Книга - The Wedding Game

The Wedding Game
Christine Merrill


The engagement escapade!This season, all eyes are on biddable, well-connected Lady Belle. And for ambitious Benjamin Lovell, she’s the perfect candidate for a convenient marriage. First, though, he must contend with her fiercely protective sister, Lady Amelia Summoner.Amy is determined that only the right man will win her sister, and rakish Benjamin is certainly not that. Every move he makes, she’ll be one step ahead! Until the games get out of hand…and Amy realises she’s broken her own rules and fallen for Ben herself!







The engagement escapade!

This season, all eyes are on biddable, well-connected Lady Belle. And for ambitious Benjamin Lovell, she’s the perfect candidate for a convenient marriage. First, though, he must contend with her fiercely protective sister, Lady Amelia Summoner.

Amy is determined that only the right man will win her sister, and rakish Benjamin is certainly not that. Every move he makes, she’ll be one step ahead! Until the games get out of hand...and Amy realizes she’s broken her own rules and fallen for Ben herself!


Benjamin Lovell might pretend modesty in his perfect plain suit. But the man was a trumped-up peacock, near to choking on his own pride.

He’d decided, without even meeting her, that he would have dear, sweet, innocent Belle—just to gain a seat in the House of Commons.

Something must be done, and it must be done immediately.

Amy stood suddenly, almost bumping into a young man balancing far too many glasses of lemonade.

Suddenly she had a plan.

She responded with a simpering laugh. ‘La, sir. It is a relief to see you. I retired to the corner for I was parched and near to fainting.’

She reached out and took two of his lemonades, taking a sip from the first. ‘Much better,’ she said, giggling again and ignoring his astonishment at her rudeness.

Then, as if she was as unsteady as she claimed, she turned and staggered forward the two steps necessary to stand before Benjamin Lovell. She wavered, lurched, and allowed herself a brief, triumphant smile. Then she dumped the contents of the glasses in her hand down his elegant white waistcoat.


Author Note (#u26384673-23c1-538c-b181-6340826a0f65)

This book gave me an excuse to use one of my favourite bits of Regency research. In the days before the advent of telephone and telegraph, written communication was the only way to stay in touch, and everyone was a master of correspondence. They found methods beyond word-choice to get a big message into a small space.

Since the recipients were the ones to pay postage on their mail, it was rude to make them pay for a long and heavy letter. To this end, there were no envelopes. The paper the letter was written on was folded and sealed with wax, and addressed on the blank side.

To cheat a second page into a one-page letter writers turned the paper ninety degrees and wrote the second half over the top of the previously written first page. It was up to the reader patiently to decipher the crossed words.

It made a sharp pen nib and good handwriting all the more important. I think of my own unreadable penmanship and stand in awe.


The Wedding Game

Christine Merrill






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


CHRISTINE MERRILL lives on a farm in Wisconsin, USA, with her husband, two sons, and too many pets—all of whom would like her to get off of the computer so they can check their e-mail. She has worked by turns in theatre costuming and as a librarian. Writing historical romance combines her love of good stories and fancy dress with her ability to stare out of the window and make stuff up.

Books by Christine Merrill

Mills & Boon Historical Romance

The de Bryun Sisters

The Truth About Lady Felkirk

A Ring from a Marquess

Ladies in Disgrace

Lady Folbroke’s Delicious Deception

Lady Drusilla’s Road to Ruin

Lady Priscilla’s Shameful Secret

Stand-Alone Novels

A Wicked Liaison

Miss Winthorpe’s Elopement

Dangerous Lord, Innocent Governess

Two Wrongs Make a Marriage

Unlaced at Christmas

‘The Christmas Duchess’

The Secrets of Wiscombe Chase

The Wedding Game

Mills & Boon Historical Undone! ebooks

Seducing a Stranger

Virgin Unwrapped

To Undo a Lady

Visit the Author Profile page

at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) for more titles.


To 2017.

You are still bright and unspoiled.

Please be more gentle and loving to us all than last year was.


Contents

Cover (#uace3c019-248a-5ed8-91c4-727a75c1f360)

Back Cover Text (#u60251375-a61b-54a2-9eef-d0d1ef01e71e)

Introduction (#uca8a458e-2102-553c-9941-70ece693d063)

Author Note (#u455046bb-7ca5-539c-93ba-a4d6513ca456)

Title Page (#u83fb45ec-fbc0-5410-be5d-233b7689fae3)

About the Author (#ubcf3c262-82c7-5ab1-9352-44c4d953fba3)

Chapter One (#u93c78c6f-90cf-5fb4-bbe8-3ba40424577d)

Chapter Two (#u40451af6-1e62-5065-a5cb-65a73ff95dbc)

Chapter Three (#u48038715-a594-5463-85de-495ec70c8e58)

Chapter Four (#u60723077-074c-5ff1-a7f8-b68064850c98)

Chapter Five (#u5455e868-f571-53fd-9d27-00d839549606)

Chapter Six (#ua4817021-0ca2-5d8e-8446-47e45d94ec88)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#u26384673-23c1-538c-b181-6340826a0f65)

As they always were at the height of the London Season, Almack’s Assembly Rooms were crowded to the point of overflowing. Amelia Summoner circled the edges of the main room, watching the marriage-minded throng unobserved. It was easy to do when one knew the place and people in it as well as she did.

