Page 3 of The Rules of Matrimony
“My neighbors.”
He supposed no one should see them like this together—alone—but this was clearly something more since she had reacted to their voices before she had even seen him. He drew a few quick conclusions based on his observations. She was in a desperate situation with her mother, lived with a volatile uncle, and was being forced to marry her cousin. In addition, her neighbors were some kind of scary creatures she hid from inside a graveyard.
Had she nothing good in her life to recommend her? Besides her enthralling eyes. Those were by far her best quality.
He humored her and remained quiet for several long minutes, in far too close proximity with her just beside him. Her head was angled so she could watch the road. His own eyes weren’t on the road at all but on her. Since he couldn’t see around Grandfather’s headstone with her in the way, there was nothing else to look at.
Slight freckles dotted her otherwise fair skin just below each eye. Above her right brow was the slightest pull of a scar. Her slender, button nose led to well-shaped lips—the bottom slightly fuller than the top. He did not believe he had ever examined someone so closely before. She was pretty in a quiet way—except for those soul-filled eyes—which suddenly turned on him again.
“I believe they are gone,” she said.
“Mmm—good.” He sounded like an idiot who couldn’t speak properly. But admittedly, he was a little taken back by her. Her clothes and thoughtless manner did not hide that she was well-bred. Did she not realize how unseemly it was to hide behind a headstone with a man? No, that thought likely didn’t pass through many people’s minds. Even so, he found her innocence appealing. She was not so obsessively tied to tradition that she could not think for herself. But the nonsense was over, and he had business to see to. Urgent business. “If you’ll excuse me, I would like to finish my nap.” He laid back down on the grass and fixed his hat over his face for the third time.
There. No more sad, brown eyes tricking his senses.
“You really shouldn’t sleep here,” she hedged, her gown rustling the grass as shehopefullystood to leave.
“There is no sign preventing me from doing so.” He squeezed his eyes shut, annoyed that he could still see two pools of brown and their accompanying long lashes behind his closed lids. The memory was an astonishing thing and equally vexing.
She huffed from somewhere beside him. “Perhaps not, but this is an extension of the church.”
“And?” His family paid for the upkeep of this particular parish. The least they could do was allow him a few minutes of peace.
“And you really shouldn’t drink so much.”
He frowned. “Who said anything about drinking?”
“Are you so far gone, you do not remember?”
His irritation grew. He was not the type to drink himself into a stupor. He valued his control too much. “The only matter I remember is my intention to sleep.”
“You need more than sleep,” she said. “You need to abstain from—” Another voice sounded in the distance. “Oh, fiddlesticks,” she growled again, though this time it did not hold any fear. “I have to go.”
“Good.” He didn’t mean to sound rude, but nor did he know what else to say. It wasn’t exactly a proper place to converse alone with a woman, and despite his feelings on Society’s silly constraints, he did believe in protecting a woman’s reputation.
He peeked once more when he did not hear the sound of her footfalls. Surprisingly, she hadn’t left yet. She danced back and forth, torn about something. He quickly lowered his hat again and pretended to breathe deeply. It was the kindest way he could think to hint at a dismissal.
The next thing he knew, he had grass stuffed into his mouth.
He sat up like a wind-up toy, sputtering. “For all that is good and holy!”
But the young lady was already running away. “You’ll thank me later,” she called over her shoulder. “Be careful not to overindulge in the drink next time.”
Overindulge? Incredible nonsense. And why on earth had she shoved grass in his mouth? Was she trying to suffocate him? Was she so angry about her cousin that she thought to get rid of the male gender altogether? She was mad! He wiped at his tongue and spat on the ground.
This was yet another reason why he wouldn’t marry. Never would his mother convince him that a woman could bring himhappiness. Nor could his father convince him that one would benefit his position in Society. Ian was better off alone. No single pair of brown eyes would induce him to change his mind. Women were deceivingly pretty but unpredictably dangerous.
Who else would think grass was an appropriate weapon? There was a lingering sweet-and-cool sensation on his tongue now—an odd aftertaste for grass. He focused on his ire instead, because that woman was not sweet or cooling for his temper. His nap—or lack thereof—was permanently ruined. There was no way he could relax enough to sleep now.
This trip had solidified his plans. He was determined to refuse his father at all costs. Women were a nuisance and not worth the gamble of becoming emotionally involved with. His father had shown him how marriage was nothing more than a means to an end, and Ian would be more creative than that and think of a better alternative.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered, glancing in the direction Miss Brown Eyes had fled. And to think, he’d actually felt sorry for her. He glanced at his grandfather’s headstone, wishing someone had witnessed this insufferable moment. But the headstone prompted thoughts of his grandfather’s marriage—riddled with problems. Of all his notable accomplishments, why could Grandfather not have been faithful to his wife? And how could he set his own son up for the same future?
The answers eluded Ian, but what he knew of the past was enough to confirm his choice. Heartbreak ran thick in their family’s blood. Marriage was not for him.
Chapter 2
Amie Tyler had one goalin life: keep a roof over her head. Couldn’t Mama try a little harder to cooperate? Telling Aunt last night that her hair was ugly wasnottrying. That sort of behavior was exactly why Amie had to insist Mama join her on a morning stroll, because leaving her at home, unsupervised, was no longer an option. Mama’s penchant for trouble was threatening to undo their future—again.
