Page 47 of The Rules of Matrimony
She shook her head. She was talking about something else entirely. This was twice now that she had imagined he was saying one thing when he had really meant another. She feigned a look of confidence. “I shall be your scribe and will write what you say until you get it right. You wouldn’t want to confuse Sir James.”
He scowled. “What part was confusing?”
“All of it.”Every last word.“Trust me when I say, you need my help.”
He eyed her as if he could see all the trouble she had ever caused him embodied before him. It wasn’t her fault that he always witnessed the worst of her. Some people thought she had the kindness of angels. They were possibly old or sick, but that wasn’t the point. Either way, she doubted that kindness was what Ian saw when he looked at her.
He rubbed the crease in his chin. “I suppose you may help.”
Her brows rose. He had actually agreed? She had better do something about it before he changed his mind. “Brilliant, I will collect some writing materials.” She rushed past him and out the door to collect parchment and her writing box.
A half hour later, she had written two different versions of the letter, and neither of them could be mistaken for a love letter to herself. She couldn’t decide if that was fortunate or unfortunate. But as she had never received a letter even remotely on that subject, she reminded herself to pay attention. There was a lot to understand about Ian’s interests, and she was determined that this activity would help her puzzle him out. She had never guessed that he would pick such large battles to fight.
Without disclosing too many details, he’d told her about meeting a servant girl caught in the act of thieving and how the thought of her dying had shaken him. Amie had lived in England her entire life and disliked plenty of political and social positions but had never thought about doing anything about it. There was something about Ian’s story that made her see him in a whole new light. He wasn’t out to start a ripple but a tidal wave of progress, and she believed him equal to the task. She wanted to know how he would do it and to watch every moment as history was made.
“This Sir James Mackintosh”—she began—“do you really think he is capable of lowering the number of reasons for hangings?”
“Not just him. He’s on a committee that has been reviewing the criminal law for nearly four years, and before that, others were doing so. Imustjoin their cause. At the risk of sounding like a braggart, my friends and influence could possibly expedite the results. Robert Peel might be the prime minister one day, but he’s biding his time—a true politician. Change will come, but not fast enough. Mackintosh has the tenacity for the subject. He’s going to be the push Peel needs. Every minute counts, and lives depend upon it.”
Amie couldn’t fathom such passion—such commitment. She understood better now what he’d meant on their drive in Chestervale when he had claimed to rebel against the societal rules he did not care for and again last night when he had said he tried to help people. He did not mean it in a flippant, reckless way but in an honorable, just manner. He really did want to make England better. It was a quality wholly without guile and truly admirable.
One question led to another, and Ian patiently answered each one. The time passed quickly, but it was not long enough. Everything he said fascinated her. Many would frown on discussing politics with a woman—they were too delicate a creature—but not Ian. He was unfettered in the knowledge he bestowed.
“You’ve been so kind to answer my questions,” Amie said when no more nagging thoughts came to mind. “If it was not obvious how ignorant I am on matters of state before, it is now.”
“The only crime of ignorance is if you willingly choose to remain in that state despite the opportunity to do otherwise. It’s an admirable quality to seek after knowledge, Amie.”
Her cheeks warmed at the compliment. “I do not know many men who would share your opinion.”
“Then, be grateful that I am your husband and not any other man.” He winked at her, sending a flutter to her middle.Ianhad winked at her. Lord Grumpy himself! How was she supposed to respond? After confusing his letter as a declaration of affection, she willed herself not to read into this gesture.
Conversation. They needed more conversation. “You speak as if you often immerse yourself in giving charity and righting Societal wrongs,” she began. “When did you decide to spend your time this way? After all, you are not in Parliament yet and do not have to spend your hours aiding various causes.”
Ian sank down onto the sofa beside her, making her writing lap desk wobble on the other side of her. His arm came up on the back of the sofa but did not extend to her. Giving her a sideways glance, he said, “I was waiting for your questions to turn personal. You have a tendency to pry.” His voice was half serious and half amused.
She looked down sheepishly. “Forgive me.”
“No, I will answer honestly, as I did last night. There are some matters I prefer to keep private, but this does not need to be a secret between us. You might as well understand why I am the way that I am. And I admit, telling you so prolongs facing more conversation with my father.”
Lord Kellen had stuck his head in once, shaken it, and disappeared again. He was a suspicious man. She did not blame Ian for avoiding him.
Ian sat for a moment, lost in his thoughts, or perhaps gathering them. When he began, his words were slow, almost as if he were testing out whether he wanted to share them or not. “Do you remember Mr. Jackson, my friend and the vicar who officiated at the wedding?”
“Yes, I remember him. One of your Rebel friends?”
“He was one of the original five I spoke of last night. Miles Jackson was just a child when he lost his father. He was going to have to move away from Brookeside. Everyone who knew the family was devastated. I was no less upset than anyone. My friends, you see, represented my stability. But a widow without any living must often look to the charity of her relatives, as you well know. It’s the way of Society. My friends and I loathed the unfairness of the situation. So we banded together and found Miles’s mother a new husband so she would not have to move.”
Amie bit her lip to keep from laughing. “You played matchmaker?”
His expression was like a guilty child caught sneaking sweets. “I suppose you could put it that way.”
“Then what happened?”
“It gave us confidence that we could help others in difficult situations. We had been given a second chance to grow up together, and we wanted to give back. And we did. We’ve aided more people than I can count. Some situations were dire, others small, but every trial is significant to the one who carries it. The feeling is addictive and never quite satisfying. The more you help, the more you see who is suffering and needs you. I want to help them all if I can. Some directly, others indirectly. Whatever God allows me to do. It’s why I raced to London to meet with Mr. Peel. I can’t bear the thought of seeing another starving person desperate for food swinging from the gallows. I must do what I can.”
She stared at him. Lord Grumpy had been hiding a heart the size of England. “Ian, I had no idea.”
“What?”