She had not missed a Wednesday in the three years her family had had vouchers. In that time she had watched three crops of debutantes arrive, parade and depart on the arms of the gentlemen who married them. She had made her own come-out the first year and, after a brief splash, she had sunk through the waters of society, forgotten.

Now she moved about the place like a fish in the deep, invisible until the moment she chose to be otherwise. Unlike other unattached girls of her age, she viewed this more as a freedom than a failure. It was more relaxing to dance, speak or flirt only when one felt moved to do so, instead of obsessing on each social interaction as if it was to be a life-changing event. If one simply wished to watch others, it was much better to be that Summoner girl.

No. Not the pretty one. The other one. The odd one.

After her first few balls, she had known that she was not going to be a major success. She had been classified by the patronesses as an ‘unconventional beauty with an excessively sharp wit’. Any other girl would have been hurt by such a damning compliment. It did not take a bit of Amy’s vaunted intelligence to know that only her desirable family name kept her from being labelled ‘plain and opinionated’. A connection by marriage to Lord Summoner could make a young man’s future, in politics or society. But even those men were hoping for a wife who was conventional in all ways and excessively pretty, rather than excessively sharp.

But it was Amy’s intention to remain just as she was. Thus far, her character had been formed without compromise and she was satisfied with the result. She’d yet to meet a man for whom she was willing to change. In the face of her stubborn refusal to aid in their ambitions by marrying them, even the most stalwart of suitors had given up wooing her ages ago. This Season, if a gentleman wished to dance with her, she knew it was out of pity.

More likely, it was because he wanted to be seen as the nice sort of fellow who bestowed his friendship evenly about the family, and was willing to stand up with her quiz of an older sister if it would make Miss Belle Summoner smile. This year, London buzzed with talk of Lord Summoner’s younger daughter, the most celebrated beauty of the decade. Tonight, as she moved through the crowd, Amy had overheard more than a few men sighing that a single smile from that delicate beauty, Belle, would be worth any sacrifice up to and including being nice to Miss Amelia, the spinster.

No one had dared to try it yet and Amy had no intention of being an easy target for their cheap flattery. She moved through the crush with a purposeful step that hinted a destination in mind and no time for interruption. When she sat, it was in a corner, with her fan raised, scanning the crowd as if looking for someone other than the people in the immediate vicinity. She kept her acquaintance limited, knowing that people would not dare to speak to her without an introduction. If she did not deign to know them, then they could not use her as a conduit to meet Belle.

Since she did not have to waste her time on dancing and idle chatter, she could watch and listen. She heard dozens of conversations without being a part of any of them, while scanning the opposite side of the room to catch those that watched her sister with more than casual interest. If a gentleman in tonight’s crowd was seriously interested in Belle, Amy would know his intentions almost before he did himself. Then she could prepare the proper defence against him. It would take a very special man to make a match with Arabella. No others need apply.

Tonight alone, Amy had catalogued and discounted a dozen prospective suitors. Their intentions did not matter if they lacked sufficient money, manners or station to get around Father’s plans for his daughters. He expected them to marry well, if they married at all. After years of trying to find a husband for Amy, Lord Summoner had declared her too headstrong to wed a man who was not of her own choosing and agreed to let her be.

But Belle...

Amy hid a sigh behind her fan. Belle would be very easily led, by Father or anyone else. It was good that she had a sister to look out for her and keep her from harm.

And it was not as if she did not want Belle to marry and be happy. Though there were many ne’er-do-wells and fortune hunters in London, there were some promising candidates as well. As Amy found them, she scrawled their names on the back of her empty dance card for further investigation. So far, there were fully eight men who might make a good match for Belle. They were neither too young nor too old, at least passably handsome, good tempered, well born and rich, but not high flyers. A union with any of them might result in pleasant rustication for most of the year and not too much strenuous socialising.

After separating sheep from goats in tonight’s field, there was but one man who fit neither category. He was the one Amy found the most worrisome. As she watched Benjamin Lovell, she did not need to hear his words to know that he was shopping for a wife.

Though Mr Lovell might pretend that he had come to London’s most popular marriage mart for a few dances and a light supper, he made too great a show of uninterest to be completely sincere. He stood at the side of the room, feigning boredom to the point of turning his back to the dance floor. But he had positioned himself so that he might gaze in one of the mirrors on the wall to watch and catalogue the females in the room just as carefully as she had been watching the males.

False apathy often proved more dangerous to the hearts and minds of young ladies than active pursuit. In response to his neglect, the gentle sex worked all the harder to get his attention. It was what he sought from them, she was sure. He wished to be the prey, rather than the hunter. It was a bold strategy for a man of uncertain parentage and she admired him for it.

Apparently, the patronesses admired him as well. No amount of money was sufficient to sway them into giving vouchers to a gentleman who was not worthy to marry into the finest families in England. Illegitimacy was a stain that not all men could rise above. But rumour had it that Mr Lovell was the most exclusive sort of bastard.

