The Wedding Game(15)

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.’