Page 42 of The Rules of Matrimony
“Lady Reynolds has exceeded my expectations,” Father said flippantly.
Ian resisted slamming down his glass at his father’s impertinent statement but instead rested the glass as gently as he could on the table. “I do not think you need any expectations for my wife since your opinion holds no weight on the subject. We are already married.”
Father pressed his lips together. “All I’m saying is you could have done worse in your rush to disobey me.”
Ian’s grip tightened around his glass. If he gripped it any harder, he knew he would crush it. This was no backhanded compliment. It was a reminder that his father was wise to the situation and an even greater reminder that Ian was a continual disappointment. Unless he wanted glass shards stuck in his hand, continuing this conversation seemed pointless. Ian pushed back his chair. “You must excuse me. I am eager to be by Amie’s side.” He strolled purposefully from the table. His father’s voice stopped him before he made it very far.
“Did you miss her so terribly when you took off to London in the middle of your wedding trip?”
Ian ground his teeth together, fighting against all the frustrated words he wanted to throw at his father. He turned, just enough so his father could see his calm expression—albeit incredibly forced. “I had important business in London. Is that why you rushed here? To ascertain if I regretted my choice? You can see for yourself, Amie and I are happily wed.”
He did not wait for his father to respond. With a controlled hand, he pulled the door open and strode into the sitting room. His breath, however, came in short bursts. Amie looked over her shoulder at him from her seat on the sofa and smiled.
That one smile, laced with her innocent charm, steadied him. His anger melted considerably. He had calmed her in her storm, and she would not abandon him in his time of need either. They were allies, and while it was and would always be a loveless marriage, she was offering her friendship.
And he would take it.
y
Ian forced a visage of calm when he felt anything but. His father, annoyed by the sleeping situation, grumbled under his breath about sharing the family rooms with the help. Mama, however, was her usual collected self and did not betray her feelings on the subject. They stood outside his bedchamber, as if waiting for him and Amie to turn in first.
“Good night, then,” he said to his parents.
“Good night,” Mama said.
Father held his ground, his expression smug.
Ian held out his arm for Amie and led her into her room—their room. The last thing he saw before he shut the door was his father’s raised brow. Ian wouldn’t give him a single reason to think this marriage a sham.
A trembling hand on his arm altered his attention away from his father. He glanced down at Amie. She looked rather pale. Her nerves were betraying her.
Ian cleared his throat and whispered, “I am sorry.”
Amie released him and took a step away. “It isn’t your fault.”
“I won’t forget the first rule of our contract tonight,” he said.
She nodded, but by her noticeable gulp, she wasn’t ready to swallow this situation he had served her.
He looked around, wondering how to proceed. Neither of them was dressed for the night. “I will step out for a moment and let your maid attend to you.”
She nodded too many times. “That would be kind.”
He almost laughed but more from awkwardness than humor. He nodded and let himself out. When he turned, he saw his father standing there with his arms folded, looking not at all surprised to see him.
“I ...” Ian started, searching for some excuse. He spoke the first thing that came to his mind, something that was in truth about himself. “Amie sometimes has trouble sleeping. I’m fetching some warm milk from the kitchen.”
“Can’t a servant do that?”
Ian straightened. “A husband ought to serve his wife when he can.” He moved to the staircase before his father could laugh in his face. Even if Ian didn’t love Amie, he would stand by his statement, regardless if he was in the minority in his opinion.
After stalling in the kitchen, taking a moment to play with Tiny, where they had decided he’d best remain with company in the house, Ian returned upstairs with the warm milk. He’d been gone at least a quarter hour, but his father was still standing in the corridor. Father leaned against the wall, examining his fingernails, obviously waiting for him. Ian gave him a curt nod and marched toward Amie’s bedchamber door. He wanted, with everything he possessed, to knock, but to save face, he did not. When he entered, he kept his face down, and once the door was closed, he hastily turned toward it.
“Are you decent?” he whispered.
“Yes,” Amie said.
He turned and found she was already in bed, with covers pulled up to her neck. The second thing he noticed was a line of pillows beside her, right down the middle of the bed.