His Grace the Duke of Cottsmoor had not made a formal acknowledgement of Mr Lovell, but it must have been intended. Before Cottsmoor’s sudden death, Mr Lovell had often been seen in the company of the Duke and his Duchess. They had treated him as family even though they said nothing about his origins. When the Duke, the Duchess and their first born had all been taken by an influenza, Mr Lovell had withdrawn from society for a year, mourning them as lost parents and brother.

His birth and early life were shrouded in secrecy. He had been educated abroad, which raised a few eyebrows from those graduates of Oxford or Cambridge with the most school loyalty. But one could hardly blame Cottsmoor for not sending his bastard to the same school as his heir.

Mr Lovell had lost nothing by his Continental learning. His speech was flawless and no gaps had been found in his knowledge. He was thought intelligent without being didactic, witty without conceit and capable of wise counsel, but able to hold his tongue when his opinion was not required. Because of this, the new Cottsmoor, still too young for university, sometimes came to him for advice in navigating his new role as peer.

If the only flaw was that his noble father had not bothered to marry his mother? After meeting the charming Mr Lovell, society had declared it was hardly any fault at all. In fact, it might even be an advantage. The Duke had left a bequest to see that his natural son was amply provided for. According to gossip, Mr Lovell was turning his inheritance into even more money with smart investments.

But one would not have realised it, without careful observation. He did not call attention to his newly acquired wealth in his dress. His tailoring was impeccable, which made him no different than all the other gentlemen in the room. But the choices of fabric, with the richness of the black coat offsetting a white vest of expensive silk brocade, whispered that he was fashionable, but no dandy.

The buckles on his knee breeches were not overly large or brassy. But when one took the time to notice, one noted their heaviness and the dull gleam of silver. He wore no rings or jewellery other than the fob on his watch and that was all but hidden under his coat front. It only peeped into view when he danced, revealing a heavy gold chain that ended in a shockingly large emerald that winked as if to say, I have money, but the confidence not to flaunt it in public.

His valet had not bothered with a complicated knot for his cravat. It was done up in an Oriental so simple he might have managed it himself. The blinding white accented the sharp, dark line of his jaw. He had the same colouring as the rest of the Cottsmoor line, distinctive dark eyes and hair, and the faint olive cast to the skin. If the young Duke grew to be half as handsome as Mr Lovell, he would not need a title to send ladies scurrying for his approval.

But tonight, it was Mr Lovell who held the attention, of all the girls in the room. Of course, Amy’s fascination was purely academic. She fluttered her fan to cool the sudden heat on her face. She was not doting on the man. She merely needed to assure herself that he was no threat to Belle. If Mr Lovell was unworthy, it did not matter what Lady Jersey thought of him. He would not get so much as an introduction.

But if he was as good as he seemed?

She fanned herself again. If he was capable of being a kind and loving husband who gave as much attention to his wife as he did to his carefully crafted persona, then Amy could not hope for a better match for her sister.

She drifted in his direction, pretending to admire the line of dancers on the floor. Watching such a handsome man should have been pleasing, but there was something about this one that left her uneasy. Benjamin Lovell was too good to be true. Amy could not shake the feeling that his artless perfection was calculated more precisely than the fine watch on the other end of the emerald fob.

A part of her could not blame him. Who amongst them did not wear a mask from time to time? But it would have made more sense, were he poor. If his money was real, as it obviously was, he had no reason to be disingenuous.

With a flutter of her fan she moved closer, then past them to a chair in the corner where the candlelight from the chandeliers could not quite reach. It afforded her an excellent position to see both Mr Lovell and his friend Mr Guy Templeton in quarter-profile as they chatted.

Though the movement was almost imperceptible, Mr Templeton was shifting from foot to foot. Then, with a quick glance to check for observers that missed Amy entirely, he reached down to give his knee breeches a yank on each leg, and shifted again. ‘Damn things keep riding up,’ he muttered to Mr Lovell. ‘It gives a new meaning to Almack’s balls.’

The polite smile on Mr Lovell’s face barely wavered. ‘They are the price of gentility, Templeton. No lady of quality will have you if you cannot stand patiently in formal wear.’

‘They are nothing more than a nuisance,’ he insisted. ‘I wonder, is it necessary to examine our legs before making their purchase, as if we are horseflesh?’

‘Legs and wind,’ Lovell agreed, with a casual gesture toward the dance floor. ‘You had best prove to them you can gallop. With pins like those holding you up, you will not get a woman to take you unless you pad your calves. At the very least, we must get you a better tailor. You wear that suit like it is full of fleas.’

‘Because it itches,’ Templeton agreed. Then he sighed happily. ‘But the girl I’ve got my eye on will have me even so.’

‘She will need to be the most patient creature in London to put up with you,’ Lovell said, ‘if you will not attend to the niceties.’

Not too patient, thought Amy. With a good family, a pleasant face and a full purse, Mr Templeton was near the top of her list for prospective brothers-in-law.

