Page 61 of The Rules of Matrimony
Her gaze flicked to Ian’s. His curious expression held hers for a moment, and heat flooded her cheeks.
He would never kiss her again.
She tore her gaze away and fumbled for her fork. “I am well, Mama. I was lost in thought.”
“If you’re sure.” Then Mama raised her voice as if Ian were in another room. “My Amie has an excellent constitution. It’s all the walking she does. Indeed, I cannot recall the last time she had a cold. And she only overeats when distressed, so she rarely ever has an upset stomach.”
A pity Amie hadn’t missed hearing this particular comment. “Mama, Lord Reynolds does not need to know such unimportant details about me.”
“On the contrary,” Ian said. “I am happy to know my wife has good health.”
Reluctantly, she met his gaze again. His expression was perfectly sincere and seemed to repeat, “You are not a charity case... It would not take any effort at all for me to fall madly in love with you.”
But he hadn’t repeated those words. They were a beautiful echo in her mind. Her stomach fluttered at the recent memory, knowing that he cared. Even if he never acted on it again, at least she knew that much.
Mama spoke again, breaking the thin string of connection between Amie and Ian. “You two have been wed for such a short time, I should think you would like to know such details. But don’t ever give her warm milk. I used to do that when she couldn’t sleep as a child, but it always gave her stomach pains and nightmares.”
Amie’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
A low rumble sounded from the other end of the table, and it sounded suspiciously like a subdued laugh. Ian quickly cleared his throat. “Warm milk, you say? These nightmares don’t make her thrash around, do they?”
Mama put a hand to her chest. “Oh, something terrible. Her bedsheets would always be in a knot come morning.”
More low rumbles. “I shall endeavor to remember that.”
“I haven’t given it to her for years,” Mama said. “There is a chance she has grown out of it. I wouldn’t worry, for as I said, Amie is a healthy woman.”
“Just the same,” Ian said. “Absolutely no warm milk.”
Amie would gladly trade places with the peas in her soup over discussing her humiliating nighttime habits and food sensitivities. She forced herself to give Ian an apologetic look across the table, and she was surprised when he met it with a reassuring smile that warmed her all the way to her toes.
After dinner, Ian excused himself to work. Part of her was disappointed, but the other part was relieved. Now she could focus on Mama’s words, and there would be no need for repeated sentences.
Mama took a seat in the drawing room beside Amie. “Robert cannot be at peace with your wedding. He is depressed and despondent.”
“He will move on soon enough,” Amie said, hugging a throw pillow to her chest.
“I do hope you are right. He really did care for you.” Mama spent the next hour telling her all about the news from town. “Everyone asks about your wedding, and I have never had so many visitors before. It’s like before your father died, but I do not have the energy for it like I used to.”
She hoped her mother hadn’t said or done anything untoward. After the way she’d spread the news of her own daughter’s false engagement, it did make Amie wonder.
Mama stifled a yawn. “Oh, dear me. I should retire to bed before your husband thinks I have no manners at all.”
“He wouldn’t think that.” Amie took her arm, and they walked together through the house and up the stairs. It was nice having Mama by her side again. She really had missed her. Amie entered the bedchamber long enough to yank the bellpull for Edna and to fetch her night things. “Sleep well, Mama.”
“Good night, dear.”
Amie wasn’t worried about interrupting Ian when she opened his door. Knowing him, he would work in his office until his candle all but disappeared. She cast her gaze about the empty room. His large, four-poster bed dwarfed the rest of the room. The mahogany wood scrolled at the ends and gleamed from polish even in the low light. Dark-blue drapes hung from the top, and a matching quilt covered the bed.
She breathed in Ian’s scent: a masculine musk with a hint of amber. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine him standing right in front of her. He had said it correctly when he declared her sentimental. She shook her head and waited for Edna to finish with Mama.
The maid hurried in a few minutes later, long enough to help Amie out of her dress and into her nightgown before Mama called for Edna again. She gave a flustered huff.
Amie handed Edna her evening gown to take with her. “Go ahead, I can brush and braid my own hair.” Not as well as Edna could, but Amie did have years of practice seeing to her own toilet. “Then see yourself to bed. I expect to be up early.” It would do no good for her to linger in this room.
Edna gave a grateful smile. “Thank you, milady.”
Laying her robe on the back of Ian’s chair, Amie sat and picked up her brush. Mindlessly, she worked the tangles from her hair. When she finished, she set her brush down on the dressing table beside Ian’s shaving supplies. Her fingers trailed down the handle of his razor.
