Page 22 of The Rules of Matrimony (The Matchmaking Mamas #4)

Amie didn’t consider herself to be hiding in the library. The servants knew where she was. No, she was staying out of the line of fire. Lady Kellen had gone to visit a friend she knew who lived a short carriage ride away, leaving the two men to spar with words freely whenever they were in company together. Amie had tended to Gwen, brought a treat to Tiny, and overseen any other hostess duties, but in the end, she had needed a retreat.

Even sewing was preferable to either of the men’s company at the moment. Especially Ian’s. After this morning, she didn’t know what to think of him ... of them. Somehow, something had shifted again, much like it had after their wedding. There had been a heated tension pulling between them all day. They were either looking at each other or trying not to. She needed time to sort it out.

Amie unpacked her sewing basket in search of the handkerchief she was embroidering with her new initials, in case she ever attended any parties or public outings. She shifted her basket and dropped her needle on the ground. Sighing, she set the basket aside and climbed onto her hands and knees to search for her needle. While brushing her hand along the blue Axminister carpet, the door to the library opened. Her tea, finally. The sofa blocked her view of the entering maid, and Amie didn’t dare move her hand from her search to stand or wave her in. With a few more swipes, she finally secured the needle and returned it to its place in the basket on the floor. Suddenly, a voice behind her spoke.

“I haven’t forgotten what’s happened,” Ian said. “How could I?”

Ian? Amie’s whole body cringed. He had found her. And on her hands and knees, as though she were some idiotic baboon! Maybe asking him to sleep upside-down had been too much. Didn’t he realize that she’d done it only to keep his silly rules? She felt like a disobedient puppy ready to be chastised by its master. She kept her head ducked, embarrassed to face him.

His gruff tone changed to a softer one. “My words might take you by surprise since we are little acquainted, but a change must be made.”

A change? Her head tilted an inch to the side.

“You and I are not so dissimilar. In fact, a union between us—an intimate union could make all the difference. I believe—I hope—we feel the same on this subject. Do we not?”

Sweet hope rushed through her. She thought about their almost-kiss that morning. She hadn’t admitted that it had been just that until this moment, but she realized that it meant he had felt something too. Still, she couldn’t move out of her crouched position behind the sofa. Couldn’t answer him. Couldn’t even look at him. As awkward as she was, he was asking her to confess before he did, and she didn’t have the courage. Her heart raced all the same. Could he really want to stop pretending and make a go at their marriage?

“I know so many others hold higher qualifications than I do,” Ian continued, “but the passionate state of my heart is what matters.”

She felt her lips curling into a smile. How modest of him. She did not imagine he had ever been so forthright with his feelings before.

“Please, give me a chance to prove myself,” he begged. Yes, begged. It was nearly Amie’s undoing. “I’ve never asked anything of anyone, but this small favor would mean a great deal to me.”

Her smile came fully this time. She forgot all about wanting to hide and stood up. “Your eloquent words have persuaded me. My answer is yes.”

Ian yelped. His back hit a bookshelf, and a few books tumbled out onto his head. He winced and rubbed a hand through his hair. “Amie, you startled me.”

“I did?” Did he not like her answer? Had he not expected it? But surely he had seen the desire in her eyes that she hadn’t been quite able to hide.

He reached for the books to replace them. “I did not see you there. You were like a ghost, jumping up the way you did.”

“You ... you didn’t see me?”

He shook his head. “What was that you were saying about an answer?”

Her confidence wavered. Had he been practicing his speech to her? “I gave you the answer to your question: yes.”

“My question?” He stared at her, wide-eyed. “Oh, you mean the letter I was dictating to Sir James?”

She frowned deeply, to her very slippers. “Who is Sir James?”

Ian scratched under the cravat at the back of his neck. “Sir James Mackintosh of the House of Commons. Did you think it sounded all right? After my fruitless interview with Robert Peel, I need this to work. It’s really imperative that we work on amending the criminal law together.”