‘Niceties be damned,’ said Templeton under his breath, offering a polite nod to a passing patroness. ‘Old bats like that one insist on breeches, call tea and cake a supper, and do not allow so much as a waltz with a pretty girl. Then they make the introductions, thinking they can decide our marriages for us. Worse yet, they make us pay for the privilege.’

‘It seems to work well enough,’ Lovell said with a shrug.

‘But if we truly love, can we not choose a more direct method to demonstrate our feelings? It is like standing on a river bank,’ Templeton said, gesturing at a group of girls on the opposite side of the room. ‘But instead of simply swimming across to the object of our desire, we have to pick our way across the water on slippery rocks.’

‘Swim?’ Lovell arched his eyebrows in mock surprise. ‘The water would spoil one’s knee breeches. And what makes you think romantic emotion has anything to do with the process of picking a wife?’

The words were delivered in a tone of cold calculation so at odds with the pleasantly approachable expression on Mr Lovell’s strikingly handsome face that Amy almost dropped her fan in shock. She regained her grip and fluttered deliberately, staring away from them so they could not see her flush of annoyance. He was a heartless fraud, just as she’d suspected.

‘Not love and desire one’s future wife?’ Templeton said in genuine surprise. ‘Is that not half the fun of getting one?’

‘Fun.’ Lovell’s lip twitched in revulsion, as if he had found a fly in his lemonade. ‘Marriage is far too serious an undertaking to be diminished by idle pleasure.’

Then the grimace disappeared and the smile returned. But his stance, shoulders squared and one foot slightly forward, was the one her father took when on the verge of political oratory. He used the same distancing posture when encouraging her to conform to society and find a husband who would improve her weak character so her father did not have to.

To the last vertebra of his inflexible British spine, Mr Lovell was a man who knew how things should be and had no qualms in telling others the truth as he saw it. ‘When one marries, one does not just make a match with the young lady, one enters into a union with her family and with society as well.’

‘I should think it was unnecessary for you to think of such things,’ Templeton pointed out. ‘Cottsmoor, after all—’

Lovell cut him off with a raised hand. ‘For argument’s sake, let us assume that I have no family at all. I am the first of my line, which makes it all the more important that I choose my attachments wisely. Picking the right father-in-law will do more for a man of ambition than choosing the right woman ever will.’

‘Then you want a man with a title,’ Templeton interrupted. ‘The Duke of Islington is rich as Croesus and has three daughters, all of age.’

Lovell shook his head. ‘Title is hereditary and lands are entailed. And I do not need his money. I am quite capable of making my own.’

‘No title.’ Templeton stroked an imaginary beard as if deep in thought. ‘You don’t need to marry for money. But of course, you will tell me the daughter of a cit is not good enough for you.’

‘Nor scholars or men of law,’ Lovell agreed. ‘I want a proper Tory with an old fortune, distantly related to Pitts, elder and younger. Someone who dines with Wellington and has Grenville’s ear.’

Amy leaned forward in alarm.

‘Politics?’ Templeton said with surprise.

‘If one wishes to make a difference in society, where else would one be than Parliament?’

‘And you are speaking of Lord Summoner, of course.’

‘No other,’ Lovell agreed and Amy’s heart sank.

‘I assume you wish to wed the lovely Arabella?’ Templeton said with a bark of a laugh.

‘She is the toast of the Season,’ Lovell said. ‘I mean to settle for nothing less than the best of the best.’

‘Then you must get in line behind the rest of the men in London,’ Templeton replied, shaking his head. ‘Her dance card was nearly full before we even arrived. I had to fight a fellow for the last spot.’

‘I did not bother. I have not yet gained an introduction to her,’ Lovell said. ‘There must be nothing less than respectable in our first meeting.’

Amy’s mind raced to stay ahead of him. His insistence on propriety was a small consolation. It meant there was still time to stop him.

‘Even when you do manage to meet her, you will find it a challenge to draw her out,’ Templeton informed him. ‘She is very shy. Her smile is dazzling, but she speaks hardly at all.’

‘All the better,’ Lovell replied. ‘Who would wed a woman like that for conversation?’

The bone handle of Amy’s fan snapped beneath the pressure of her fingers. This odious man was speculating over Belle as if she was nothing more than an afterthought in his plans. Even worse, she suspected the comment about a lack of conversation was a reference to something no true gentleman should speak of when referring to a lady.

Apparently, Templeton agreed. ‘See here, Lovell...’

Lovell held up his hands in denial. ‘I meant no slight to the lady. But one does not have to marry any woman for intellectual stimulation when one’s goal is to take a seat amongst the wisest men in English society.’

Amy raised her fan to hide her smirk. Having met some of her father’s friends, Mr Lovell had a view of male superiority that was charming in its naivety.

He continued with his plans. ‘I want to wed a woman who is beautiful and talented, who will do credit to my home and bear and raise my children.’ He thought for a moment. ‘And to win the most sought-after girl of the year will reflect well on my taste and on my abilities of persuasion. I want to be the best and I will settle for nothing less than the best from those around me. But as I said before, it is less about winning the girl and more about winning her father. He has control of two seats in the House of Commons and I mean to be in one of them by year’s end. If he is here tonight, I will seek him out and find my way into his good graces. Once I have done that, the rest will follow.’

