The Wedding Game(45)

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

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

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

With love,





Ben

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

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

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

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

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

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

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





Chapter Sixteen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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