The Wedding Game. Christine MerrillЧитать онлайн книгу.
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.
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.’
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