Bastard.

Another spine of her fan snapped, but Amy barely felt it. Bastard was too accurate to be an insult to his character. There were probably a great many epithets she would have used to describe him, were she a man, and Benjamin Lovell deserved every last one. He might pretend modesty in his perfect, plain suit. But the man was a trumped-up peacock, near to choking on his own pride. Without even meeting her, he’d decided he must have dear, sweet, innocent Belle, just to gain a seat in the House of Commons. He would not give a thought to her, once they were married. Worse yet, if he wished for the best from those around him, he might take out his disappointment upon her sister when he realised she was unequal to his ambitious plans.

Something must be done and it must be done immediately. Amy stood, almost bumping into a young man who was working his way along the edge of the room, balancing far too many glasses of lemonade. He muttered an apology and made to go around.

Suddenly, she had a plan.

She responded to his words with a simpering laugh. ‘La, sir. It is a relief to see you. I retired to the corner for I was parched and near to fainting.’

Before he could offer or deny, she reached out and took two of his lemonades away from him, taking a sip from the first. ‘Much better,’ she said, giggling again and ignoring his astonishment at her rudeness.

Then, as if she was as unsteady as she claimed, she turned and staggered forward the two steps necessary to stand before Benjamin Lovell. She wavered, lurched and allowed herself a brief, triumphant smile. Then she dumped the contents of the glasses in her hand down his elegant white waistcoat.


Chapter Two (#u26384673-23c1-538c-b181-6340826a0f65)

Damn it all to hell.

Ben Lovell was not given to outbursts of temper. Not in public, at least. Occasionally, when he was totally alone, he gave way to self-pity and cursed the strange turns his life had taken to land him where he was. Then he remembered that only a fool would complain over what must be seen by others as stunningly good luck, composed himself again, counted his blessings and ignored the rest.

In public he could allow nothing more than one brief, unspoken curse, making sure to give no indication on his face of displeasure within. Things had been going far too well for him to spoil his perfect reputation with a cross word towards the little idiot who had baptised him in lemonade.

This accident had ruined any chance for a meeting with Summoner tonight. If one wished to lay the groundwork for a political career, one could not afford to look less than one’s best, or to appear out of sorts. One certainly could not have one’s mind clouded with ill will over what was an innocent mistake by a flustered debutante.

For now, he would be a gentleman and ignore the ruined coat that had cost a full thirty pounds just the previous week. He would shake off the drips of lemonade falling from the thin picot of lace at the cuffs of his linen shirt. His cravat was a sodden lump and he could feel the hair on his chest sticking to his body. How many cups had the chit been carrying to result in such havoc? Had she been actively trying to drown him?

And where had she come from? He was normally careful to avoid treading on toes or bumping elbows even in the most crowded rout. She had seemed to appear out of nowhere, as if she’d been lying in wait to attack him.

A gentleman should not be bothered with trivia and Ben did not want to be known simply as well mannered. To overcome his birth, he must be the most magnanimous man in London.

He buried his annoyance and forced his face into an expression of concern for the lady. Then he reached for his handkerchief, holding the linen out to the giggling girl. She was flapping a broken fan as if she meant to dry him off with the breeze. ‘I am so sorry to have startled you, miss. Did any of it spill upon your gown?’ Then he looked down into the heart-shaped face barely level with his top vest button.

He was staring. It was rude of him. To be the success he wished to be, he could not afford to be anything less than perfect. But one look into that face and he was gaping like an idiot. All common sense seemed to have fled and taken his good manners with it.

It was not that she was a striking beauty. Pretty enough, he supposed. A fine figure, though she was none too tall. In an attempt to add height, her brown hair was piled in an overly fussy style with too many braids and curls. The plumes that completed her coiffure bobbed as she nodded her head along with his apology. Judging by the giggles, he assumed her head was likely full of feathers as well.

Or perhaps not.

Her laugh was so false and inane that it might have been cultivated to put a man off. But if she meant to be repellent, her eyes spoiled the effect. They drew him in and held him captive. They were large and bright, and the warm brown of a fine sherry. Or almost totally so. The left one had a single fleck of gold in the iris that glittered like a secret joke.

The difference between the two should have been unattractive for was not beauty dependent on symmetry? Instead, it was fascinating. He was lost in that little gold speck, enthralled by it. He wanted to gaze into her eyes forever, until they revealed their mysteries. Worse yet, as she looked into his eyes he was overcome with a desire to unburden himself and share even the most carefully concealed secrets of his past.

Then the feeling dissipated. On second look, what he had taken for mystique was a glimmer of calculation. He did not have to reveal his true self to her. Somehow, she had found him out and meant to punish him for his impudence. She was merely playing the simpering wallflower to disguise a dangerous, almost masculine intelligence.

‘Thank you, sir, for your concern. My dress is undamaged. But your poor suit...’ She dabbed at the liquid staining his lapels with a force guaranteed to drive the stuff deeper into the fabric.

He seized her gloved hand as gently as possible to stop the damage it was doing. ‘That will not be necessary,’ he said, firmly. ‘But thank you for the attempt.’

