Page 2 of The Rules of Matrimony (The Matchmaking Mamas #4)

Amie Tyler had one goal in life: keep a roof over her head. Couldn’t Mama try a little harder to cooperate? Telling Aunt last night that her hair was ugly was not trying. That sort of behavior was exactly why Amie had to insist Mama join her on a morning stroll, because leaving her at home, unsupervised, was no longer an option. Mama’s penchant for trouble was threatening to undo their future—again.

“Must we walk so early?” Mama complained, fidgeting with her rather plain bonnet.

Plain was a word they had both become very familiar with. “Most of the gentry are still abed, so yes.”

Mama’s lips formed a pout. “What do you mean by that? Isn’t the point of a walk to be seen?”

This sort of mindset had always led to trouble in the past. “Uncle Nelson doesn’t like us to be seen, remember?” He had a standard to uphold in Chestervale and maintained strict rules for them. If they did not conduct themselves with the utmost decorum, he would abandon them too. After living with six different relatives, she and Mama were out of family who would willingly take them in.

Mama sniffed. “I never liked my husband’s cousins.”

Amie linked arms with her. “Liking something is a luxury we cannot afford.”

Mama’s pretty face turned more sullen. Amie bit back an exasperated reply that would surely canker a growing hurt. If Mama would learn to handle her emotions better, they wouldn’t be so desperate. When they’d first left Chestervale after Papa’s death and moved in with family in Reading, Mama had disliked a decorative side table and had donated it without permission. That had been the beginning of many offenses. She said and did the most absurd things when flustered. If they intended to keep appearances for the Nelsons’ sake, Amie had to keep her mother away from Society. Hence their early morning walk.

Amie stole a glance at Mama as they maneuvered around a lower-hanging branch in need of trimming and felt an ounce of regret at her harsh thoughts. She was a good mother—sweet and always attentive. As a daughter of a baronet, it wasn’t her fault she had been raised with far more privilege than she could possibly expect to ever have again. She had married a gentleman, but not one who could support her in death. This, too, was not her fault, nor that Amie had been born a daughter and not a son who could inherit. But even so, sometimes Amie wondered if Mama was sabotaging their situations on purpose.

“Are you certain we shouldn’t return home and walk a little later?” Mama asked. “Not a soul is out, and at your age, you should be paraded about during a sociable hour to catch a man’s eye.”

Amie suppressed a laugh since Mama was being completely serious. A walk wouldn’t suddenly make a man interested in her after all these years of figurative famine. To keep her smile hidden, Amie pretended to adjust the simple bouquet of poppies in her arms that she had purchased the day before. “Today’s walk is to visit Papa, remember? The graveyard was rather crowded yesterday, and I prefer to visit with some semblance of privacy today.”

Crowded was a bit of an exaggeration. There had been one man. A drunk lying around midmorning in a churchyard , of all places. She hoped the mint leaves had helped him settle any upset stomach known to follow a drink. It was a good thing she had had some on hand to give to her neighbor. The last thing she wanted was to find the contents of his stomach dirtying up one of her favorite places. She did not recall Chestervale being the sort of town where drunks were allowed to sleep in respectable places. London was growing too big and spilling over its lack of morals onto their streets.

“I wish you wouldn’t go to the graveyard every day,” Mama said. “I do not think it proper for a young lady to be seen there so often.”

Perhaps not, but they hadn’t lived close to Papa’s grave in years, and Amie was making up for lost time. “It is a good thing everyone is asleep, then. In any case, we cannot miss it this time. It’s been eleven years today since Papa died.”

They rounded the corner to the churchyard, and Amie barely withheld her groan. For there stood the Peterson sisters—the worst of the worst gossip mongers. They were hardly older than Mama and even more troublesome.

“Fiddlesticks.” They excelled at provoking just about everyone with their cynicism and hypocrisy. Life did like to laugh at her. “What are they doing awake at this hour?”

“What are any of us doing awake?” Mama asked in return.

The sisters stood beside a grand carriage Amie did not recognize and were on their toes, peering through the windows into a cab that must have stood empty. There appeared to be a seal on the door, signifying the owner as a significant person, which had no doubt lured the two women from their beds. The driver sat tight-lipped and resolute and would not converse with them. Smart man.

