Page 20 of The Rules of Matrimony (The Matchmaking Mamas #4)

If his wedding had been awkward, dinner with Amie and his parents was far worse.

“We must apologize again for coming unannounced,” Mama said to Amie across the table. Amie had dressed the part with a pretty pale-yellow gown and her hair pinned neatly to her head. Too neatly. He suddenly wished it were down, which would be, of course, completely inappropriate. His tired mind was abusing him again.

“You are always welcome,” Amie said. She met Ian’s gaze, almost as if she sought approval of her statement.

He smiled at her and gave a small nod. She had done exceedingly well for her first time hosting. He knew she had little experience with gatherings to the level his family was used to, but no one would know it by how she performed her role. She carried herself with an air of grace and said all the right things.

Was it wrong of him that he was half afraid of another unexpected occurrence? Something like finding a maid convalescing in the family rooms. He still couldn’t believe how the house had been turned upside-down in the mere two days of his absence.

After dinner, his mother took Amie’s arm, and the two of them left to the sitting room together. He heard Amie whisper an apology about missing the wedding breakfast. He cringed inwardly. He should have been the one to apologize for it, but he was grateful she had done it for them. He tried to relax back in his seat, but his muscles were stretched taut. It was just him and his father now, and Ian wasn’t prepared for it.

“Lady Reynolds has exceeded my expectations,” Father said flippantly.

Ian resisted slamming down his glass at his father’s impertinent statement but instead rested the glass as gently as he could on the table. “I do not think you need any expectations for my wife since your opinion holds no weight on the subject. We are already married.”

Father pressed his lips together. “All I’m saying is you could have done worse in your rush to disobey me.”

Ian’s grip tightened around his glass. If he gripped it any harder, he knew he would crush it. This was no backhanded compliment. It was a reminder that his father was wise to the situation and an even greater reminder that Ian was a continual disappointment. Unless he wanted glass shards stuck in his hand, continuing this conversation seemed pointless. Ian pushed back his chair. “You must excuse me. I am eager to be by Amie’s side.” He strolled purposefully from the table. His father’s voice stopped him before he made it very far.

“Did you miss her so terribly when you took off to London in the middle of your wedding trip?”

Ian ground his teeth together, fighting against all the frustrated words he wanted to throw at his father. He turned, just enough so his father could see his calm expression—albeit incredibly forced. “I had important business in London. Is that why you rushed here? To ascertain if I regretted my choice? You can see for yourself, Amie and I are happily wed.”

He did not wait for his father to respond. With a controlled hand, he pulled the door open and strode into the sitting room. His breath, however, came in short bursts. Amie looked over her shoulder at him from her seat on the sofa and smiled.

That one smile, laced with her innocent charm, steadied him. His anger melted considerably. He had calmed her in her storm, and she would not abandon him in his time of need either. They were allies, and while it was and would always be a loveless marriage, she was offering her friendship.

And he would take it.

y

Ian forced a visage of calm when he felt anything but. His father, annoyed by the sleeping situation, grumbled under his breath about sharing the family rooms with the help. Mama, however, was her usual collected self and did not betray her feelings on the subject. They stood outside his bedchamber, as if waiting for him and Amie to turn in first.

“Good night, then,” he said to his parents.

“Good night,” Mama said.

Father held his ground, his expression smug.

Ian held out his arm for Amie and led her into her room—their room. The last thing he saw before he shut the door was his father’s raised brow. Ian wouldn’t give him a single reason to think this marriage a sham.

A trembling hand on his arm altered his attention away from his father. He glanced down at Amie. She looked rather pale. Her nerves were betraying her.

Ian cleared his throat and whispered, “I am sorry.”

Amie released him and took a step away. “It isn’t your fault.”

“I won’t forget the first rule of our contract tonight,” he said.

She nodded, but by her noticeable gulp, she wasn’t ready to swallow this situation he had served her.

He looked around, wondering how to proceed. Neither of them was dressed for the night. “I will step out for a moment and let your maid attend to you.”

She nodded too many times. “That would be kind.”

He almost laughed but more from awkwardness than humor. He nodded and let himself out. When he turned, he saw his father standing there with his arms folded, looking not at all surprised to see him.

“I ...” Ian started, searching for some excuse. He spoke the first thing that came to his mind, something that was in truth about himself. “Amie sometimes has trouble sleeping. I’m fetching some warm milk from the kitchen.”

“Can’t a servant do that?”

Ian straightened. “A husband ought to serve his wife when he can.” He moved to the staircase before his father could laugh in his face. Even if Ian didn’t love Amie, he would stand by his statement, regardless if he was in the minority in his opinion.

After stalling in the kitchen, taking a moment to play with Tiny, where they had decided he’d best remain with company in the house, Ian returned upstairs with the warm milk. He’d been gone at least a quarter hour, but his father was still standing in the corridor. Father leaned against the wall, examining his fingernails, obviously waiting for him. Ian gave him a curt nod and marched toward Amie’s bedchamber door. He wanted, with everything he possessed, to knock, but to save face, he did not. When he entered, he kept his face down, and once the door was closed, he hastily turned toward it.

“Are you decent?” he whispered.

“Yes,” Amie said.

He turned and found she was already in bed, with covers pulled up to her neck. The second thing he noticed was a line of pillows beside her, right down the middle of the bed.

Once again, his frustration melted at the sight of her. He fought his smile as he blew out the candles by the fireplace and, though she might not appreciate it, approached her on her side of the bed. He handed her the warm milk.

She sat up and accepted it. “Thank you. This is very thoughtful.”

