The Wedding Game. Christine MerrillЧитать онлайн книгу.

       Chapter Three

      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