Page 8 of The Rules of Matrimony (The Matchmaking Mamas #4)

Lord Reynolds had kindly sent his carriage to collect Amie and Mama for dinner with the earl and the countess. A constant stream of her mother’s nervous chatter bounced in Amie’s ears more than the constant rumble of the carriage. Both the conversation and the conveyance stopped at the same time in front of an elegant house three stories high. Two stone lions flanked the stark, black door. Beside them sat two ornamental potted trees. Amie had been to London a time or two, but her excursions were limited to the shops in Cheapside. The respectable suburb was nothing to the rich opulence here.

“Oh, dear me.” Mama gasped. “I knew I was underdressed.”

Mama had borrowed a nicer cast-off gown from Aunt. No one would know, as it had been taken in to fit her narrow frame perfectly. “You look very well tonight, Mama. Truly.”

Amie smoothed her own gown. A new one. She hadn’t had anything new in a very long time. The style was simple since the modiste had needed to work quickly to finish it in time, but the fabric was fine, the deep burgundy color a welcome change from the drab colors of the rest of her wardrobe. Aunt’s maid had spent a good hour taming Amie’s hair into submission, too, adding pomade to smooth out the wild tangles.

A footman assisted them from the carriage and the great black door to the house opened for them. Lord Reynolds stood waiting just inside the vestibule. If his appearance had been pleasing before, it was uncommonly so tonight. Indeed, her intended came from an elite class in looks as well as position. He was unnervingly handsome.

Besides his appearance, he was doing an admirable job at pretending to be a dutiful suitor. Bless him for meeting her at the door. She had been anxious about the possibility of making introductions before his own arrival. He dipped his head, and she and Mama curtsied.

“Good evening. You look well, Mrs. Tyler. And, Miss Tyler, you look”—he paused, appraising her. She waited on bated breath for his approval or, worse, his disapproval—“different,” he finally said.

Her brow creased. Different? Was that a good different or bad different?

He dragged his gaze away from her before his eyes could give her any clues.

Before she could overthink his words any further, he spoke again. “How was your ride?”

Her ride? Well, her ears were ringing from Mama’s incessant talking, and her hands were shaking, but she forced a smile and said what was expected of her. “Comfortable, thank you.”

Mama inserted herself into the conversation. “Not merely comfortable, your lordship. The seats were softer than pillows, the ride as smooth as butter, and the anticipation of the dinner positively thrilling.”

Lord Reynolds’s opened his mouth to respond to Mama, but he closed it again.

Mama had that effect on people.

“How is Tiny?” Amie asked quickly.

Lord Reynolds’s jaw flinched. “He chewed up one of my favorite boots.”

Her hand flew to her mouth. “I am so sorry.”

“I gifted the second to him, so I hope he is generous and spares the others in my closet.” He motioned to the corridor with his head. “My parents are waiting in the drawing room with our other guests. May I?” He extended his arm to her.

She set her trembling hand on his. He noticed it and glanced at her, a flicker of concern passing over his features.

She averted her gaze, and he said nothing. He pulled her down a corridor on the right, her mother trailing behind.

“At dinner, I would request you call me Ian.” His whisper in her ear startled her and tickled her neck.

“I could never.”

“I must insist.”

She withheld her argument. He knew more about how things were done than she did. “I suppose you must call me Amie.” When she looked up at him, his nearness sent her heart pounding. He was more man than any she had ever met. Every woman who came near him was likely as affected as she. Could she really call him Ian? It was so intimate.

“Amie,” he uttered, drawing out the short syllables like long drips of syrup. It was likely a mere exercise of his tongue, but the feather-soft word sent a shiver of pleasure down her back. Never had a man outside her family said her given name, and never with a voice such as his. How could one word, one name, send her imagination whirling? If this was what being engaged did to her, she was entirely unprepared for marriage.

Thank heavens for Lord Reynolds’s rules. Er, Ian’s rules.

Her awareness of the rest of her surroundings sharpened suddenly as Ian led her into the drawing room. Soft blues accented the room, two tan sofas sat parallel to each other, and a stunning white-stone fireplace crowned the room. Her eyes glossed over the elegance, drawing quickly to the five people whose chatter abruptly stopped.

Why, it was the woman from the graveyard! Lady Kellen—was that her name? What was she doing here?

At once, everyone stood.

The man next to Lady Kellen cleared his throat. “These are the guests you insisted on inviting tonight?”

Was this Ian’s father? His brows were set low over a pair of stern eyes. Did ... did he not know about Amie and Ian’s engagement? She wanted to ask Ian, but this man’s commanding gaze silenced any desire to speak. Ian had warned her, saying he wanted to keep her away from his father. She should have asked more questions. The man resembled Ian in height and breadth of shoulders, but his coloring was darker. Their frowns, however, were extremely similar.