A member of Parliament? Criminal law? She squeezed her eyes shut. How many times must she humiliate herself in front of this man? And on the same day! She had to rethink the particulars of the conversation to see how she possibly thought he was speaking to her, and about them, before she could answer him. Was her heart so deluded that she actually believed he would ever want her? “Oh, fiddlesticks,” she muttered under her breath. “Do you always dictate your letters like this? Or do you usually employ a scribe?”

“No, I prefer to do my correspondence myself. I hoped to get the particulars right before I took up my pen. But the letter seemed to excite you. You must have thought it convincing?”

Too convincing. She had been ready to overlook his failings and try for a real marriage. It was like her father had always told her—she was too soft-hearted. What she needed right now was a trip to see her father’s headstone so she could talk this confusing situation out. She cleared her throat, a very unladylike thing to do, and forced herself to answer him. “I am only convinced by your dictation that you need my help.”

“Oh?” He gave a short laugh. “Do you have experience with writing to members of Parliament?”

She shook her head. She was talking about something else entirely. This was twice now that she had imagined he was saying one thing when he had really meant another. She feigned a look of confidence. “I shall be your scribe and will write what you say until you get it right. You wouldn’t want to confuse Sir James.”

He scowled. “What part was confusing?”

“All of it.” Every last word. “Trust me when I say, you need my help.”

He eyed her as if he could see all the trouble she had ever caused him embodied before him. It wasn’t her fault that he always witnessed the worst of her. Some people thought she had the kindness of angels. They were possibly old or sick, but that wasn’t the point. Either way, she doubted that kindness was what Ian saw when he looked at her.

He rubbed the crease in his chin. “I suppose you may help.”

Her brows rose. He had actually agreed? She had better do something about it before he changed his mind. “Brilliant, I will collect some writing materials.” She rushed past him and out the door to collect parchment and her writing box.

A half hour later, she had written two different versions of the letter, and neither of them could be mistaken for a love letter to herself. She couldn’t decide if that was fortunate or unfortunate. But as she had never received a letter even remotely on that subject, she reminded herself to pay attention. There was a lot to understand about Ian’s interests, and she was determined that this activity would help her puzzle him out. She had never guessed that he would pick such large battles to fight.

Without disclosing too many details, he’d told her about meeting a servant girl caught in the act of thieving and how the thought of her dying had shaken him. Amie had lived in England her entire life and disliked plenty of political and social positions but had never thought about doing anything about it. There was something about Ian’s story that made her see him in a whole new light. He wasn’t out to start a ripple but a tidal wave of progress, and she believed him equal to the task. She wanted to know how he would do it and to watch every moment as history was made.

“This Sir James Mackintosh”—she began—“do you really think he is capable of lowering the number of reasons for hangings?”

“Not just him. He’s on a committee that has been reviewing the criminal law for nearly four years, and before that, others were doing so. I must join their cause. At the risk of sounding like a braggart, my friends and influence could possibly expedite the results. Robert Peel might be the prime minister one day, but he’s biding his time—a true politician. Change will come, but not fast enough. Mackintosh has the tenacity for the subject. He’s going to be the push Peel needs. Every minute counts, and lives depend upon it.”

Amie couldn’t fathom such passion—such commitment. She understood better now what he’d meant on their drive in Chestervale when he had claimed to rebel against the societal rules he did not care for and again last night when he had said he tried to help people. He did not mean it in a flippant, reckless way but in an honorable, just manner. He really did want to make England better. It was a quality wholly without guile and truly admirable.

One question led to another, and Ian patiently answered each one. The time passed quickly, but it was not long enough. Everything he said fascinated her. Many would frown on discussing politics with a woman—they were too delicate a creature—but not Ian. He was unfettered in the knowledge he bestowed.

“You’ve been so kind to answer my questions,” Amie said when no more nagging thoughts came to mind. “If it was not obvious how ignorant I am on matters of state before, it is now.”