Tugging on her mother’s too-thin arm, Amie made a desperate attempt to pass by the sisters unnoticed. Mama did not care for them either since they made her extremely nervous, and she gave a nod of agreement. Fortune smiled upon Amie and Mama—a rare occurrence—and they made it to the gate of the churchyard without being spotted. Amie shut the gate behind them, not a creak sounding even though she knew such an effort would not keep anyone out who had the mind to follow.

The churchyard was not grand in size. It was a simple, grassy garden with one path that led to the church and a second that led to the graves on the side of the building. When they rounded the church, a woman Amie did not recognize stood in front of a headstone, her face lined with sadness. She was neither old nor young, but rather, her appearance was timeless and her clothes nothing short of exquisite. Amie’s heart constricted. Loss touched everyone—rich or poor. She had never been very good at seeing anyone grieving or depressed.

At least it was not the drunk man again. She had been unable to stop thinking of him . What had sent him into such a sorry state? It must have been an awful matter for him to end up asleep beside the dead.

Amie pulled her mother to a stop at Papa’s grave and sneaked another glance at the stranger. “Excuse me for a moment, Mama.” Unable to restrain herself, she set one flower out of her bouquet on Papa’s grave before leaving Mama’s side and walking toward the grieving woman.

Mama’s eyes followed Amie, but Mama remained behind.

“Pardon my interruption.” Amie stepped up beside the stranger. “Would you take my flowers to set on the grave you are visiting?”

The woman blinked her watery eyes. “What a sweet offering, but I mustn’t take them when you clearly brought them to decorate a grave of your own.”

Amie would not be dissuaded. “I know it cannot erase the hurt, but I find the act of leaving something brings me comfort.” She extended the flowers and set her hand on the woman’s arm. Touching a stranger was frowned upon, but grief was a universal language and eased the gap of introduction and manner. “My father is just over there, and he receives flowers often enough that he won’t mind.”

The woman glanced at Amie’s hand with a look of surprise, but an appreciative smile bloomed on her face. She reached to accept the flowers. “Thank you.”

Amie gave a slow nod. “I hope happy memories find you.”

The woman’s eyes tightened, and her lips gave an almost imperceptible tremble. “You are very kind.”

Amie shook her head. “It’s nothing. Just a few flowers.”

“It’s not nothing. I am hesitant to admit it, but I had a sudden yearning to not be alone just now. Your presence brought me comfort.”

“I am pleased I could be of assistance, then.”

The woman’s expression grew thoughtful. “I meet a great deal of young ladies, but I imagine very few of them approaching me with such guileless intentions. Truly, I must thank you again.”

Amie produced a small, humble smile and retreated back a step.

“Wait,” the older woman put out her hand. “I want to return the favor, if I can. Is that your mother there?”

Amie nodded.

The woman wiped away the traces of moisture from her eyes. “I should like to meet her.”

Amie hesitated. But she loved Mama and shouldn’t be ashamed to introduce her to this fine woman. So long as nothing made Mama nervous or made her feel lesser in any way, surely she would not have cause to say anything untoward. Amie stepped away to collect her mother.

“What is it, Amie?” Mama hissed, looking around her shoulder at the stranger. “Who is that woman? You cannot know her.”

“I don’t know her, but she requested to meet you.”

“She did?” Mama’s brows rose, measuring the woman from top to bottom. “Her person is rather fine.” Mama straightened with an air of self-importance that Amie supposed came from being raised in the upper classes of the gentry. Such airs were often found offensive by others who knew Mama to be naught but a penniless widow living off the charity of her relatives. “Of course she wants to meet me,” Mama said. “Lead the way, Amie.”

Amie grimaced inwardly, but she led Mama past the few headstones between them and the woman without saying a word to the contrary.

Amie motioned to Mama beside her. “May I present my mother, Mrs. Tyler, and ... Forgive me, I do not know your name.”

“Lady Kellen.”

“A lady?” Her mother’s voice pitched high, clearly impressed. She patted Amie’s shoulder a few times too many and hissed loudly in her ear, “She’s a lady , Amie.” As Mama was once a respected matron in the community, status was extremely important to her.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Tyler.” Lady Kellen smiled with amusement. “And you must be Miss Tyler?”

“Miss Amie Tyler.” Amie dipped a curtsy.

“Deeper,” her mother chided under her breath but loud enough for their present company to overhear.

Amie lowered herself farther, her cheeks warming.

Lady Kellen did not withdraw in disapproval but let her smile widen. “I insisted on meeting you, Mrs. Tyler. I am so touched by your daughter’s kindness toward a perfect stranger. It is a rare sight.”