She looked up at Ian, whose own brows and the set of his mouth stayed remarkably steady. He wasn’t intimidated, but she certainly was. It was quite clear that her presence was not desired.

“Yes, these are the special guests I told you about.” Ian turned to her. “May I present my parents, Lord and Lady Kellen, and our guests, Lord and Lady Halbert and their daughter, Miss Foster?” He motioned to Amie next. “This is Miss Tyler and her mother, Mrs. Tyler.”

Amie dipped into a hasty curtsy. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Mama dip into a much more careful curtsy, one that impressed and surprised Amie. Should Amie have lowered herself more? Kept her head bent? She felt completely out of her element, especially with her antithesis, Miss Foster, standing ten feet away. Miss Foster’s flawlessly molded white-blonde hair was an extension of her utterly gorgeous gown. She was an exemplary model of the prime of Society, where Amie was the neglected, overlooked sort. How Amie must pale in comparison to everyone here. Ian had chosen wrong for himself. No matter his excuses, he should be engaged to Miss Foster.

“It is an honor to meet you,” Mama said, her hand curled in a half circle at her chest, and her other hand flared out to the side. Anywhere else, Amie would have called her silly, but here it seemed appropriately dramatic.

This was not the kind of world Amie was prepared to live in.

“It is wonderful to see you again,” Lady Kellen said, stepping forward.

“You know them?” Ian’s father asked.

“We’ve met briefly,” Lady Kellen answered.

Ian’s brow rose. “I had no idea.”

“It must have been fate. We encountered each other by chance, you see,” Lady Kellen clarified, coming to stand by Mama. “Do you remember?”

Mama preened. “Indeed. You were partial to my bonnet.” The way Mama said it was as though she were the lady and Lady Kellen her lesser.

“I was.” Lady Kellen grinned. “It is so good to see you both again, and on the arm of my son.”

“I did not guess at your close relation,” Amie said, finding her voice.

“Titles can be confusing,” Lady Kellen explained. “The late Lord Reynolds was my husband’s father. By the hand of fate, he never lived to be the Earl of Kellen. My husband, however, took on the role fairly young in life. We do not always choose our path, do we?”

Amie ducked her head, knowing this answer all too well. “No, we do not.”

Lady Kellen reached for her hand. “How happy I am that you can be our guests tonight.”

“It is I who am happy,” Ian said quickly. “I have news to share. Miss Tyler and I are engaged to be married.” For someone who claimed he was happy, he sounded a lot like he was pronouncing someone’s death.

Indeed, the room reacted as if he had. Lady Halbert gasped, while Miss Foster paled.

“What did you say?” Lord Kellen stepped away from the sofa toward them.

Amie unintentionally gripped Ian’s arm, though she had no idea if he would do anything to protect her. The shock in his father’s eyes and the perplexed look in Lady Kellen’s confirmed her earlier suspicions. They did not know about the engagement.

“Lord Kellen, what is this?” Lord Halbert said, full of bluster.

“That is what I would like to know,” Lord Kellen answered.

“We are engaged,” Ian repeated, “to be married.”

“You already said that,” Lord Kellen barked. “I’m waiting for you to say something sensible.” He turned to the Fosters. “Please excuse me. I must speak with my son privately.”

“Indeed,” Lady Halbert agreed.

Ian held his ground. “We can discuss the particulars another time, Father. We have guests who deserve our attention. Dinner will be announced at any moment.”

Lady Kellen remained remarkably quiet through the tense exchange, but at this, she gave her husband the barest hint of a nod. This was worse than a run-in with the Peterson sisters. Amie did not care for contention. In fact, she hated it. When Ian’s father’s face turned a shade of purple, she winced.

“Very well,” Lord Kellen said. “We will discuss this tonight after everyone has left.”

They were informed of dinner being ready a moment later, and they filed into the dining room. Ian did not let go of Amie’s arm until they reached her chair. He pulled it out for her, and she reluctantly relinquished the safety of his nearness. She found herself seated next to Mama on one side and, thankfully, Ian on the other. However, her position gave her a rather uncomfortable view of Miss Foster, who sat directly across from her. Lady Kellen, a supposed ally, was at the upper end of the table and too far away to offer any ready comfort from her agitated husband, who took the seat beside her. Without looking, Amie could feel Lord Kellen’s glare searing her cheeks.

Footmen carried in the first course. A cream mushroom soup, buttered asparagus, salmon baked in pastries, pudding, and several dishes she could not identify were presented like works of art. Unfortunately for her, she’d rather lost her appetite.

Miss Foster broke the awkward silence after Amie forced a second bite of soup. At least it was not Mama who spoke.

“Miss Tyler, pray tell, why is it we have never heard of you before?”

