Love Practically (The Penn-Leiths of Thistle Muir, #1)

by Nichole Van

Unfortunately, Miss Leah Penn-Leith feared she had inadvertently killed one instead.

Lieutenant Lord Dennis Battleton

Mr. Fox Carnegie,

In short, it was an impressive feat of physical strength. Mr. Carnegie pivoted, spinning himself and Lord Dennis around, stopping just behind Leah’s bedchamber door as a knock sounded. Leah didn’t know whether to be impressed by Mr. Carnegie’s quick reaction or appalled at the smooth, practiced nature of it. This was clearly not the first time Mr. Carnegie had lifted the leaden weight of a drunken friend.

No wonder gentlemen were required to remain precisely dressed at all times. A disheveled man invited all sorts of salacious thoughts.

Leah was attending the house party—hosted by an English cousin, Mrs. Gordon—as Aunt Leith’s companion. It was all part of the campaign to lift Leah out of the ‘unfortunate circumstances of Isobel’s marriage.’ That, of course, referred to Leah’s deceased mother, Isobel Leith, who had married John Penn, a Scottish gentleman farmer well below her aristocratic station.

Mr. Carnegie had stood behind his friend, arms folded, expression wry and watchful. There had been a quiet sense of noticing about him, a steadiness that had instantly drawn Leah in.

Having been raised by a stoically silent father, Leah understood that silence was often a conversation unto itself. Sometimes it could be as soothing as an embrace, as understanding as a long blether. Other times, silence was a noisy thing—loud and shouty and demanding attention. Not everyone was fluent in the language of silence, but Mr. Carnegie appeared to have mastered it. Quiet felt peaceful in his presence.

Leah’s heart gave another wee lurch. So he was young . . . only nineteen. “My uncle became my guardian after my father’s death,” he continued. “Unlike my pacifistic father, my uncle believes a man must do his duty and go to war when needed. I cannot say I relish the thought, but I must provide for myself and I have no interest in the Church. Therefore, the military is the only choice left. Uncle purchased me a commission in the 64th Foot, and here I am.” Living a life I never really wanted.

My younger brothers are too wee tae be without a mother, so I’ve had tae become their mamma.” Leah let out a slow breath, thinking about Malcolm and Ethan back home at Thistle Muir.

“You are kind tae say so, but we do what we must.”

After a particularly fine bowl, Mr. Carnegie turned toward the sound of her voice, meeting her gaze for the briefest of moments, a wee secret smile on his lips. Leah’s poor heart nearly burst from the joy of it. That he noticed her. That perhaps he felt the same connection that she did.

She watched her own gloved hand lift and press gently in his. Despite the soft kid leather between them, the casual touch flared with a heat that fairly stole Leah’s breath. Lifting her gaze, she met his smiling blue eyes, so earnest and kind. “I have you,” he encouraged. “I shan’t let you fall.” But he was wrong. Because Leah did fall. Not into the stream . . . that she managed to cross easily. No. Instead, that was the moment Miss Leah Penn-Leith fell in love—completely, irrevocably—with Mr. Fox Carnegie.

Miss Smith has not captured my particular attention. In fact, I cannot say a single woman here intrigues me enough to pursue a further connection.” Leah bit her lip, willing herself to not recoil from the sting of his words. “Hmmph.” Lord Dennis studied his friend. “You know, I think I believe you for once.

And yet . . . the dream of Mr. Carnegie persisted. Or rather, not Mr. Carnegie himself, per se. She was not so deluded as to think he would ever spare her another thought. But rather, a man like him.

She could not abandon the dream of marrying a gentleman who viewed her as if she mattered.

“Well, ye heard it first from me.” Mrs. Buchan leaned in. “They say a wealthy army captain from India bought Laverloch Castle.”

“Who will look after ye now? What with your father passed on and Malcolm with his new wife?”

Of her stupidity in allowing a few heady minutes in the company of one braw man to chart the course of her life.

After the debacle in London, she had settled back into mothering Malcolm and Ethan and, with Cousin Elspeth’s help, managing the domestic necessities of the farm.