“She is a good girl.” Mama beamed. “Some say she is a wallflower, but I do not believe it. She has everything to recommend herself.” No one could say Mama wasn’t proud of her, though Amie had done nothing to deserve it outside the bonds of blood. She had no real talent for anything. And she was a wallflower.

Lady Kellen complimented Mama’s bonnet—a difficult task since there was little beauty in it—and the two of them began chatting away about ribbons and fabrics. Nothing in Mama’s behavior now left anything for an onlooker to criticize. They turned toward the grave Lady Kellen had just been standing in front of, with Amie trailing behind in awe.

“Might I introduce you to my deceased family?” Lady Kellen pointed to the headstone she stood in front of. It read Lord Reynolds . “He died before I met him. You might think it strange that I mourn his death, and rightly so, but his influence has played a great role in my life. I wish I could have known him. Perhaps if I would have, I might have understood so much more about my present situation.”

Mama gave a distinguished curtsy to the lifeless stone. Amie did not know how to respond. She did think it strange that Lady Kellen would mourn a man she didn’t know, but Amie also understood how a single death could affect so much of one’s life. She, too, dipped her head out of respect.

Lady Kellen set Amie’s flowers on Lord Reynold’s grave. “Family is everything, is it not? Your daughter is a credit to you, Mrs. Tyler. If I should have had a daughter, I would have hoped for her to display such genuine goodwill toward others as yours has.”

Mama smiled. A real smile—one Amie had not seen for years. “Amie is my treasure.”

“We will leave you to have a moment of privacy.” Amie had simply done what her conscience bid her to do and was uncomfortable with such high praise. “Come, Mama, we should get back.”

Lady Kellen lifted a hand in parting. “Good day to you both. I will not forget your kindness.” She flipped a pretty dark-blue veil over her face, one no doubt employed for privacy and to hide her emotions. Amie smiled back at her before she and Mama took the path to the gate.

“What a gracious woman, did you not think?” Mama unlatched the gate for them.

An affirmative was on the tip of Amie’s tongue when the Peterson sisters pounced.

Drat. Amie had forgotten about them.

The older spinster, Miss Peterson, was the worst of the two, a pencil of a woman, with her gray hair pulled back tight on her scalp. “Mrs. Tyler, Miss Tyler, what are you two doing up at this ghastly hour?” she asked.

Another famous Peterson statement, recognizable by its hypocrisy.

“On our way home,” Amie said at the same time her mother answered, “Visiting the graves.” Amie did not correct their mismatched statements but tugged her mother a few steps farther.

Miss Peterson stepped in front of them with a scowl. “Visiting your dead father? That man was useless, and you should be glad he is gone. He left you with nothing, and you were forced from your home like common beggars.”

Amie tugged her mother again, but it was no use. She would not budge.

“Common? Amie, did she say common?” her mother asked.

Gritting her teeth, Amie pasted on a fake smile. It seemed a conversation—or should she say, an exercise of patience—must occur, but she would do her best to keep it short. “Regardless of our misfortunes, we are happily situated, Miss Peterson, but thank you for your concern.”

Miss Peterson harrumphed and looked down her long nose at Amie. “Happy, indeed. You have finally returned only to be a burden to your relatives.” She turned her sharp gaze back to Mama. “You should have had a son. He could have provided for you.”

Amie felt Mama’s back straighten beside her and quickly inserted a response before Mama could. “Thank you again for another insightful observation, Miss Peterson. We shall be on our way now.”

Another tug and no movement from Mama.

“Sister, if either of us had a daughter, she would be married by the time she was eighteen.”

The younger, Miss Matilda Peterson, nodded. “Indeed, sister. How old is Miss Tyler again?”

“I am four and twenty,” Amie said, her careful patience waning. She had felt young just yesterday. She was aging by the moment. “Come, Mama, Aunt will be missing us.”

“If—” Mama’s reply was cut off by Miss Matilda’s gasp.

“Four and twenty?” Miss Matilda said.

Miss Peterson clucked her tongue. “Why, she is firmly on the shelf.”

The hurtful words stung, no matter their truthfulness.

Mama trembled beside her, and this time Amie was not quick enough to speak first. “It takes a spinster to recognize another spinster, does it not?”

Amie barely withheld her groan. No matter their impertinence, the Peterson sisters had money and a position in Chestervale, and Mama shouldn’t offend them. It would get back to their Aunt and Uncle, and then what?

