed.

  As far as Amy could tell, the biggest change was that they were all less happy than they had been. ‘I have been trying to explain things to her,’ she said. ‘I must make her understand that you will be good to her and that what is happening is for the best. But until she is used to the idea of your marriage, it is best not to give her false hope.’

  ‘Is marrying me really such a repellent prospect?’ For a moment, he sounded genuinely hurt.

  ‘You know it is not that,’ she said softly.

  He nodded and turned toward the stairs. ‘Let me show you to your rooms. Then you may go and retrieve your sister from the dangerous Mr Templeton.’

  He was treating the situation as a joke. She opened her mouth to tell him so and to make him understand the risks involved with leaving Belle alone, even for a moment, with a man who could no longer be trusted.

  And then she reminded herself that it was no longer her business. Belle did not want her help, nor did Ben. They would have each other, for better or worse, just as the ceremony said. And she would become the spinster everyone thought she already was. With time, her opinions would hold even less value than they did now. In time, they might forget her altogether.

  She took a deep breath to banish the self-pity and followed Ben up the stairs to the bedrooms. Her room he called the blue room. It was charmingly decorated and looked out over the garden. She glanced down to see her sister and Mr Templeton in animated discussion next to a plot of rosemary.

  ‘See? They are perfectly safe together.’ Ben was standing behind her, looking out as well. He was close enough that his breath stirred her hair as he spoke.

  They were together, alone. And her bed was only inches away. She stepped away from the window and went quickly toward the door. ‘They are safe together, but we are not.’

  He followed her out into the hall, shutting the door behind them. ‘I am sorry, Miss Summoner, I meant no offence.’

  Of course, he had not. Neither had she. And yet they had been about to forget themselves, just as they did each time they were together. She nodded an acceptance of the apology. ‘Show me Belle’s room so I might go to the garden and fetch her.’

  Before something terrible happens.

  At this point, she was no longer sure whose virtue most needed guarding. But it might be best if she stayed at Belle’s side for the rest of the visit.

  Ben was standing before the next door and removed a key to unlock it. It opened on a room far larger than the blue room beside it, decorated in a cream and gold scheme very like the entryway below. By the size of the large canopied bed and the connecting door on the far wall, it appeared that Belle had been given the room reserved for the lady of the house.

  Ben saw her raised eyebrow at the nearness to his bedroom. ‘I thought it best that she be given the same room she will inhabit when she comes here after the wedding. I do not want it to seem strange when we...’ He faltered as if unwi
lling to think the next words much less speak them aloud.

  When you share a bed.

  She did not want to think about it either. The time was growing near when she would have to explain it all to Belle. And just the thought of that conversation made tears trickle down the back of her throat.

  Without another word, Ben removed another key from a ring in his pocket and handed both to her. ‘In case you are concerned about the connection to the master suite, here is the only key to it.’

  She responded with a solemn nod. ‘Thank you, for your thoughtfulness.’ She slipped the keys into her pocket. As she felt the weight of them dragging at her skirts, she could not help wondering if either of them opened the door to his room as well.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The evening was as perfect as he’d promised it would be. Despite the fact that there was no lady of the house to see to the menu and the decorations, the ballroom was charmingly arranged and the supper delicious. He had hired musicians from London who performed in all of the best households.

  The guest list included half a dozen couples along with John, Templeton and the Summoners. It was almost too intimate to be called a ball. But for Belle’s first visit to his home, it would be better to start small.

  He had done well.

  And beside him, staring at the room in wonder, was his reward. Arabella Summoner wore a gown the colour of a maiden’s blush. The sheer muslin was bound by gold cords that crossed between her breasts. A matching gold cord wound through her fair hair. She was a goddess come to earth, so beautiful it hurt to look at her.

  Her sister was a much more cerebral deity, an Athena to her sister’s Aphrodite. She’d dressed in warm brown silk, a colour that hardly seemed festive enough for such an occasion. But when she turned to look at him, he saw that it matched her eyes. The gold of the locket at her throat echoed the light shining in them. Tonight, there were no plumes or braids to spoil the long, tawny hair and no fan to hide her lovely face. He could stare into that face for ever.

  He did not dare to. He dragged his eyes away from her and turned to smile at Belle. ‘Is it to your liking?’ He waited, breath held, for her answer.

  After what seemed like weeks of trying and failing to catch Arabella Summoner, now that he had her, he approached her warily. It was as if she was an untamed cat and he expected to be scratched. It was nonsense. There was not a tamer creature in the room than the woman he was about to marry.

  But cats sometimes scratched because of fear. That was what he sensed from her now. At his words, her beautiful head dipped and, though her eyes darted nervously about the room, her smile was as bright as ever. But it was ruined now that he knew how little there was behind the artifice. ‘The ball,’ he prompted. ‘Do you like it?’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ she said, automatically.

  ‘We will be expected to dance the first waltz,’ he said, offering her his arm.

  Her head tipped to the side.

  ‘You have not waltzed?’ Of course she hadn’t. She was young and it was still too improper for the likes of Almack’s. He gave her an encouraging smile. ‘I will teach you. It is a very simple dance.’

  ‘I like to dance,’ she said. He had begun to think it was as much a ruse to hide a lack of conversation as a statement of truth. But at least she was not as blunt as she had been that afternoon. Perhaps she was growing accustomed to him.

  ‘So your sister says.’

  Belle gave him another worried look. ‘She says I must obey you in all things.’