‘Oh, but, sir, I am so sorry.’ She looked up at him with the melting gaze of a spaniel. The look appeared so suddenly that she must practise innocence in a mirror to produce it on cue. It left him all the more sure that she was not the least bit sorry. In fact, she enjoyed seeing him discommoded.

He gave her an equally practised smile. ‘It is nothing. We will not speak of it again.’ Because, God willing, he would never see her again. There was something far too disquieting about her. From now on, he would be on his guard and maintain a safe distance should they meet.

‘Thank you.’ She dropped a hurried curtsy and disappeared as suddenly as she had arrived.

Beside him, his friend laughed. ‘Well done, sir.’

‘Well done? I did nothing.’ He wiped at the stains on his coat and then gave up, throwing the handkerchief aside.

‘Apparently, you made an impression on Miss Summoner.’

Ben scanned the room for the pathway to his future. She was on the far side now, in conversation with the featherheaded chit who had doused him. Were they friends? No. There was something in the slant of their heads that spoke of a family likeness. ‘Dear God, do not tell me...’

‘Sisters,’ Templeton said with another laugh. ‘The little one is the elder. A spinster, from what people say.’

‘I wonder why,’ Ben said, not bothering to disguise his sarcasm.

‘She claims she does not wish to marry and that she cannot be parted from her sister.’

‘All women with an ounce of pride say something similar when they cannot get a husband,’ Ben replied. ‘It is far more likely that she behaved to others as she behaved to me and that society has taken a distaste of her.’

‘It hardly matters,’ Templeton said, quite reasonably. ‘After several years, she is properly on the shelf. But if you want the younger, you had best get used to her. The elder Miss Summoner will likely be a member of your household after you are married.’

‘She most certainly will not,’ Ben said with a shudder of dread. Looking into those eyes at breakfast each morning would be no different from coming to the table naked. She would strip each defence from him, giggling all the while.

‘Where else will she go?’ Templeton said in the voice of reason. ‘Lord Summoner will not live for ever. Then it will be up to her sister’s husband to take her on.’

‘Unless some unsuspecting gentlemen can be trapped into a union with her,’ Ben suggested.

‘What are the odds of that, after all this time on the market?’

‘All this time?’ Ben shot a quick look across the dance floor at her, then looked away before she could notice. ‘She cannot be much more than three and twenty. That does not make her a crone, no matter what society might think. If one plucked her feathers and unbraided that hair, and perhaps chose a different dressmaker for her—’ and taught her to hang on to her drinks and not to giggle so ‘—she would be quite pretty.’

‘But the eye.’ Templeton shuddered.

‘Those eyes,’ Ben corrected. ‘She has two. And they are not unattractive. Just rather...startling.’

‘What man wishes to be startled by a woman?’ Templeton shuddered again. ‘Perhaps you are greener than you pretend when it comes to the fair sex, Lovell. It is never good to be surprised by them.’

‘Perhaps compelling is the word I am searching for. Or captivating.’ Intoxicating. Fascinating. He could spend a lifetime trying to describe those eyes.

Templeton shook his head. ‘Neither of those are as good as they sound, either. If you wish to be a puppet or a slave to a woman, then get yourself a mistress. Your days will be full of all the passion and melodrama you long for with no legal bonds to hold you when it grows tiresome.’

‘I have no intention of living my life under the thumb of a woman, with or without marriage.’

Never again.

He continued. ‘Nor do I think the elder Miss Summoner actually possesses the facility to dominate the man who marries her.’ This last was not totally true. But the fact that he could imagine himself stripped bare and defenceless from a single glance might be nothing more than his own fears of the unhappy past repeating itself.

‘If that is so, then there is no problem at all,’ Templeton said, smiling. ‘You seem to feel more than confident of controlling her. Though you do not wish to marry for love or passion, you admit you find her at least marginally attractive. If you wish a connection to Lord Summoner by marrying his daughter, Miss Amelia should be no different than Miss Arabella.’

Why not?

When presented with such a logical argument, he could not immediately think of an answer. Then he remembered the lemonade stain on his best waistcoat and the possibility of future social occasions marred by such accidents. If he wished to be thought unshakable, he could not attach himself to a woman who was constantly rattling his calm and spoiling his appearance. ‘Only an idiot would pretend that the two Summoner daughters are interchangeable. Everyone in London admires the younger of the two. The elder is so far on the shelf that I did not even know of her existence. There is also the fact that I am seeking a wife who will be the picture of decorum and not an awkward wallflower. Belle Summoner glides through a room like a swan. And her sister...’ He stared down at his ruined waistcoat.

Templeton laughed. ‘You truly think that spill was an accident? My dear fellow, for all your polish, you are too naïve to survive the ladies of London.’

‘Whatever do you mean?’

‘Simply that if you come to Almack’s and hide in the corner rather than standing up for a set, an interested female will try to get your attention by any means possible.’

This horrifying thought had not occurred to him. ‘You think that...’

‘She is smitten with you,’ Templeton finished for him.

‘And she did that on purpose to win my favour.’ If that was true, then women truly were mad.

