Page 59 of The Rules of Matrimony
“The doctor saw her yesterday. She is to remain in bed for another week before she can be moved.”
He groaned. “So your mother is resting in your room?”
She nodded.
There had to be another answer besides them being together again. “Can you not stay with her tonight?”
Amie looked at her lap. “She would not expect it.”
He bit hard on his tongue. The blasted agreement about making this marriage believable was coming back to haunt him. “Say no more. You may stay with me tonight.”
“Thank you.” There was not an ounce of excitement in her eyes. Was he such a bear that she feared the arrangement? And why did he feel disappointed that she was dreading being near him? He was the one who should be dreading it. Not only did she kick and disturb his sleep, but he had boundaries to maintain as well.
“My mother did this on purpose,” he grumbled.
Amie answered without guile. “I am the one who arranged for the door to be painted.”
“No, she sent your mother here because that is exactly the kind of person she is.”
Amie’s brow knitted together. “Because she is kind?”
Amie saw the best in people, but she needed to know what they were dealing with. “Because she is playing matchmaker. They knew I left you to travel to London, and my father learned why I was there. My mother must have caught on. Which means she knows I want to return as quickly as possible. This is her way of keeping us together.”
Amie’s expression softened into one of amusement. “Surely you’re jumping to conclusions.”
He pushed his palms into the wood on either side of him. “I’m making an educated conjecture based on years of experience watching my mother rearrange other people’s lives. Every friend you met at my wedding has my mother to thank for their marriage.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Even that winking man, Mr. Harwood, who complained about the kiss at his wedding? He seemed far too flirtatious with his wife to want to remain single for long.”
“Even Teasing Tom was against marriage before my mother got to him.”
“And the vicar? I cannot imagine it. Every last one of them seemed deeply affectionate toward their spouse.”
He shuddered. “Deeplyis the right word for it. I’ve been suffocated by the mere sight of them. She has all the matrons inBrookeside as her little helpers. My mother is very good at what she does. She never fails to make her match.”
Amie’s hand flew to her mouth, barely smothering her gasp.
He straightened. “What is it?”
“Your mother was at the graveyard the day my mother created the lie about our engagement. You don’t think ...”
Ian gritted his teeth and fell back against the desk once more. “She was the one to tell me about the rumors circulating about us. She was likely the one who created them.”
Amie shook her head. “Surely not. Your mother is one of the kindest, more sincere people I have ever met.”
“My mother has the very best of intentions. The Matchmaking Mamas’ mantra is simple: ‘A match is not a match unless the couple falls madly in love.’ Unfortunately, that is where they will fail with us since you and I will not fall victim to their schemes.”
Amie stared at him. “You sound confident for a man whose friends could not withstand the same pressures.”
“I have the advantage of being me,” he said with a measure of self-loathing. “Lord Grumpy, remember? No, I am nothing like my friends. Where their hearts are soft, mine is hard. Where they are kind, I am short-tempered.”
She pushed away from her seat, standing before he could finish listing his final and greatest reason. Her gown billowed over his feet, her stance nearly eliminating the space between them. With him sitting on the edge of his desk, their heads were nearly the same height, giving him an excellent, and rather heart-stopping, view of his favorite pair of brown eyes.
“Why do you disparage yourself?” she asked. “No one cares so utterly and completely for the livelihood of others as you do. You’re giving up all your time and every ounce of your energy, and why? Not because anyone asked you, but because of the goodness of your conscience. You deserve to love, Ian, and to be loved. There is no reason you could give me that could make me believe otherwise.”
For a moment, he had lost himself in her passion of words and in the depth of her eyes that reflected her very generous soul. Only his tight grip on his desk kept him from pulling her to him and breaking all his promises. “I have a good reason,” he finally said. “Even if you cannot see it.”
She shook her head. “Then, it is by choice and not because you are not capable. It is your own fault that you chose me when you could have had anyone.”