Amie set her spoon down so she could concentrate and not embarrass herself. “Likely for the same reason I have never heard of you.” She hadn’t expected another gasp from Lady Halbert, who suddenly clutched the pearls that matched the white streaks in her hair. Amie glanced at Ian, who had his fist to his mouth and the hint of mirth in his features.

She rethought her answer and realized it did sound off-putting, though that had not been her intention. She tried to remedy her response. “I meant, I have not come to Town for the Season. You would not have seen me at any of the assemblies here.”

Mama nodded. “I would never presume to parade my daughter about as so many others do.”

Amie cringed, wishing the floor would open beneath their chairs like a behemoth mouth and swallow them up. But they were not so fortunate. Could they make a worst first impression?

“She is my best kept secret,” Ian said, raising his glass to her before taking a long drink.

Amie gaped at his flirtatious tone and words.

He returned her gaze, holding it and not letting go. Perhaps she did not want to be swallowed by any floor monster after all—not if it meant Ian wouldn’t hold her in his gaze ever again. He didn’t smile, but she found she wanted him to. Because if he wasn’t joking, she had no idea what to do about it. He could hardly expect her to flirt back. She didn’t know how.

“Have you discussed dates?” Lady Kellen asked. If she was jumping in to steer the conversation to safer grounds, this was probably not the way.

“ Amie and I hope to be wed as soon as arrangements can be made.” He set his hand on the back of her chair. He wasn’t touching her, but he might as well have, for her back heated just the same.

What was Ian doing? Even a dunderhead like herself knew that his leading statements would rile Satan himself. Dropping her given name was the finishing touch. She dared a glance at Lord Kellen. Sure enough, his color darkened, and he appeared on the verge of an apoplexy.

It was one thing to convince her family of an engagement, but there would be no coming back from this. She fumbled with the napkin in her lap. If she had to marry into this family, she did not want them to hate her. Except rule number two forbade familial connections of any sort.

Cursing rule number two, she did her best to muster her agreement to Ian’s bold statement of marriage by lifting the corners of her mouth as high as she dared.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, Mama had plenty to say that was far less subtle. “I do hope it is a grand wedding with plenty of flowers. I do not care for weddings without enough flowers. We cannot have guests thinking it is another day at church and not a special occasion. I will invite all my family, of course. And surely the elite of the ton will come. My future son-in-law is a viscount, after all. We couldn’t have anything less.”

“Lord Reynolds doesn’t care for grand parties,” Miss Foster said. Her smile resembled that of a cat. “Everyone who knows him at all would realize that.”

Amie didn’t know. In fact, she knew very little about the man next to her. She was a fake. A pretender. And wished she could disappear until the dinner was over.

Ian bent over her to address Mama. “But I cannot disagree about the flowers. Would you be willing to make a list of your favorites?”

Mama was not put out in the slightest by Miss Foster, and she beamed under Ian’s attention. “I should be glad to.”

Lord Kellen’s voice cut through the room. “I will not have another word breathed about this wedding.” He let the cold words seep in before he adjusted his tone and, in a tight but calmer voice, added, “It is hardly good dinner conversation. Lord Halbert, tell us about the men on your land committee. Are they well informed?”

Ah, politics. Another matter Amie knew nothing about. Not surprisingly, this potentially volatile topic carried less tension than that of weddings. Hallelujah for safer waters to tread.

Lord Kellen dished his wife’s plate, wordlessly fussing over her while he exchanged a sophisticated conversation with Lord Halbert that Amie could barely follow. She did not know what to make of the man. He treated his wife well, but there was a sharp intelligence to his words that created an image of intimidating authority.

Amie listened with painstaking exactness to every word passing between the men, hoping to educate herself, lest she act the fool again. They discussed landowners and property rights and something about the disparity of taxes. They dropped names and chuckled over a line she did not realize was a joke. She leaned forward, trying to follow the complicated turns of phrases.

“Amie,” Ian whispered in her ear.

Gooseflesh erupted down her arms. She would never get used to hearing her name on his lips. “Yes?”

“Is there something wrong with your appetite?”

She glanced down and discovered her soup missing. She had hardly touched it and had not realized a second course had been brought in.

Ian did not wait for her to answer and dished her some braised beefsteak and a side of roasted potatoes. “Don’t let the present company keep you from seeing to your health.” His whispered words were so genuine and thoughtful, she forgot all about her efforts to listen to the discussion of politics.

“Eat,” he said.

She nodded and took up her fork. As soon as she finished her last bite, Lady Kellen urged the women into the drawing room.

Ian stood too. “I will pass on the port. I do not want my guests to be without me on their first visit.”