“You’re welcome.” He pointed to the pillows. “The boundary line is most creative.”

“I didn’t want to accidentally touch you. I know how sensitive you are about rule number one.”

His brows rose. “Me? Sensitive?”

She nodded.

He wasn’t sensitive about anything. He opened his mouth to argue, but there was no point. She was right that he didn’t want her to touch him, but not because he was afraid she would give him a disease. In truth, he wanted her comfort more than his own. “My sensitivities are not as important as yours. Is there anything else I can do to make this night easier for you?”

She studied the bed that looked a great deal smaller with her in it, especially with the pillows. He would be sleeping on the edge all night.

“Perhaps you could sleep upside-down?” she asked.

“What?” The word came out louder than he’d intended. He looked at the wall separating them from his parents and, in a lower voice, repeated, “What?”

“You know, put your head on the opposite end of the bed and your feet near the top?”

Of all the ridiculous ideas. He bit down his natural response once more. “I can certainly do as you ask.” It trumped sleeping on the floor.

Amie finished her milk and set it aside. “I’ll turn away while you undress.” She blew out her candle beside her and put the blanket over her head.

She made it sound like he was stripping down to nothing. He held in his chuckle and moved to his side of the bed. He cast off his boots, jacket, cravat, and waistcoat. Then he unbuttoned the top of his shirt so he could breathe better. Neither it nor his trousers were going anywhere. He didn’t want to shock Amie more than the circumstances already were.

He blew out the candle on his side of the bed, the last one lit, before flipping his pillow to the bottom of the bed and slipping under the covers himself. “You can take the blanket off your head now. I’m decent.”

Amie pulled the blanket off, but even in the dark, he could tell she did not move to glance at him. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

He lay there for several minutes, sleep evading him. Devil take it, his pillow smelled like Amie—an intoxicating vanilla that would haunt his dreams.

Amie stirred on her side. “Ian?” she whispered.

“Hmm?”

“You don’t have to tell me, but I am curious why you and your father do not get along.”

“It’s a long history. I am not certain where to start.”

“I see. Is there anything about your father that you admire? Or does everything about him bother you?”

What a question. “Must I answer?”

“No, you don’t have to.”

He thought about it for a moment. So much of his father bothered him that he hadn’t spared a moment to look for any good qualities. He supposed the man had a few, as most people did. Ian thought she might be asleep by the time he answered. “I suppose he is decisive and not easily fooled.” Unfortunately for them.

Amie stirred a little. “It seems he gave his best traits to you.”

He gave a half smile against his pillow. “I’m glad you see something in me worth admiring after what I’ve put you through tonight.”

“I see more good in you than that,” she said. “Though sometimes I don’t think you want others to know how good you are.”

He shook his head against his pillow. Amie could be extremely honest when she decided to open up to a person. “You sound like my friends in Brookeside. Sometimes, I think they’re the only ones who know the real me.” He didn’t know why he’d said it, but there was no taking it back now.

Her quiet voice answered back, “I am happy you have people like that in your life.”

Her words touched him. More than she would probably ever know. “What about you? Who knows the real Amie?”

“I ... I don’t know.” He hadn’t expected for her to stumble over her answer. “Tell me about Brookeside,” she said quickly. “You mentioned you have a house there that you might return to at some point. Do you love it because your friends are there, or is there something special about the location that draws you in?”

It didn’t escape him how she’d turned the subject back on him. He didn’t mind. He could talk about Brookeside all day. “Bellmont Manor is a picture, but the land is what is truly beautiful. We have two ponds, where we swim, fish, and picnic. My friends and I prefer the farther one because it’s larger and removed from onlookers.”

“What else?” she asked, a yawn nearly cutting off her words.

It was like she was asking him to talk her to sleep. He did so little for her that he would oblige her in this. “There’s the Dome.”

“The Dome?”

“My hideout—a Palladian-style temple.” He couldn’t believe he was telling her this, but it was as close to a bedtime story as he could think of. “The place where my friends and I scheme about escaping our mothers and saving the world.”

“It sounds perfect.”

“It is to me. The Rebels and our missions are my life.”

“Rebels?”

He nodded against his pillow. “That’s what we call ourselves—Rebels against Society’s injustices.” He had never told anyone about the secret work he and his friends did, but it felt right telling Amie.

After a moment, she asked another question, breaking the stillness in the room with her quiet voice. “The friends from your wedding. Are they Rebels?”

“Yes, along with Lisette and Walter Bentley. You might have heard, but they remained behind in Brookeside for personal matters. Five of us grew up together, but now their spouses have joined the cause too.”

“And you help people?” There was awe in her voice, and her respect made him feel like twice the man he was.

“We try to.”

“Your life in Brookeside sounds like an adventure.”

“At times, it has been.” In an attempt to help her relax, he shared a few stories of his getting into scrapes as a child. He added other information about his home and his friends, mostly insignificant details. When he heard her soft breathing, he knew she was finally asleep. He forced his eyes to close and his mind to empty, but Amie’s question about his father circled in his mind again, pushing away all the sweet memories of Brookeside. He rotated from his side to his back, but the question persisted.

What did he like about his father?

The man wasn’t all bad. Outside of his personal life, he supposed his father had been a bit of a Rebel himself. He’d done a lot of good with his career in Parliament. Ian had noticed, but he hadn’t wanted to believe it. What good was a man’s work if he neglected his family?

Ian willed that question to linger in his mind instead, and for some reason, it made him think of Amie. He drifted off to sleep before he could figure out why.