He had told her it was impossible. He knew in his heart that it would be. But he could not help hoping that she would ignore him and come anyway. If she did, he would not be able to send her away.
Maybe this week they could find the restraint that had been lacking in their previous encounters. If they could aspire to a platonic relationship, he would be spared the terrible emptiness he’d felt as he’d written the letter. Even if he could not have her, he could still see her. It was something, at least.
At the moment, Belle was on his arm, following with less spirit than Mellie the dog. If she was impressed by the size and modernity of his home, he saw no sign of it. If anything, she looked frightened.
One step behind them, Amy kept up a running commentary on his tour, pointing out the smoothness with which the kitchen ran with no help from the master, the spacious bedrooms and the pleasant view of the gardens where Mellie could chase rabbits while his owner sat in the shade of the oaks.
Did she actually like the place, or was she only encouraging her sister? Damn his pride, but it was important that she be impressed. But she sounded no more attached to it than an agent hired to rent the house.
‘If you like dancing,’ he reminded Belle, ‘you will find the ballroom delightful.’ He opened a door and brought them out on to the little balcony that had been designed to hold the musicians. The sound of their voices echoed through the room below.
‘Think of the lovely parties you will have here, Belle,’ her sister said coaxingly. ‘And you will dance every set.’
It was likely not true. As hostess, she would have to attend to the happiness of her guests before her own. But the idea that she might dance here brought back the sparkle that had disappeared from her smile. ‘We will dance here tonight,’ he agreed, ‘After the rest of the guests have arrived.’
‘I would like that,’ Belle agreed hesitantly.
Now that he knew her better, her beauty did not have the same, devastating effect on him that it had. Was it really so easy to become jaded with perfection? Or was it simply that she was not the one who had been meant for him?
When had he begun to crave a love match? He had learned when he was much younger that love was a dangerous business. Life was better when one was not caught and suffering like a fly in a web, about to be devoured by the teeth of one’s own passion.
He had come to London well aware that love was not necessary for a successful marriage. He wanted tranquillity. And he might still have it, if he learned to take satisfaction in the smiles of the pretty but simple girl.
There were likely many tricks to making her at ease. He would need Amy to teach them to him for it might take years to learn them on his own. If he could have her here, just to talk to...to explain...
And there he was again, standing on the edge of a cliff and wanting to jump just to feel the wind in his hair as he fell. If he could not even turn around to look her in the eye without being near to overcome by lust, his future was not likely to be full of innocent conversations about her sister’s happiness.
‘Ben?’ The young voice came from the doorway, directly under the balcony they were standing on. Belle stepped forward to peer cautiously over the edge, wondering at the source.
‘In the gallery, above you,’ he called, then turned to the girls, leading them to the steps down to the main floor. ‘I have been looking forward to this moment for some time. I would like to introduce you to a special friend of mine.’
It was hardly fair to the boy who stood at the foot of the steps, watching their approach. Even travel-weary, the Summoner girls were intimidatingly beautiful. Despite his recently acquired sangfroid, John was still, underneath it all, a fourteen-year-old boy, struggling with the same feelings that showed no more mercy to kings than they did to bootblacks.
‘Your Grace.’ Ben bowed. ‘May I introduce my fiancée, Arabella Summoner, and her sister, Amelia? Ladies, his Grace the Duke of Cottsmoor.’
For a moment, he was caught between mutual expressions of owl-eyed wonder on the faces of John and Amy. Belle seemed to understand that she should be in awe. But from her expression, she could not get past the fact that the person who should demand her respect was also barely out of leading strings.
Amy regained control after only a second or two and executed a perfect curtsy. ‘Your Grace.’
A single glance to her side demonstrated to Belle what was expected of her and Belle duplicated her sister’s greeting.
John was the slowest to regain his wits. He looked from one to the other, then managed a clumsy bow, ‘Miss Summoner,’ he said, turning to Belle. ‘Miss Arabella.’ The second bow had a hitch in it, as though someone had punched him in the stomach to make him bend.
But it was far better than he’d have managed at that age. Ben smiled at the boy, unable to disguise his pride at the success. Then he rescued them all from awkward silence. ‘Cottsmoor has agreed to take a few days from his studies to celebrate with us.’