His father was none too pleased that Ian chose the women’s company over the men’s, but Ian seemed to not care one whit what his father wanted. Despite all her objections to too much drink, she wished he would at least humor his father a little so there was not such dissonance hovering between them. She withheld her sigh and followed the others to the sitting room. Without a knowledge of the history between them, any judgments on her part were unjust and purely ignorant. Indeed, her ignorance seemed the theme of the night.

Lady Kellen sat beside Mama, but Miss Foster took up the opposite sofa.

Amie wondered where Ian would direct her to be, but he led her past the sofas to an outside door leading to the veranda. “You must see this view.” His words were loud enough for the others to hear, and they were well in sight of them even after they stepped outside. The night was warm enough that her long gloves kept her adequately comfortable.

Ian dropped her arm and leaned his forearms on the balustrade. “That went well.”

“It did?” She fidgeted with the skirt of her gown, unable to be as at ease as he was. “Your father is going to have your head tonight.”

Ian chuckled. “Don’t worry, you will not be widowed before we are wed. I can hold my own where he is concerned.”

“Perhaps, but should you?” She could not help prying.

He gave her a sideways glance. “It is hard to explain a lifetime to a person you’ve just met. My father is an important man to everyone but me. He has never attempted to remedy the fact, so I don’t put a lot of stock into maintaining a relationship that is undesired on both sides.”

She nodded, even though she did not fully understand. She stole a glance behind her to make certain no one could hear them. Lady Kellen was deep in a conversation with Mama, and thankfully, Lady Kellen was the one speaking. Lady Halbert was listening with a sort of curious disapproval.

Amie couldn’t watch. “Will your father let us marry? Miss Foster—”

“Miss Foster is nothing to me,” Ian said decisively. “And my father is getting what he wants in the end—a wife for his son.”

She realized with sudden intuitiveness that a wife was not what his father wanted at all. “You mean, he expects an heir.” Such a thing didn’t exactly fit with Ian’s first rule about no touching.

“There will be no heir.” Ian straightened his shoulders and leaned his hip against the stone. “Of course, I need time to convince my family and the courts that my cousin Mr. Balister is inept for the job. My cousin Edwin Harris will inherit instead. Some claim he is mad, but I have dug around a bit, and he is terribly awkward, but I have my doubts about the diagnosis. He has always been a morally upright man, and there are plenty of eccentric women who would marry him. I have no doubt he’ll sire a child or two in good time. I’ll do my best to put in a good word to the Matchmaking Mamas. They cannot resist a project.”

“You have thought this through, haven’t you?”

Ian crossed his arms. “If you recall, I mentioned my goals for the future. I have never wanted to marry because I desire to use my time and resources for aiding the less fortunate and, someday, by making changes in Parliament. Family life will divide my attention. So yes, I have thought about the consequences of my choice.”

Her throat constricted. Had she thought about the consequences? No children? No real family? Everything was moving so quickly, she hadn’t thought past the engagement and the gift of a house and her independence. But after Cousin Robert had delivered his own forceful proposal, his grubby hands pawing her arms like he was a spoiled child who had never been denied anything, she had caved to Ian. Especially upon comparing Robert’s touch to Ian’s firm but gentle hold when he’d hurried to protect her. Regardless of her future sacrifices, she knew she was picking the best choice she had.

“What comes next, then?”

“With your permission,” Ian said, carefully, “I begin to dominate your social calendar. I’m afraid it is imperative to our plans. We must be seen together if an engagement is to be believable.”

“Of course. It makes perfect sense.” She wouldn’t have dared say no anyway.

“I think at least two public outings are acceptable enough before I obtain a special license. Having connections is one benefit of being my father’s son. We are family friends with the archbishop, and he will understand when I tell him that I want a quiet ceremony without the ton flocking to gawk at us.”

Special licenses were not common and were terribly expensive. It was yet another reminder that she was a weed trying to hide in a well-cultivated garden. “What sort of outings did you have in mind?”

And what would she wear?

“If you consent, I shall take you to a musical where we might attract the attention of a number of witnesses. And how about the theater on Saturday?”

A sudden thrill at the opportunities before her overtook any concerns of wardrobe. “I love music, and I have always wanted to attend the theater.”

He frowned. “You’ve never attended the theater?”

“I haven’t had the opportunity.”

He playfully shook his head. “I am marrying Miss Unfortunate.”

She scoffed. “I have been quite content with my life—minus the lack of stability. And what about you? Perhaps you are the unfortunate one, Lord Grumpy .”

Ian straightened fully, his lower lip pulling down on the corners. “And what if I am?”

She took a step back, not sure why she had thought it a good idea to tease him back. “I ... don’t know.”

He smirked and took a step back toward the drawing room. “The theater will be a priority. Everyone ought to experience it at least once.” He gave a little flourish with his arm. “Lord Grumpy will send his carriage.”