Page 12 of The Rules of Matrimony
Amie brought her arm up to wave back, her smile weakening. Within an hour of Mama’s announcement, the Peterson sisters had spread the news of the engagement throughout the entire town. It had been a single week, and if she were anyone important at all, all of England would have known by now. Being a nobody never had a more useful purpose.
But even a nobody had to take care of herself. With Mrs. Jensen out of sight, Amie started pacing in front of the flowerbeds. She needed a house and distance from her cousin. And fast! Her hands went to her hair, no longer safe since she had neglected her bonnet.“What to do? What to do?” she said to herself as frustration curled out from her fingertips and she pulled at her hair.
A giant of a horse rode up, a handsome stranger sitting regally atop it. He pulled the black beast to a quick stop in front of the walk, the horse rearing up just enough to make her reflexively step back, although she was a safe distance from the road.
His eyes set on her, and his mouth turned down into a frown.
Wait, this was no stranger. She had seen him before. It was none other than the drunk from the graveyard. The last time she had seen him, he hadn’t been too happy with her. She ducked her head before he could get a good look at her and pretended to fuss with the roses. She had been invisible to Society her entire life. Was it wrong to suddenly wish for five more minutes of the same bad luck?
Chapter 5
Reining in his horse, Iantook his first glimpse of the Tylers’ unremarkable brick home. There was nothing significant about the small, simple estate, even down to the plain door. He had nearly passed it by. But it was the third house on the lane, just as Boyles, his investigator, had explained. Since Miss Tyler’s family had been affluent before being forced on the mercy of their relatives, and resided a stone’s throw from London, Boyles been able to locate her in less than three days. He had also reported a brief explanation of her situation, with the promise of more should it be required.
Ian scanned the house front. Inside this typical neoclassical box of a house was a woman who had caused him a great deal of trouble. He needed to resolve this ... this inconvenience straightaway. He had pressing matters to attend to—a plan to satiate his father’s agenda and a plan to execute his latest Rebel project: reforming the Bloody Code.
After dismounting, he searched for someone to hold his animal. No one was about but a woman dressed in a serviceable gray, her hair sticking out at all ends—a maid of all work, no doubt, tending to the garden.
Well, he didn’t care to waste time by taking his horse to the town mews. Only a moment was required to straighten Miss Tyler out and return to London. He swung his leg over his saddle and dismounted, calling out as he did. “Miss?”
The maid turned but did not raise her head. “Would you be so kind as to hold my reins? I have business in this house and will be but a moment.”
“Of course, I would be happy to.” She ducked lower and hurried to him.
Her words and tone were soft and vaguely familiar. Perhaps she had worked as a servant in his townhome before. He dismissed the thought at once. He hadn’t come to study a strange maid but to break a woman’s heart. He couldn’t wait to set this Miss Tyler straight—the upstart who coveted his title and spread lies to attain her wishes.
He muttered a thank-you and marched toward the door.
“If you are here to see Mr. Nelson or his son,” the maid called out, “they are at the pub in town.”
Ian shook his head without turning around. Boyles had mentioned the Tylers lived with the Nelsons, but it was not the Nelsons he sought. “I am here to see Miss Tyler and no one else.” He rapped on the door, and almost immediately, the butler let him in. Perfect. An obliging staff member. He handed over his hat. They might be terrible, dishonest people, but their servants seemed quite decent.
He gave the butler his card and requested an audience with Miss Tyler. A melancholy tune from a pianoforte sang from some distant room. Was his feigned fiancée musical? The funeral march she had selected was the right tune for the occasion.
The butler was leading him to the drawing room when a woman behind him yelled, “Wait!”
He turned to see the maid rush through the front door. “What? Who has my horse?” He valued his mount a great deal.
“A trustworthy boy.” The maid stumbled to a halt, her eyes this time brazenly met his gaze.
He opened his mouth again but recognition cut off all his words, for this was no maid. He hadn’t forgotten those stark brown eyes edged in gold. “You!”
She nodded. “Me.”
“The grass!”
“The grass?”
He pointed at her. “You put a handful in my mouth.”
She gave a small laugh and reached for the paneling on the wall of the vestibule to steady herself. Probably because he was glowering at her. He had a tendency to do that.
“It wasn’t grass, sir. It was mint leaves. Can you not tell the difference?”
So, that was what the sweet-and-cool sensation had been from. “I didn’t keep it in my mouth long enough to dwell on it. And you still shoved it in my mouth.”
“It was for your stomach. I was trying to help you.”
He blinked. How was trying to kill him helpful? Maybe it was the tufts of hair sticking out, but she wasn’t making a good case for herself. “I’m afraid I am at a loss.”