“The only crime of ignorance is if you willingly choose to remain in that state despite the opportunity to do otherwise. It’s an admirable quality to seek after knowledge, Amie.”

Her cheeks warmed at the compliment. “I do not know many men who would share your opinion.”

“Then, be grateful that I am your husband and not any other man.” He winked at her, sending a flutter to her middle. Ian had winked at her. Lord Grumpy himself! How was she supposed to respond? After confusing his letter as a declaration of affection, she willed herself not to read into this gesture.

Conversation. They needed more conversation. “You speak as if you often immerse yourself in giving charity and righting Societal wrongs,” she began. “When did you decide to spend your time this way? After all, you are not in Parliament yet and do not have to spend your hours aiding various causes.”

Ian sank down onto the sofa beside her, making her writing lap desk wobble on the other side of her. His arm came up on the back of the sofa but did not extend to her. Giving her a sideways glance, he said, “I was waiting for your questions to turn personal. You have a tendency to pry.” His voice was half serious and half amused.

She looked down sheepishly. “Forgive me.”

“No, I will answer honestly, as I did last night. There are some matters I prefer to keep private, but this does not need to be a secret between us. You might as well understand why I am the way that I am. And I admit, telling you so prolongs facing more conversation with my father.”

Lord Kellen had stuck his head in once, shaken it, and disappeared again. He was a suspicious man. She did not blame Ian for avoiding him.

Ian sat for a moment, lost in his thoughts, or perhaps gathering them. When he began, his words were slow, almost as if he were testing out whether he wanted to share them or not. “Do you remember Mr. Jackson, my friend and the vicar who officiated at the wedding?”

“Yes, I remember him. One of your Rebel friends?”

“He was one of the original five I spoke of last night. Miles Jackson was just a child when he lost his father. He was going to have to move away from Brookeside. Everyone who knew the family was devastated. I was no less upset than anyone. My friends, you see, represented my stability. But a widow without any living must often look to the charity of her relatives, as you well know. It’s the way of Society. My friends and I loathed the unfairness of the situation. So we banded together and found Miles’s mother a new husband so she would not have to move.”

Amie bit her lip to keep from laughing. “You played matchmaker?”

His expression was like a guilty child caught sneaking sweets. “I suppose you could put it that way.”

“Then what happened?”

“It gave us confidence that we could help others in difficult situations. We had been given a second chance to grow up together, and we wanted to give back. And we did. We’ve aided more people than I can count. Some situations were dire, others small, but every trial is significant to the one who carries it. The feeling is addictive and never quite satisfying. The more you help, the more you see who is suffering and needs you. I want to help them all if I can. Some directly, others indirectly. Whatever God allows me to do. It’s why I raced to London to meet with Mr. Peel. I can’t bear the thought of seeing another starving person desperate for food swinging from the gallows. I must do what I can.”

She stared at him. Lord Grumpy had been hiding a heart the size of England. “Ian, I had no idea.”

“What?”

“That you were a hero.”

Astonishment crossed his features. “Me? It’s nothing.” He seemed embarrassed by her admission and quickly stood. “My paltry efforts should never be applauded. I live a privileged life and have a duty to perform.” He dipped his head in a formal parting. “Thank you for all your help today. I should see if my mother has returned.”

He turned and left her alone with her thoughts. Thoughts that swirled in her mind like the inkwell she picked up to put away. How could a man with such a capacity for love push away the attempts from others to love him in return? She saw it first with his family and then with his friends. Why couldn’t he find room in his philanthropic heart to build a relationship with his father? And why did he shy away from the very thought of his own marriage?

She put away the last of her writing tools and lifted her handkerchief once more, rubbing her fingers over the embroidered initials. They didn’t feel as if they belonged to her. It didn’t seem likely that they ever would either. But she did feel prouder to carry the title that belonged to Ian.

Even if he could not give her love, he gave as much as he could. And for now, that was enough.