Page 8 of The Rules of Matrimony
“If this is his attempt to forge a relationship with his only son, he should have done better than to try to force Miss Foster on me.”
Mother sighed. “Miss Foster is a spoiled child, but she will certainly provide the needed political alliance your father seeks for you.”
“Exactly my point.” How his mother could love that man, Ian would never know. “I will not marry her.”
Mama nodded. “I should hope not. I had higher expectations for my only daughter-in-law.”
Ian rocked back on his feet, the shock of Mama’s words effectively cooling his temper. “Does Father know you object?”
She reached out and fingered a rose petal. “He does so much for me, I can hardly make a fuss.”
Ian ground his teeth together. A woman shouldn’t have to live off a pile of letters every Season. Father didn’t do enough of what mattered. Ian’s hand slid to his waist and forced his anger to a simmer. “Then, you must know that Father intends to cut me off.”
“I thought as much.” She dropped her gaze, revealing a glimmer of hurt. “There is one alternative.”
Ian folded his arms across his chest. “Anything is better than a union with Miss Foster.”
“I hope you mean that, because the only solution is to marry someone else first.”
His jaw dropped. He should have known his mother would turn to her matchmaking methods to conceive a solution. Of course it made sense to her to solve a problem of an arranged marriage with a second arranged marriage. “Utterly ridiculous. I have no intention of marrying. The house and title can fall to Cousin Edwin. I will commandeer the Dome as my home and live out my life in peace.” The one-roomed Grecian temple on their Brookeside property would be his castle—and he its bachelor king. He maneuvered around his mother and attempted to stalk away, but Lady Kellen followed after him, two of her soft footfalls sounding to every one of his.
“Cousin Edwin has recently been declared mad. The house and title will go to Mr. Balister, your second cousin.”
Ian stopped so suddenly, he had to steady himself with the wall, narrowly missing a portrait of the late Lord Kellen’s dog. “Mr.HowardBalister? The idiot who burned down his last house in a drunken rage and is now living with his mistress? I heard his wife and children fled to Scotland.” Ian had tried to find the family in order to send funds, but they were yet to be located. Seven. The man had seven children. “Why has no one declaredhimmad?”
“What can I say? We have a family history of madness.”
Ian pursed his lips. “After this morning, I feel the same lunacy threatening to take me over.” He massaged his eyes with his thumb and two fingers. “I’m not giving our lands and titles to Balister.” He growled under his breath. “I am not agreeing to anything, and I cannot even believe I’m considering this, but tell me who you have selected as a candidate to rival Miss. Foster.”
She shrugged. “I have no one in mind at present—at least not someone who could contend against Miss Foster.”
Ian opened his eyes and stared at his mother. “You have no one in mind? You’ve planned the marriages of all my friends and not even spared a thought for your own son? I cannot decide if this pleases me or distresses me.”
“I adore you, son. You are my entire world. But I must say, you are not the easiest person to find a match for.”
“How can you say that?” He gave a short laugh. She was right. He couldn’t disagree.
“You are a good man, extremely generous and loyal.”
“But?”
“But you lack a certain softness that would make for an ideal companion.”
“Softness?” He chuckled. “Isn’t that for the weak?”
“I think you mean meek, Ian. The women might chase after you at the balls, but marriage is far more than a dance. You are all passion and no restraint when it comes to your words—a great attribute forpolitics but not for a husband. And ...” She waved her hand like the rest didn’t matter.
“And?” He wasn’t trying to make his day worse, but something made him press.
Mama shrugged. “And except for your closest friends, you are rather intimidating. But you are a good, valiant son to me, and that is all a mother can ask for.”
Ian blinked at the stark list of his faults set so efficiently before him. No matter how she tried to disguise it with interspersed compliments, it was a mite humbling. He placed a hand on his hip and quipped, “Could you say it any plainer?”
She shook her head. “I would rather not waste time with specifics. Your father is taking me in the barouche to Hyde Park.”
If this was a political move for his father, a few carriage rides wouldn’t convince the public of his devotion to his wife. How could Mama not resent his piddling efforts, as Ian did?
“If you agree to this alternative,” Mama continued, “we will have a great deal to do and not a lot of time to accomplish it. You will have to trust me. I will find you someone sweet and good-natured, someone who will complement your life goals.”
