Page 30 of The Rules of Matrimony (The Matchmaking Mamas #4)

Amie floated through the rest of the day, her emotions suspended by Ian’s kiss. It had lasted a few short minutes, but she had lived a lifetime in them. She wasn’t the same girl her father had abandoned in death, homeless and begging to be cared for. Nor was she the wallflower unnoticed and forgotten.

She had been wanted. And that—despite what she had told Ian before their wedding—was what she truly wanted.

Those strong arms had cherished her, those lips caressed her.

There would be no satisfaction in life now. She had felt the best of it.

At dinner, she tried to school her attention from Ian at the other end of the table and focus on Mama. Increased awareness of him ruined her efforts. She could sense his hands on her waist, back, and cheek. With a subtle lift of her shoulder, she brushed her face against it, hoping the sensation of the memory would fade.

“Amie? Amie!”

She blinked and looked at her mama. “Yes?”

“That’s the third time I’ve asked you to pass the french salad.”

Her brow rose. “Oh, forgive me.” She passed the cold meat strips heavily garnished with shallot, anchovies, and parsley to Mama.

“I do not think you’ve heard anything I’ve said tonight. Are you well?”

Her gaze flicked to Ian’s. His curious expression held hers for a moment, and heat flooded her cheeks.

He would never kiss her again.

She tore her gaze away and fumbled for her fork. “I am well, Mama. I was lost in thought.”

“If you’re sure.” Then Mama raised her voice as if Ian were in another room. “My Amie has an excellent constitution. It’s all the walking she does. Indeed, I cannot recall the last time she had a cold. And she only overeats when distressed, so she rarely ever has an upset stomach.”

A pity Amie hadn’t missed hearing this particular comment. “Mama, Lord Reynolds does not need to know such unimportant details about me.”

“On the contrary,” Ian said. “I am happy to know my wife has good health.”

Reluctantly, she met his gaze again. His expression was perfectly sincere and seemed to repeat, “ You are not a charity case... It would not take any effort at all for me to fall madly in love with you.”

But he hadn’t repeated those words. They were a beautiful echo in her mind. Her stomach fluttered at the recent memory, knowing that he cared. Even if he never acted on it again, at least she knew that much.

Mama spoke again, breaking the thin string of connection between Amie and Ian. “You two have been wed for such a short time, I should think you would like to know such details. But don’t ever give her warm milk. I used to do that when she couldn’t sleep as a child, but it always gave her stomach pains and nightmares.”

Amie’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

A low rumble sounded from the other end of the table, and it sounded suspiciously like a subdued laugh. Ian quickly cleared his throat. “Warm milk, you say? These nightmares don’t make her thrash around, do they?”

Mama put a hand to her chest. “Oh, something terrible. Her bedsheets would always be in a knot come morning.”

More low rumbles. “I shall endeavor to remember that.”

“I haven’t given it to her for years,” Mama said. “There is a chance she has grown out of it. I wouldn’t worry, for as I said, Amie is a healthy woman.”

“Just the same,” Ian said. “Absolutely no warm milk.”

Amie would gladly trade places with the peas in her soup over discussing her humiliating nighttime habits and food sensitivities. She forced herself to give Ian an apologetic look across the table, and she was surprised when he met it with a reassuring smile that warmed her all the way to her toes.

After dinner, Ian excused himself to work. Part of her was disappointed, but the other part was relieved. Now she could focus on Mama’s words, and there would be no need for repeated sentences.

Mama took a seat in the drawing room beside Amie. “Robert cannot be at peace with your wedding. He is depressed and despondent.”

“He will move on soon enough,” Amie said, hugging a throw pillow to her chest.

“I do hope you are right. He really did care for you.” Mama spent the next hour telling her all about the news from town. “Everyone asks about your wedding, and I have never had so many visitors before. It’s like before your father died, but I do not have the energy for it like I used to.”

She hoped her mother hadn’t said or done anything untoward. After the way she’d spread the news of her own daughter’s false engagement, it did make Amie wonder.

Mama stifled a yawn. “Oh, dear me. I should retire to bed before your husband thinks I have no manners at all.”

