Page 73 of An Unwitting Alliance
Everyone’s eyes turned to Ian. Where was he planning to stay?
“The ladies will be residing at the inn, as I had intended to do myself,” Ian said, “but if it is not too much of an imposition, I could just as easily stay here.” He relaxed into his seat and spread his arms across the back, making himself quite at home already.
This was the sort of arrangement Tom would have begged to have before he had developed an attachment to his betrothed, but not any longer. Especially with Mrs. Vail abed. They were trying to limit the number of bodies in the house, not add to it. “The inn will do you very well,” Tom said at the same time Aunt Evans said, “I will have the housekeeper fix up a room.”
“Nonsense.” Ian grinned at Tom with a glint of mischievousness in his eye that, oddly enough, reminded Tom of himself. “Just throw me in Tom’s room with a couple of spare blankets. I don’t want to make a fuss.”
“A viscount? On the floor?” Cassandra mumbled under her breath. Then, much louder, she said, “Perfect!”
It was far from perfect, but Tom saw little point in arguing to see who would be more stubborn. Between Ian and Cassandra, it would be quite the contest. But as it stood, there was absolutely nothing amusing about the sleeping situation. If he knew his friend, Ian would be the one with the bed and Tom would be sleeping on the floor. Suddenly, he was not sure how helpful his friends actually intended to be.
Auntie Evans took the opportunity to pepper the newcomers with questions and, in turn, explained the situation with Mr. Vail in London and Mrs. Vail keeping to her bed. Tom was surprised when it was he who wanted to tell his friends about Cassie’s younger siblings and was even more surprised by his strong desire to introduce each of them when they finally returned home. The afternoon passed quickly, and the conversation shifted when Auntie Evans retired to check on Mrs. Vail and Cassandra went with Megan upstairs to change for dinner. The early hour made the change premature, but it bought Tom a little more time to conspire with his friends.
“I have a few ideas of how we can make our kidnapping work,” Tom said as soon as the footsteps on the stairs faded.
“It must be terrible if you waited until Miss Vail left the room,” Miles teased. Many thought him serious because his demeanor reflected that, but he could banter with the best of them. This comment, however, was not humorous at all.
“What does my idea have to do with Cassie?”
Ian folded his arms. “You know we came here for two reasons, Tom. This might be our only opportunity to discuss your personal life. It has been over a week since you sent that letter. Are we to encourage this spinster business or convince Miss Vail that there is some value beneath that sarcastic carcass of yours?”
“I would think the answer obvious, Ian,” Miles answered. “His eyes rarely left Miss Vail, and when he gazed at her, it was unmistakably the look of a man in love.”
“Mr. Romantic knows this sort of thing,” Ian said, employing Tom’s nickname, which was rare, unless he was referring to Lisette as their angel. “I shall take all the credit, as it was I who convinced you to dance with her.”
Tom shook his head. “If anything, it is a good thing I mix up my colors. But I am astonished you would want to take credit for anything remotely connected to marriage.”
Ian nodded, his smile slipping. “I have had a good week to settle my feelings on the subject. As long as the wordmarriageis not linked to myself, I cantryto be supportive.”
“A good thing too.” Miles chuckled. “As Paul would say, the evidence we have discovered today speaks for itself. I also noticed you refer to Miss Vail asCassie.” His brow lifted, full of expectation.
“Her name is actually Cassandra, but you know how I like to give everyone a name of my choosing.”
“I do,” Miles replied, relaxing in his seat, “which is why I was caught off guard when you employed anormalnickname. It’s a telling sign, in my opinion.”
Tom squirmed. “Cassie and I have an understanding. We are friends who may or may not be attracted to each other.” He cleared his throat, not used to speaking of such things, even to the Rebels. “But regardless ofmyfeelings, I will not pressure her into marrying me. When her father returns from London, I want her to have a choice.”
Ian rubbed his prominent dimpled chin and nodded. “That has been our primary argument against our Matchmaking Mamas.”
“Just wait until it’s your turn,” Tom said. “I had no idea our mothers had such impeccable taste. And the advice they sent me? They know me better than I know myself. It’s uncanny.”
Ian stared at him thoughtfully. “Tell me, then. If you had a choice, what would it be?”
Tom clasped his hands on his knees and dropped his gaze to his restless fingers, fighting the urge to say something sarcastic instead of bearing his heart. “I’d marry her if I could.”
“Why does such a thought depress you?” Miles always asked the deep questions Tom never wanted to answer.
He forced a smile. His reasons were too complicated and far too private. “Because you two will be pathetically lonely if I marry. I will hardly have the time to harass you properly. Can’t you see how such an idea would ruin all my happiness?”
Ian laughed, but Miles’s lips did not so much as twitch. He saw through Tom’s feeble attempt to avoid answering but, thankfully, did not press him.
“When Mrs. Fielding arrives,” Ian began, “she will likely notice the sparks flying between Miss Vail and Tom and willeagerly pass on the news to our mothers. I cannot deny your happiness, but it does not bode well for the rest of our futures. The Matchmaking Mamas will only be encouraged to learn they have succeeded once again.”
Thinking of Mrs. Fielding, Tom had yet to read her tidbit of wisdom in the letter his mother had sent. She was getting on in years, and the trip here would wear her out. Even so, perhaps this, as well as her camaraderie with the Matchmaking Mama Society, gave her days purpose. How could he complain about that? “Don’t worry, Mother Hen. The Matchmaking Mamas have not succeeded here yet.”
Miles shook his head. “They don’t have to. That’s your job.”
Tom grimaced. “Thank you, Mr. Romantic. I feel quite encouraged.”