‘There can be no other explanation for it. She fancies you. Since she is without prospects, I am sure Summoner will be all the more grateful to you for taking her off his hands.’ Templeton clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Go to him now and claim your prize.’

‘I cannot go to him looking like this,’ Ben said absently, staring across the room towards the woman who had attacked him. Could that have been the meaning of that glint in her eye? He had been sure there was some ulterior motive in her actions. But he’d have sworn it had less to do with marriage than a desire to unravel him like a fraying tapestry. ‘I do not want to marry Miss Amelia,’ he said, annoyed. He should not need to say those words aloud to clarify his intentions. If she was a spinster, the room was full of men who did not want her.

Templeton gave him a pitying look. ‘You want Belle, as does every other man in London. But you have lost before you’ve begun, dear fellow. If you break her sister’s heart with your indifference, Belle will have nothing to do with you. Women are like that, you know. They love each other more than they will ever love us.’

‘Break her heart? I did nothing of the sort. I gave no indication that I was interested in her.’ Unless she had seen something in the look he had given her. It had been but a glance, but it had seemed overlong, as if he had become lost in her eyes and needed to fight to get free.

‘Of course not, Lovell.’ The smirk on Templeton’s face revealed the mockery in his assuring words. ‘But I suggest you let Miss Amelia down as gently as possible. Then find another man she can affix herself to. If not, when you marry Belle, you will end with Amy Summoner permanently ensconced in your home, mooning over your lost love.’


Chapter Three (#u26384673-23c1-538c-b181-6340826a0f65)

The next morning, Amy came down to her father’s study, her list of prospective suitors in hand. In the matter of her sister’s courtship and marriage, things were moving far too fast. The Season had barely begun, and total strangers like Benjamin Lovell were already mapping out Belle’s future. The laissez-faire attitude that their father was bringing to a match might be acceptable for some girls, but not for Belle.

She rapped on the closed door and let herself in without waiting for an answer, then seated herself in the big leather chair in front of his desk.

Her father hardly looked up from his papers. ‘You wish to speak to me, Amelia?’

‘I wish to discuss last night’s visit to Almack’s.’

‘I trust you both found it enjoyable.’ The statement was a courtesy, nothing more. She could sense no real interest in it. Instead, there was the unspoken feeling that, since the fate of England hung on every decision he might make, Lord Summoner had no time for trivialities.

‘Belle enjoyed it,’ she said. ‘I found it much the same as I always do.’

He sighed. ‘Meaning you only bothered with it for your sister’s sake. It is no wonder that you are not married. You make no effort.’

‘I am not married because I found no one I could stand to spend a lifetime with,’ she said, for what felt like the hundredth time.

‘It is fortunate for me that your sister is not so particular.’ He signed the document he had been reading and shook sand over the wet ink before setting it aside.

‘Belle loves everyone. She does not know how to be particular,’ Amy said. ‘It will be up to us to choose wisely for her.’

‘Us?’ Her father looked up, fixing her with a quelling stare that she had long since learned to ignore.

‘To that end,’ she said, ‘I took the time to evaluate the gentlemen at last night’s ball, grading them according to their suitability.’ She pushed the list across the desk to the empty space his documents had occupied.

He pushed it back without looking at it. ‘You are overstepping yourself if you think to choose your sister’s husband instead of your own.’

She could not help an unladylike snort. ‘We have made progress, then. When I was actively searching, you were under the impression that the choice was yours alone.’

He sighed. ‘And so it ought to have been. When your mother died, I allowed you far too much latitude and now I must pay the price for it.’

It was the way he chose to remember the past. When Mother died, he had not allowed or denied anything. He had simply gone to London and forgotten all about his daughters. ‘It is fortunate that Arabella is more obedient,’ she said.

‘It is,’ he agreed, taking no notice of the sarcasm in her voice.

Amy paused until she was sure that she had full control of her temper. ‘I will admit that I have not been the sort of daughter you deserved. I am headstrong and wilful, but it does not mean I love you any less. Belle loves you as well. But we both know that she is not like other young ladies. It is why we must take care to protect her from those who might take advantage.’

Her father reached for another paper, nearly upsetting the inkwell in his eagerness to occupy his hands and mind with something other than the truth. ‘Nonsense. If you did not coddle her so, there would be no problem. Perhaps I should have remarried. Then you would not have taken it upon yourself to mother her and she would have tried harder to catch up.’

‘She tries very hard already,’ Amy said, reaching out to touch her father’s hand. ‘And yet, there are many things she cannot manage. The doctors told you that her birth was difficult for both mother and child.’

‘She was stronger than your mother,’ he said stubbornly. ‘Arabella survived.’

‘But not unaffected,’ Amy reminded him. ‘She has always been slow to learn and easily confused.’

‘She has as much wit as a woman needs to make a wife.’

‘By that, I suppose you mean she has two arms, two legs and a smile,’ she snapped.

‘Her mother’s smile,’ he said reverently.

‘She is beautiful,’ Amy agreed, equally awed. It was as if God had given Belle a final blessing as he took her mother and her wits.

‘And a pleasant disposition as well,’ her father added. ‘She is a sweet child, is she not?’