“He wouldn’t think that.” Amie took her arm, and they walked together through the house and up the stairs. It was nice having Mama by her side again. She really had missed her. Amie entered the bedchamber long enough to yank the bellpull for Edna and to fetch her night things. “Sleep well, Mama.”

“Good night, dear.”

Amie wasn’t worried about interrupting Ian when she opened his door. Knowing him, he would work in his office until his candle all but disappeared. She cast her gaze about the empty room. His large, four-poster bed dwarfed the rest of the room. The mahogany wood scrolled at the ends and gleamed from polish even in the low light. Dark-blue drapes hung from the top, and a matching quilt covered the bed.

She breathed in Ian’s scent: a masculine musk with a hint of amber. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine him standing right in front of her. He had said it correctly when he declared her sentimental. She shook her head and waited for Edna to finish with Mama.

The maid hurried in a few minutes later, long enough to help Amie out of her dress and into her nightgown before Mama called for Edna again. She gave a flustered huff.

Amie handed Edna her evening gown to take with her. “Go ahead, I can brush and braid my own hair.” Not as well as Edna could, but Amie did have years of practice seeing to her own toilet. “Then see yourself to bed. I expect to be up early.” It would do no good for her to linger in this room.

Edna gave a grateful smile. “Thank you, milady.”

Laying her robe on the back of Ian’s chair, Amie sat and picked up her brush. Mindlessly, she worked the tangles from her hair. When she finished, she set her brush down on the dressing table beside Ian’s shaving supplies. Her fingers trailed down the handle of his razor.

The door opened behind her, and her hand stilled. Through the reflection in the mirror, she saw Ian hesitate on the threshold.

“Is it all right if I come in?” he asked.

“Yes, of course.” She reached for her robe and hurriedly put her arms into it.

“I saw Edna on the stairs. Do you need another minute?”

“Not at all.” She stood and tied the strings by her neck. “I’ll turn down the counterpane. Which side do you prefer? I haven’t had any warm milk; you needn’t worry about that.”

Ian smiled, as she’d hoped he would, and shut the door behind him. “I’m planning on staying until your mother is asleep. I will spend the night in the library.”

“The library?” Her hands went to her middle.

“Amie,” Ian came farther into the room, stopping at the end of his bed. “After this morning, you know why I cannot stay here tonight.”

She understood. He wanted to maintain boundaries. “Will you take a pillow and blanket?”

“I’ll find something downstairs.” He sat on the edge of the bed. “Are you happy to have your mother here?”

“I think so. I didn’t realize how much I missed her. We’ve been by each other’s side for so long.”

He clasped his hands lightly in his lap. “After my father’s visit, I hope she will be a great comfort to you.”

Amie played with the ribbon on her robe. “I hope that is the case. I would have liked to have more time to establish myself with the staff before her arrival. Mama can be ... unpredictable.” Amie came and perched on the bed, too, leaving several feet between them.

“Who does that remind me of?” Ian teased.

She scowled. “Don’t make me throw a pillow at you.”

He chuckled. “I meant it in the best of ways.” He looked over at the wall between his room and hers. “How long does your mother take to fall asleep?”

“It depends. She has sleepless nights when she misses Papa. She seemed tired after dinner though.”

Ian pulled out his pocket watch. “I will stay a quarter hour and hope she is asleep by then.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded. “Since you ask all the questions and I tell all the stories, perhaps it should be the opposite tonight. You mentioned you weren’t out in Society much before I came along. Did a man catch your fancy and try to court you?”

She shook her head, a little embarrassed to speak of such things in front of Ian. “Mama always said something outrageous, and no matron would let her son near me. We made quite the reputation for ourselves everywhere we went.”

Ian scrunched his brow. “She seems so docile to me.”

“It’s usually when she’s flustered. She was raised well-off, and she can act above her current station. People do not appreciate such airs from a penniless widow.”

“I see. So, no courtships? Just an infatuated cousin?”

“Not an official courtship, but I did have a business suitor. He had a fancy title, but I always preferred Lord Grumpy.”

Ian chuckled. “Aw, I have heard of him. Handsome fellow.”