  ‘That is the way marriages usually work,’ he said, surprised that he would have to explain it. ‘If Amy marries, she will obey her husband, just as you should.’

  ‘She will not like that,’ Belle said. ‘Amy likes to give orders, but she does not take them well.’

  He could not help himself. He laughed. ‘You are wiser than they give you credit for, Arabella.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said automatically.

  ‘And you must try not to worry too much about our future together.’ He would do all the worrying for both of them, just as Amy had done. ‘For now, all I require of you is a dance.’ He took her hand to lead her to the centre of the room. ‘Here. Let me show you how to waltz.’ He lifted her hand in his and put his other hand on her waist.

  She stared down at it as if trying to decide whether this was an actual dance, or a trick to make her behave improperly.

  ‘Now you put your hand on my shoulder.’

  Her touch was tentative as she rested it there, but at least they were positioned correctly.

  ‘Watch my feet. Step, step, step. Step, two, three. Do as I do. But with the other foot. My right, your left.’

  They managed a few tentative steps in harmony with each other and he gave her another smile. ‘Very good.’

  She smiled back at him with a relieved sigh, then tried to detach her hand from his.

  He shook his head. ‘Now we will dance around the floor in a circle.’ He nodded to the musicians, and they struck up the first notes of the Sussex Waltz. When she did not immediately follow his lead, he set them off with a rocking first step that would have been more appropriate in a polonaise than a waltz.

  She succumbed to the momentum of it, only to falter again as he made the first part of a turn. Though he had thought it instinctive, apparently the process was more confusing than he’d assumed. Or perhaps he was not a very good teacher. She was pressing back against his hand instead of yielding to its direction and they faltered on another step before finding the rhythm again.

  They managed quite well for a few measures and he was beginning to hope that the worst was over. But then, other couples came to the dance floor to join them. Her head tipped again, a posture he was beginning to recognise as confusion, rather than flirtation.

  It should not have surprised him that the new pattern was baffling to her. When one was accustomed to dancing in matched lines and staying with the set, a jumble of bodies making lopsided circles within circles must seem like nonsense.

  She was fighting against his lead again, trying to see what was happening around her rather than letting him do the watching. The ribs beneath his hand felt as immovable as corset bones, though he was sure under her delicate gown there could be but the most cursory of stays.

  It was all the more annoying to see Templeton pass them in a graceful spiral with Amy in his arms. They danced so naturally they might have been created as partners like Meissen figurines come to life. The sight should not have annoyed him. They were nothing more than close friends enjoying the hospitality of his home. Their smiles were a sign of his success. And success was what mattered after all. It was why he was going to marry a woman he did not love who did not want to follow his simplest instructions.

  You must be patient with her.

  It was Amy’s voice in his head, reminding him that this was to be his life, from now on: one part husband, one part father, one part teacher. He had no right to be frustrated if Belle could not keep up. He would need to slow down and help her.

  Templeton was about to pass them again. Instead, he paused with a smile. ‘Might we change partners, Lovell? It seems forever since I’ve spoken to Miss Arabella, and I have not had the opportunity to congratulate her on the nuptials.’

  ‘You spoke with her just this afternoon,’ Amy said, eyes narrowed. ‘You had ample opportunity for felicitations then. Besides, I do not think changing partners in the middle of a dance is allowed.’

  Which was better: a woman who had trouble following instructions or one who refused to do so? He had told Amy not to fuss over Templeton and Belle, but she could not seem to let it alone.

  It was either that, or she preferred to partner with Guy instead of him. Were both of the Summoner girls so afraid of him that they could not dance him? It was one thing to keep a safe distance and q
uite another for Amy to be appalled at the idea of his touch. He smiled stubbornly at her. ‘As host and hostess, the rules are what we wish them to be. And I say we should switch partners.’

  Apparently, his fiancée wanted to obey him, after all. By the time he looked to Belle for her opinion, she was already stepping clear of his embrace and holding out her arms to Templeton. In a show of propriety, he held her more loosely than Ben had done. Perhaps that had been all that was necessary. The pair of them set out together as gracefully as Guy had danced with Amy.

  Ben stared after them for a moment, annoyed. Then he heard the sound of a clearing throat about the level of his first waistcoat button.

  When he looked back, Amy was staring at him expectantly. ‘Are we going to dance? Or are you going to wait until they come round again so you might trade back and be rid of me?’

  ‘I apologise.’ He scooped up her hand and they set off, spinning easily about the room. ‘I was just noticing that Templeton is a better dancer than I am.’

  ‘As someone who has danced with you both, I beg to differ,’ she said. ‘But if it improves your mood to have me abuse you on the subject, I will be happy to accommodate you.’

  ‘That will not be necessary,’ he assured her, irritated that she might be right about Templeton and Belle.

  It was some comfort to find he had no trouble at all dancing with Amy. She responded effortlessly to his guidance, matching him step for step. ‘You are an excellent dancer,’ he said, trying to focus on the steps and not the nearness of her.

  ‘A better dancer than my sister?’ she said in a dry tone.

  ‘She was unfamiliar with the waltz,’ he replied.

  ‘She does well enough with your friend,’ Amy goaded. ‘In the future, perhaps you will take my advice and be less eager to push her into his arms.’

  ‘Don’t be so dramatic,’ he said, glancing across the floor to see Belle laughing in the arms of his best friend. ‘One last dance is hardly a reason for concern.’

  ‘Are you sure it will be the last?’ she said. ‘You are neighbours, after all. She will see him again.’