Page 7 of The Rules of Matrimony (The Matchmaking Mamas #4)

It was no surprise when Paul Sheldon stopped by Ian’s London townhome demanding answers.

He took one look at the dog in Ian’s hand, folded his arms across his chest, and eyed him with a mixture of suspicion and concern. It was the look best friends gave when they knew something was completely and utterly wrong. “You did not respond to my letter, but you will not be able to avoid me any longer. Tell me truly. Are you engaged?”

Paul’s barrister tone amused Ian. Paul rarely employed it on Ian, and Ian was almost touched.

“Will you believe me if I say yes?” Ian asked.

“No.”

Ian chuckled, leading Paul into the drawing room. “I don’t blame you. I am still coming to terms with it myself.” After a little explaining, Paul would understand. It was common knowledge among Ian’s friends that he had always shunned the idea of marriage, but his conscience wouldn’t allow him to see an innocent woman ruined. He’d been backed into a corner from every foreseeable direction.

His drawing room was sparse compared to most of his station, but he didn’t have a need to impress anyone, especially since he rarely hosted anyone but his friends. He waved to the lone sofa—a muted gray floral with scrolled arms. “Take a seat, please.”

Paul stared at him, unmoving. “How are you not even angry about this? I knew your parents would force an arrangement on you sooner or later, what with your mother being the head of the Matchmaking Mamas and your father always griping about your lack of heir, but I thought you would move to the Canadian colonies before you would agree to it.”

Ian went to the fireplace and straightened a small picture frame containing a watercolor of Brookeside. “My parents did not arrange it. I did. That’s the difference.” He couldn’t believe he was taking the blame in front of his own best friend, but he’d made his decision, and he would not speak ill of Miss Tyler.

“You’re starting to scare me.”

He was scaring himself. “What do you think of my new pet?” Ian crossed back to Paul and handed the immaculately clean Yorkshire Terrier to him. “Miss Tyler named him Tiny.”

Paul gingerly accepted the black-and-tan terrier no bigger than both his hands put together. “Your betrothed gave you a pet?”

Ian had known Paul since childhood, and Paul deserved a direct explanation—about the dog, at least. “After she rescued him, Miss Tyler insisted we inquire around the entire town for his owner. If anyone missed our rumored engagement, they couldn’t miss us yesterday. Tiny was unclaimed, and he, of course, must be cared for by someone.”

“And that someone is you?”

Ian shrugged. “The local farmer explained that people often drop animals off in the country when they do not suit. It quite upset Miss Tyler. She has a soft spot for, well, just about everyone. I know because at every stop we made in search of Tiny’s owner, someone had to tell me a story about how Miss Tyler helped them. She hasn’t lived in Chestervale long either.”

“Interesting. And she persuaded you to keep the dog?” Paul shook his head in wonder. “I must meet her. This is not like you at all.”

“What do you mean? I like dogs.”

“Not lap dogs.”

“It wouldn’t be my first choice ... or my second.”

Paul scoffed. “And you never do something just because someone asked you. There has to be a good reason for it. Why do I feel as though you are ill or have recently been struck in the head?”

“Why would I make up something like this? I am more likely to pretend such an engagement doesn’t exist.” Ian collapsed back on his favorite Pocock-original reclining chair. It was a good decade old and worn in just the right places. And he needed to relax before he drove out to see Miss Tyler again this afternoon. Every meeting with her was more unpredictable than the last.

Paul hovered over him. The very man who respected personal space above all else. “What happened, Ian? The Rebels can help you if you’re in a bind.”

Ian gripped the arms of the chair. “The Rebels have more important causes to fight. Indeed, we have yet to discuss my latest passion to rid this country of the Bloody Code. By the way, did you read the letter I wrote you about the criminal law? I sent one to each of the Rebels, requesting their help.”

Paul pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, it was brilliant. But what about your engagement?”

Ian waved his hand to dismiss whatever concern was eating at his friend. “It’s nothing in comparison. A trifle. My plan is simple. It is a standard, unspectacular marriage of convenience.”

Paul’s frown deepened. “You’re right. I’m unimpressed. But I will not let my personal opinion get in the way if you are determined. Do you require my assistance in drawing up a contract?”

Ian shook his head. “We have a verbal agreement. I can trust her.”

Paul groaned, holding Tiny up to his eye level. “This is worse than I thought.”

Ian balked. “What do you mean? I have everything well in hand.”

Lowering Tiny, Paul said in a rather plain and strict tone, “You told me exactly how you felt when the matchmakers presented Louisa to me, and I will do the same with you because that is what good friends do for each other.” Paul took a deep breath. “Ian, you’re being an idiot.”

Ian lurched forward in his seat. No one called him an idiot. “A little harsh, Sheldon.”

“Quiet. I need to think.” Paul paced to the marbled fireplace, stopping once or twice to shake his head. He pivoted abruptly and came straight back to Ian’s side. “If you care for this Miss Tyler at all, you will call this off or marry her properly.”

Ian had never liked being told what to do, and his amusement was gone. “You sound like my father, and you know exactly what I think of him.”

Paul nodded. “I do. But I also know anything else is unfair to Miss Tyler. She deserves a chance at happiness, and marriage solely in name alone will do neither of you any favors.”

Ian pulled himself from his chair, his time relaxing far too short-lived. “Miss Tyler has had a difficult upbringing and has found herself in an uncomfortable situation. I might not be the ideal husband, but her alternative, I assure you, is much worse. I swear, I will not force anything upon her, but I would ask for your support should we continue. It might not be the kind of marriage you and Louisa have, or those of the other Rebels, but it is what I choose and that has to matter for something.” His jaw was set when he finished, his resolve firmer than ever.