“Some might think so,” she teased. “He proved himself to be thoughtful too. He drove me to the orchard and accompanied me to the musical and the theater.”

“Don’t forget the lively family dinner party, where he became your besotted swain.”

“You mean the night I thought your father would have an apoplexy from your brazen behavior, and Lord Halbert would request a duel to protect his daughter’s honor?”

“I’m a good shot, you know.”

She drew back. “What does that mean?”

“I would have won.”

She snatched up a pillow. “I reserve the right to use this if you make any more idiotic statements like that one. Honestly, duels are not a joking matter.”

Ian leaned across the bed, propping his elbow up on it. “Very well, no more talk of duels. What were you like as a child? Sweet with a gentle disposition? I can imagine two braids, darker freckles, and a toothless grin.”

She hugged the pillow. “I don’t know about sweet, but I was shy. I didn’t care for large groups. I had one good friend I would spend hours playing with. We did our fair share of exploring outside, playing pirates and lost damsels in distress. She is two years older than I and is married now with a few children. We write occasionally at Christmas and Easter, but we have grown apart. Our lives—our stations—are very different from each other.”

“Even now that you are a viscountess?”

She laughed. “I forgot about that title. I suppose there is not such a vast rift between us now.”

Ian smiled. “So you were a shy little thing. What made you start visiting your neighbors, then?”

“Neighbor visits were nonnegotiable. From as young as I can remember, I was taught happiness was spelled s - e - r - v - i - c - e because service is the key to true joy.” She said it robotically from years of repetition.

Ian grinned. “I remember the way you spoke to your father’s headstone, as if he were someone you truly admired. Did he teach you this principle? Is that why you value it so much?”

“No, actually. It was my mother.”

Ian’s brow rose. “Truly?”

She ran a hand down the silk pillowcase. “The full estimation of a person cannot be made when they are at their lowest. Mama has been stuck in her grief for many years now; sometimes even I forget who she used to be. She spent years giving and created many friendships along the way. When Papa died, the few who held fast to Mama, she pushed away. She had never learned to receive charity, only give it. Now that she lives on charity, she deeply resents it. I believe that’s the real reason she offended our family and we had to move so often. You know, I never saw it before until this minute.”

Ian sat up a little. “I will endeavor to see this view of her when I am with her next and try harder to understand her. I have a great respect for people who put others before themselves. It’s not a natural inclination for most of us.”

“Practice helps,” she said.

He eyed her. “You have a Rebel spirit.”

“Do I?” That seemed the greatest compliment coming from Ian.

“I am the unofficial leader of the Rebels, so I would know.”

“What is the nickname that they called you?” She had been dying to ask about it since Tom had mentioned the name at their wedding.

His brow lowered. “Favorite Friend, probably.”

Seeing his predictable reaction, she couldn’t help her mocking tone as she took hold of her pillow. “Oh? I thought it was Mother Hen .”

Ian glowered, then dove to grab a pillow of his own. She didn’t wait for him to throw it at her but swung hers at his head. He gave a half-laugh, half-growl before swinging his own toward her back. She dodged it and hurled herself off the bed. Ian rolled toward the end and jumped to his feet. She squealed and sprinted around the bed with him chasing after her. When he slung an arm around her waist, she tried to hit him with the pillow from around her shoulder. Their laughter mixed together, and somehow, she managed to turn in his arms and get him good in the face.

He took her arm and pinned it to her side, his head coming down until—

It stopped a mere centimeter from hers. His eyes dropped to her mouth, and his breath tickled her lips. Would he kiss her? She wanted him to with everything in her.

He abruptly let her go, his chest heaving. “I should go.”

She took a step back, hugging the pillow again. She’d have preferred to hold something else—him—but the pillow seemed the only thing she had permission to hold. She swallowed and gave him a slow nod.

He stared at her for a moment, an apology written on his face, and disappeared through the door. Amie reached for her heart, willing for it to cease pounding. He had made her a promise, and she admired him for doing right by her. But weren’t some promises meant to be broken? She would gladly relinquish him from this one if he’d let her. She doubted her consent would change anything. He seemed quite determined to follow a course he’d set long before he’d met her.