‘Because we have never given her reason to be otherwise,’ Amy reminded him. ‘We have done all in our power to protect her. And we help her in those situations that she could not manage on her own.’ The word we was an exaggeration. But it would gain her nothing to antagonise her father.

‘Her life will not change so very much,’ Lord Summoner said. ‘I will find some young buck from a good family, with a decent fortune and a nice house. She will live in comfort for the rest of her life. And you will be free to do as you wish with your future, without troubling yourself over her.’

‘I do not trouble myself,’ Amy argued. ‘Well, not exactly.’ It was sometimes difficult to have someone so dependent upon her. But it was even more difficult to think of Belle struggling without her. ‘I love her,’ she insisted. ‘I help her when she needs it, because I want her to be happy.’

‘Then you must not stand in the way of the marriage I will arrange for her.’ Her father reached for another letter, breaking its wax seal with a swipe of his finger. It was a definitive gesture, meant to put an end to her argument.

Amy ignored it. ‘An arranged marriage might be fine for some girls. But suppose her husband looks no further than her last name and does not understand that she cannot help the way she is?’

‘He will find out, in time,’ her father said. ‘And by then, it will be too late to do anything about it.’

‘You do not mean to explain?’ Now Father sounded almost as heartless as Mr Lovell.

‘An intelligent man will find it out for himself before he offers,’ her father replied with another warning rattle of papers. ‘If he does not, he will understand that marriages are negotiated contracts, no different than all other business. No human being is perfect. Both sides must balance advantages against defects before coming to an agreement.’

In her father’s mind, the Summoner name had more than enough weight to balance the heaviest of problems. It was a shame that he did not want to marry Mr Lovell himself. They were well matched, since neither of them cared a fig for the feelings of the girl they would be bargaining over. ‘Suppose the husband you choose does not love her as we do?’

‘Love is not necessary before marriage. It might grow in time, of course.’ When he looked up from his work, his expression was distant. ‘I grew to be quite fond of your mother. Her loss was a blow from which I have yet to recover.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Mutual respect is a satisfactory basis for a relationship and far less painful for all parties involved.’

If that was his opinion, then the odious Mr Lovell was exactly the sort of son-in-law he was seeking. But how would she explain the abstract notions of a loveless union to her sister? ‘It sounds very sensible. If we were discussing my courtship, I might be swayed. Belle is different. She will be happier in a match where there is mutual affection.’

‘A romance, do you mean?’ he responded with a condescending smile to remind her that, in comparison to a man, both his daughters were idiots. ‘The fellow you are hoping for does not exist, Amelia. You have already admitted that your sister is unusual. We love her because we are her family. Others are not likely to be so charitable. Her future husband will require the inducements I am prepared to offer to overlook her deficiencies. It will not help her or any of us if you fill her head with nonsense.’

‘It is not nonsense to want to love and be loved in return,’ she said, wanting with all her heart to believe that was true.

Her father sighed. ‘So you told me when you refused the offers put to you in your own Season. Now you seek to make a failure of your sister’s come out.’ He shook his head in disappointment. ‘I did not think you so selfish, Amelia.’

‘I am not selfish,’ she insisted. ‘I want what is best for her. If she weds, she will still need looking after. If you mean to choose a husband without a care to her feelings, it will be up to me to help her adjust to her new life and to console her should it all go wrong.’

His eyes narrowed, as if her words had only confirmed his opinion. ‘I suspect your coddling the girl has caused most of her problems. When she does not have you to support her, she will learn to stand on her own, quick enough.’

‘She will not because she cannot.’ And thus they arrived at the usual sticking point. Discussions of Belle’s difficulties always ended with her father refusing to believe they could not be solved by more effort on Belle’s part and less interference on Amy’s. ‘This has nothing to do with desire to meddle in her future. She needs someone to care for her, Father. She always has. It is why I did not marry and why I intend to live in her household, after she weds. She needs me.’

Lord Summoner passed a hand over his brow to shield himself from feminine logic. ‘It is one thing to play the spinster, Amelia, and quite another to actually become one. If you seriously think to follow her into her new household, I will have to find one man willing to take responsibility for both daughters. You are making my job twice as difficult.’

‘Good,’ she said, raising her chin in defiance. ‘It will give me time to find her a man who truly understands her.’

‘If the situation is as dire as you claim, then perhaps I should find a nurse for her and a husband for you.’ It was a reasonable suggestion, but his cynical smile as he spoke revealed his true feelings in the matter. ‘Since you have spent years ruining all chances for your own marriage that is now quite impossible. In any case, know that I cannot die leaving two unmarried daughters to fend for themselves.’

‘Since you are not near to death, we hardly need to worry about it,’ she pointed out, unwilling to respond to the bait he set for her.

‘And you are not the head of the family, though you seem to think you can act thus. The final decision on Belle’s future is mine and mine alone. She will be married by Season’s end and your approval of my choice is not required or appreciated.’

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 (#u26384673-23c1-538c-b181-6340826a0f65)

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 (#u26384673-23c1-538c-b181-6340826a0f65)

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.’

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 (#u26384673-23c1-538c-b181-6340826a0f65)

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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