Page 32 of The Rules of Matrimony (The Matchmaking Mamas #4)

Ian stretched his legs, his body tired from sitting for so many hours in Sir James’s library. The committee had finished for the day, but Paul had arrived an hour ago. Ian had found the other men tolerable enough, but no one was a better sounding board than his good friend.

“Your committee carries a misconception that it is the elite ruling the Bloody Code.” Paul leaned over the long table that fit snugly in the narrow room, his voice even and sensible.

Ian frowned. “The elite thrive off tradition. Of course, we must change before anyone else can.”

Paul dug his hand into his dark, russet-colored hair, a noticeable sign that he was growing impatient. “Ian, you must not overlook that the people have been groomed for nearly a century and a half to believe death is the only way. They want consequences to control the madness.”

Ian leaned over the table as well, frustrated that his friend was being so blasted logical. He didn’t want to hear about tradition again. “Then, we must inform the people. Change their mindsets.”

Paul sank back in his seat. “Such an endeavor could take years. And what of the judges? They are the ones who mete out the rulings. They will not change their ways so easily.”

Ian hated how much sense Paul made, but it did not change Ian’s optimism for progress. He was too stubborn for that. “God-fearing men will see that justice cannot be served without mercy. Consequences are a natural part of life, but they should be appropriate for the crime. We don’t live in the time of Moses, where we pluck out eyes and cut off hands. We have prisons for lesser sentences.”

“Prisons in dire need of reform,” Paul continued. “Do you remember the workhouses? These are far worse.”

Ian rubbed his chin with an irritated hand. “Are you on my side, or aren’t you?”

“I will always be on your side, Ian. Not just me but all the Rebels too. Tom arranged for a man at Oxford to hold a few lectures to discreetly rally public support. Miles sent letters to his associates in the church. Even Bentley has reached out to his connections. But I must caution you to lower your expectations. I’m not certain I see a clear path to the change you seek. This could take a lifetime to fight.”

Ian’s frustration waned. He couldn’t ask for better friends. “I thank you for your sincerity. I know you mean well, but it’s already been decided. We’re going to put it to vote next week.”

“Next week!” Paul shook his head. “Tell me you’re joking. Do you even have a convincing plan?”

“The committee has been working night and day for much longer than I have been involved,” Ian said. “Though even I have exhausted my strength these last weeks both at home and here in London.” He did not add that he’d needed every minute of distraction this week to keep him from thinking of home—of Amie. Even London had not been far enough to rid his mind of her. “I’ve put a little weight on key people, and it’ll be close, but we have to strike before either side has time to talk themselves out of it.”

“It’s rash, Ian.”

He nodded and tapped a set of folders in front of him. “There’s enough stories of cruelty here to make your skin crawl. A few family members came and shared their painful stories with us. It’s a fight I cannot walk away from. Just yesterday, a boy not older than thirteen was killed. Thirteen!”

“I heard. He pleaded self-defense but did not have the witnesses to support his case.”

“This could propel changes in the prisons too.” A cause he knew Paul was passionate about.

“You don’t have to convince me,” Paul said. “You have to convince Parliament.”

“We will.” Ian rubbed his eyes, trying to fight off the worry nagging in the back of his mind.

Paul sighed. “How can I help?”

“Pray.”

Paul raised his brow but said nothing. Ian wasn’t the most religious man, but some matters were too big for men to fix. If ever he needed faith, it was now.

Paul gave a succinct nod and released a sigh. “Enough of this heavy talk. How is Lady Reynolds?”

“Amie?” Ian reflexively tensed.

“Yes, your wife ?”

Ian straightened the folders in front of him, suddenly needing to do something with his hands. “She is entertaining her mother at Oak End.”

“Will she come to London afterward?”

Ian shook his head. “She has no plans to come here at present. She is content to remain in the country.”

Paul eyed him strangely. “I see.”

Annoyed, Ian furrowed his brow. “What do you mean, ‘I see’?”

“I see you are still fooling yourself.”

Only a Rebel would be idiotic enough to challenge Ian on a personal matter. He glowered at Paul. “We have an arrangement,” he hissed. “And you are fully aware of it. She doesn’t want to see me, and I don’t want to see her.”

He didn’t know why the mere mention of Amie had his hackles up. He was far too sensitive where she was concerned. His tendre for her would fade, and he would forget her soon enough. Maybe by then his friends would learn to keep their ideas to themselves.

A knock sounded on the door, and Sir James’s butler stuck his gray-haired head inside. “There is a caller for you, Lord Reynolds. She says she is your wife.”

Ian nearly jumped out of his seat, his eyes flicking to Paul.

Paul had an annoying smile growing on his face. “She doesn’t want to see you, does she?”

Paul’s response did not irk him this time. All his thoughts were for Amie. Thoughts full of concern. He hurried to the door. Something had to be wrong for her to come to him.

“Where is she?” he asked the butler.

“In the entrance hall, my lord.”

He pushed past the older man and jogged toward the entrance hall. Amie was facing away from him when he saw her. His chest caught, hungry for the sight of her. “Amie?”

She turned at the sound of her name. Her face was drawn and her skin pale. Too pale. “Oh, thank heavens,” she breathed, stepping toward him.

He closed the distance between them and started to reach for her, just stopping himself. He would not undo the progress he had made in one thoughtless moment. “Why are you here?”

His voice came out gruffer than intended, and she hesitated. “I—I have news.”

“Is it your mother? Is she ill?”

She shook her head before reaching a hand up to rub her tired eyes. She looked poor indeed. He fisted his hand to resist the innate need to steady her.

“It is not Mama. I received a letter while you were gone from your mother with urgent news. It’s your father who is ill. I traveled through the night, and I hope I’m not too late with the news.”

He stepped back. “My father is ill?”

