The Wedding Game. Christine Merrill
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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