Miss Peterson’s nostrils flared. “Why, I have never heard anything so rude.”

Mama opened her mouth to deliver another setdown, but Lady Kellen’s timely appearance made for a welcome distraction. She slipped through the gate and crossed over to them. She took Mrs. Tyler’s arm, leaned over and whispered something to her—no doubt an embarrassed goodbye ... and a particularly long one at that.

Amie thought she caught the word favor . And something about family name . Lady Kellen caught Amie watching her, and with a twinkle in her eye, delivered a promising smile her way. The driver alighted from his seat and swung the carriage door ajar. Lady Kellen hurried toward him, and with a strong hand, he whisked her inside.

As soon as the carriage door shut, Miss Peterson’s shrewd eyes pinned Mama in place. “ Who was that?” she hissed. “A woman of consequence, no doubt, but I cannot abide veils. Only the guilty should want to hide their face.”

Mama did not answer her question. Instead, she asked one of her own. “What were you saying about my daughter being on the shelf? Upon my honor, she is not.” Mama’s voice was oddly firm.

“Mama, please,” Amie begged. They needed to hurry home so they could begin writing letters of apology, not stay here and make matters worse.

Miss Peterson batted a hand in the air, unfazed. “We have already established that Miss Tyler has reached the age where it is obvious she is unwanted by any men. Now who was that strange woman? I must know.”

Mama cleared her throat and spoke louder. “My daughter is not an old maid, because ... because she is engaged to be married.”

Silence.

Utter silence.

And perhaps a little choking on Amie’s end. She needed air and fast!

“Engaged?” The Peterson sisters said at once.

“Mama!” Amie finally sputtered, clutching her throat. Shock reverberated through her ears down to her scuffed half boots. “What are you saying?”

“Not now, Amie.” Mama shushed her, then as if she were announcing to the entire street, declared loudly, “My daughter is engaged to Lord Reynolds.”

W-who was Lord Reynolds?

Amie’s eyes widened past their conceivable size. Oh, no. No, no, no. That was the name etched on the headstone Lady Kellen had pointed to! The world tilted underneath Amie’s feet. She could faint. Mama had announced Amie’s engagement to a dead man!

“Lord Reynolds?” Miss Peterson repeated, her voice as incredulous as if the apparition of Amie’s dead betrothed had appeared directly in front of her.

Mama’s mouth opened and closed several times like a fish before she settled on a nod.

“Mama!” Amie scolded, begging with her eyes for her mother to confess the truth.

Lady Kellen’s carriage rolled forward, ignorant of the scandal erupting behind it. What would the kind woman say to having her family’s name abused? And worse, tied so shamefully to Amie?

“Why are we just hearing of this? It’s all rather shocking,” Miss Peterson said, and Miss Matilda nodded.

“It was a secret,” Mama answered succinctly. “And now it is not.” She justified her lie as calmly as one would describe the weather.

Amie covered her face with her hand, the world spinning behind her closed lids. It had happened again. Her mother’s pride and nerves had gotten the better of her. But this! This was by far her worst mistake yet!

Miss Peterson beckoned Miss Matilda to follow her. “We must tell everyone. No one will believe it.” The Peterson sisters rushed away in the opposite direction the carriage had gone.

Amie’s heart pounded, fear tightening around her ribs and threatening to burst. “Mama, how could you have done something so foolish?” She was too upset to even produce tears.

“Forgive me, Amie, but whatever you do, do not correct them. Your reputation depends on everyone believing us.”

“So does our living situation!” Amie did not get angry easily, but her fears added to her mounting frustration. “What will Uncle think of this?”

“He will congratulate you the same as everyone else.” Her mother had the gall to look satisfied with herself. “You might think me foolish, but I think it is the best day of our lives. What good news to have you engaged!”

Amie would laugh if she could, but she found absolutely no humor in the situation. “But it’s all a lie. Eventually, people will wonder why a suitor never visits and why I never wed.”

Her mother tilted her head as though a glimpse of reality passed in front of her for a brief moment. “We will find a different suitor before that happens. You are a special daughter, remember? Try not to worry, and trust your mama.”

Trust Mama? What Amie needed was not trust but a miracle. Once her aunt and uncle learned of her mother’s deceit—and they would—nothing would stop them from sending Amie and Mama away. With no money or connections left, there was nowhere else to go.

They would be homeless.