“Lady Kellen says that they are not sure if he will live the week. Ian, you must go to him with all haste.” She dug into her reticule and handed him the creased parchment.

He took it and read it through. Dropping the letter to his side, his eyes went to the long windows beside the door, glazing over. “It’s a trick.”

“What do you mean?”

“My mother. She wants us to be together. This is just like her. She has this sixth sense about my motivations. First, she interfered with us and now with Father. I am needed here and cannot go.”

“Ian, you’re not thinking straight.” Amie drew closer, her brown eyes wide and imploring. “Your father could die. If you cannot be there for him, you must be there for your mother. Please. You could regret this for the rest of your life.”

He shook his head. “My father cannot be that ill. We saw him mere weeks ago and in perfect health.” It was not denial. He just did not believe it.

Amie put her hand on his arm, making him tense. Reminding her of rule number one likely wouldn’t remove her purposeful grip. “I’m sorry, Ian.”

Reality seemed to sink into his understanding. He was not so naive as to believe that life couldn’t change in an instant. Mother had never lied so outrightly before. He couldn’t see her joking about something so serious. “I suppose ... I suppose I could look into it.”

“Don’t waste a moment,” she begged. “I would have given anything to see my father once more before he died.”

It couldn’t be so dire. Ian refused to believe it. That deuced man didn’t have it in him to show any weakness to anyone. But the worry in Amie’s eyes was Ian’s undoing. He didn’t have to see his father to visit the house. He would speak to his mother and ascertain the circumstances. Finally, he nodded.

Amie sighed, relief evident on her worn features. Why hadn’t she sent someone to deliver the news for her?

“I told them to keep the carriage ready,” she said. “I hope we find him better when we get there.” She pulled away and turned to the door.

He caught her hand without thinking twice. “We?”

Amie raised a brow, glancing at their hands and then up at him. “I’m not trying to force myself on you. I thought you might burden your mother further if you left me behind.”

She was exhausted and didn’t need to be around his volatile family again. Not after the way she had been treated last time.

“I will have Sir James put you up for the night and make arrangements for you to return home in the morning.”

Someone cleared their throat.

Ian turned his head to see Paul step into the entryway. His eyes went to Ian’s hand holding Amie’s, making Ian immediately drop it.

Amusement flickered in his friend’s gaze. “May I greet Lady Reynolds?” Paul asked, stepping forward without any consent from Ian.

Paul took Amie’s hand, the one Ian had just dropped, and bowed over it. “It is a pleasure to see you again, my lady.”

Pleasure? Ian ground his teeth. Why did Paul get to take pleasure from seeing Amie again when Ian had to keep all his confusing feelings locked up tight? Nothing was right anymore. Nothing.

“Your journey was long,” Paul continued. “You must take a seat and have some refreshment. Sir James is nearly finished with his business, and I am sure he would like to meet the new Lady Reynolds.” Paul suddenly reached forward and steadied Amie’s arm. Ian’s friend didn’t care to touch anyone but his wife, so his gesture did not go unnoticed. It was then that Ian realized Amie had begun shaking. It was all he could do to keep from taking up her other arm, but it seemed Paul’s arm was sufficient for her.

“I am well enough, thank you,” she said. “I must be going.”

“So soon?” Paul frowned and sent a chastising gaze Ian’s way.

Ian folded his arms across his chest, ignoring Paul’s glare and sending one of his own toward his wife. “You are resting here, and I am going.”

“I won’t be in the way,” she said. “I’ll stay in the drawing room or wherever the family is not.”

Paul’s frown deepened. “Why would you need to stay hidden away? What is this, Ian?”

“My father is ill,” Ian explained. “And Amie clearly needs rest.”

Surprise lit Paul’s face. “I came straight here after my recent trip. I hadn’t heard any news or opened any correspondence after reading your invitation to come here. How serious is it?”

“Very,” Amie said.

“Mother sent a letter.” Ian didn’t have any specifics to offer him.

Amie smiled up at Paul. “It was good to see you again, Mr. Sheldon, but we really must go.”

“Amie,” Ian sighed.

Paul released his hold on Amie. “I will explain everything to Sir James, Ian. Send me word when you arrive. I want to know how he fares. I will let you two alone to discuss the particulars.” Before he left, Paul leaned toward Ian’s ear and hissed, “Take her arm. She looks like she is going to collapse.”

Thoroughly chastened, Ian moved to Amie’s side and put his arm around her back, his voice full of apology. “Come, you need to sit down.”

She immediately relaxed against him. “I’m well enough. My nerves are a little taut from a pesky little storm on the way over.”

“A storm?” They’d had rain here but not thunder or lightning. His stomach clenched at the thought of her suffering alone. “I’m sorry for what you had to endure.”

“It was mostly rain, and Edna’s constant chatter was distracting. I can rest in the carriage.”

He met her gaze, the proximity making the effect far more lethal to his heart than before. Her genuine concern for his father’s welfare and his mother’s comfort touched him. “This wasn’t part of our agreement, Amie, you having to race through the night, in a storm no less, to give me this news yourself.”

“I wanted to,” she whispered. “But I will stay here if the only way you will go is alone.”

His jaw tightened. He didn’t want to leave her here, where he was unsure if she would take ill herself. He knew it made her feel of worth to help others, and that was why she had come all this way and risked her own mental faculties, but it didn’t make his decision any easier. He swallowed. “I don’t wish to go alone. Would you please accompany me?”

A tired smile crossed her face, not one of rejoicing for getting her way but one full of genuine care. “Whatever you need, Ian. I want to be your friend, come what may.”

Friend ? He wanted to scoff at the word. It didn’t come close to defining the wave of comfort her nearness gave him, or really anything he felt for her anymore. But if his father were truly ill, Ian suddenly knew she was who he would need most of all.