By some miracle, Paul’s features softened, and he blew out a long breath. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

Ian forced himself to sit again. “This isn’t easy for me.”

“No, it cannot be. I know you better than anyone, and you would not do this unless it were dire.” Paul stared at him for a moment before handing him Tiny. “I suppose I can support you. A good cause is always worth rallying around.”

Those words were not lightly given. Ian knew him better than that. Paul’s russet hair had darkened with age and his face and body lengthened, but he was still the same loyal friend Ian had depended upon since childhood. Ian gave a somber nod. “Thank you. I’m going to need it.”

And when this wedding was through, Ian hoped Paul would rally around a different cause with him. Ian had already written a handful of letters and made appearances at every club he had membership in, but what he’d learned about the attitude toward the Bloody Code had not been favorable. He felt as though he were a lone man against a sea of united opinions. For now, his focus would be on his bride-to-be, and he would save dissecting a centuries-old law until after the wedding.

y

A few hours after speaking with Paul, Ian stood in front of Miss Tyler’s home. His friend’s warning about doing right by Miss Tyler rang fresh in his ears. His solicitor had drawn up a few papers to go over with Mr. Nelson. Next would be introducing her to his family and performing the actual ceremony. This was entirely too real. Was he doing the right thing? All his confidence in front of Paul was waning. Perhaps there was another alternative he and Miss Tyler hadn’t considered.

He’d gone over Boyle’s file on Miss Tyler again before he’d left. The information dated back to before her father’s death and had strung together several living situations since then. Miss Tyler had had a hard life. Was his own involvement in it going to better her future or worsen it? He’d like to think his offer of a home and security was sufficient, but what about the parts Paul mentioned—family and happiness? Ian couldn’t give her those outside his name. Not to mention that even with a marriage of convenience, their position in Society would require certain obligations from Miss Tyler that he hadn’t prepared her for. She would be a viscountess. Would she be up to the task?

Uncertainty plagued him as he tied his horse to the fence post, not daring to ask any passing maids to hold his reins for him. When he proceeded up the short walk, no strange-haired woman stopped him, attempted to shove mint leaves in his mouth, or offered him a muddy dog. It was almost disappointing. He put his fist to his mouth to smother a sudden smile of amusement. Not many things entertained him, and he had to force control into his expression. He lifted his hand to knock, but just before it connected, he hesitated. Did he hear voices coming from the side of the house? One sounded distinctly like Miss Tyler’s.

Dropping his hand, he jogged through the garden to investigate. He rounded the corner of the cottage and drew up short. Mr. Robert Nelson had his grimy hand on Miss Tyler’s elbow, his words low and indiscernible.

Hot anger coursed through Ian. No wonder Miss Tyler was desperate. Her cousin was a contemptible blackguard.

“Am I interrupting something?” Ian asked loudly, striding toward them.

Mr. Nelson did not withdraw his hand and seemed to tighten his hold instead. “This is a family conversation,” Mr. Nelson said with a deep scowl.

Ian gave a swift nod. “As I will soon be family, perhaps you might enlighten me.” His reservations flew to the back of his mind, and his displeasure lent him full confidence. He didn’t care one bit for the possessive way Mr. Nelson clung to Miss Tyler or the fearful look in her eyes. When Ian reached them, he put his hand on Miss Tyler’s other elbow, gentle but firm enough to send a message to the obnoxious man across from him.

Mr. Nelson sneered. “ If you become family.”

Ian tightened his fist by his side. He was no pugilist, but he had the strength and size to do the necessary damage if a situation required it. And no one deserved a setdown as much as a man who dared harm a woman.

Mr. Nelson took notice of Ian’s fist, and a wariness flashed over him. “So, that’s how you will play it,” Mr. Nelson said. “Very well. We were just finishing here anyway.” He finally dropped his hold of Miss Tyler and gave her one last hard glare, then marched away to the back of the house.

Ian watched him go but did not release his own hold on Miss Tyler. His protective instincts had never been so ignited. His hand seemed glued to her arm, as if needing to assure himself that Miss Tyler was well and safe. “Are you hurt? Is anything wrong?”

“No, and nothing that cannot be remedied.” She visibly swallowed. “I have made my decision. I am prepared to marry you forthwith.” She held up her chin, her determination palpable. For a fleeting moment, with her petite jaw set and her shoulders back, he could actually picture her as not just a viscountess but a future countess as well.

The image rocked him.

Perhaps she was far more prepared for this arrangement than he was. He took a glance to the back of the house following the path Mr. Nelson had taken. Whatever vile thing he had said or done had driven Miss Tyler in the opposite direction. The direction Ian had been vacillating about moments ago while tying up his horse. It was time to solidify his own mindset once and for all. There was one certain way to do this for him. He cleared his throat. “Then, are you prepared to meet my family for dinner next week?”

This would be the ultimate test, a personal show of commitment, and Miss Tyler’s last chance to cry off.

Miss Tyler visibly swallowed. “I am ready to do whatever is required of me.”

An answer to a proposal of marriage had never sounded less romantic. Which meant everything was going exactly as planned. “I will send my carriage for you Friday at seven. Dinner will be at eight.”

She squared her shoulders. “I will be ready.”

Brave as she may be, he would do everything he could to protect her. “Very good. Let’s find your uncle.”