When Ethan was ten years old, Uncle Leith had decided that he was the Penn-Leith with the most promise. So Uncle had taken Ethan to live with them in Aberdeenshire, sending him to the same grammar school the infamous poet, Lord Byron, had attended.

“Captain Fox Carnegie will be a welcome addition to the neighborhood.” The words Captain Fox Carnegie struck Leah’s psyche with a jarring thwack, wrenching her attention back to the two women. “P-pardon?” she managed to stammer. Mrs. Clark beamed, approving of Leah’s shocked reaction. “Captain Fox Carnegie is the gentleman who purchased Laverloch.” Mrs. Clark’s smile widened, pleased that she was the first to tell the news.

“Why has this Captain Carnegie taken up residence here?” Leah was proud of the steady tone of her voice. “The captain is a personal friend of Lord Hadley,” Mrs. Buchan rushed to say, clearly determined to reveal all she knew. “I’ve heard he wanted tae live closer to his lordship.” Captain Fox Carnegie claimed a close friendship with Andrew Langston, Earl of Hadley? Leah felt nearly dizzy with this array of new information.

The stupidity of refusing a perfectly adequate proposal in the wake of those ridiculous dreams. But even that shame hadn’t stopped Leah from diligently following the fortunes of the 64th Foot in the London Gazette. She knew Mr. Carnegie’s regiment had left England for Gibraltar in late 1819. He was advanced to the rank of Lieutenant in 1823, and then to Captain in 1830 when the company removed to the West Indies. And then . . . nothing. The 64th Regiment of Foot embarked for Ireland in 1834, but Captain Carnegie was not mentioned in the muster list. Word filtered down from Aunt Leith that Captain Carnegie and Lord Dennis Battleton had sold their commissions in the army two years previously and had taken up employ as captains in the Presidency Army of the East India Company.

For months, Thistle Muir had been almost unbearably silent. Night after night, Malcolm and Leah shared a quiet dinner before Malcolm would slip out to spend an hour walking with Aileen Mitchell, the miller’s bonnie daughter, along the River South Esk. Ethan was hundreds of miles away in England, reading Classics at Oxford, writing poetry, and exceeding the expectations of Uncle Leith’s lavish attention. The youngest Penn-Leith was a bright star on a shooting trajectory with success and fame. After mourning their father the requisite six months, Malcolm had married his Aileen on a blustery day in November.

Fox looked at his ward. Five years old and the girl stood with hands on her hips like an innkeep’s wife, glaring at said Mr. Dandelion McFluffles.

Loving a child was an odd thing, he decided. He would happily give up his life for Madeline.

Madeline beamed at him, clearly proud of herself for remembering, and abruptly looked so much like her mother—blond curls, blue eyes, dimpled cheeks hinting at mischief—that Fox feared what remained of his heart would shatter.

Having spent most of his adult life with only one servant, his batman Thompson, it was odd to house an entire household of them now.

Andrew Langston, Earl of Hadley,

Perhaps once he had been capable of inspiring affection in a gently-bred lady, but the Coorg War and the horrors that followed had forever destroyed any romantic notions for him.

Despite being nearly a decade older than Fox’s own thirty-nine years, Hadley was still a commanding figure.

“I received a letter from Alex, my good friend in Lords,” Hadley said, sipping his whisky. “The Marquess of Lockheade, isn’t he? You’ve mentioned him before.”

“Aye. From here, it will simply be a matter of journeying tae London when the time comes. Alex and I will lend what support we can. If powerful men appear tae be on your side, the judges are more likely to rule in your favor. Though it would help if ye could tell me more about the case . . .” Hadley’s voice drifted off. Fox frowned. “As I’ve said before, Hadley, I swore an oath of silence on this matter. To say anything more risks Madeline’s safety.” “But I hardly know anything at all. Only that, if successfully litigated, this case will prove Madeline’s legitimacy.”

The right lady? Fox closed his eyes. The thought of such a woman sounded . . . Well . . . lovely. A calm voice reading to him of an evening. A capable force running his household, standing between himself and the world’s mayhem. Perhaps, even, a soft body to warm his bed at night. That seemed almost . . . heavenly.

Over that miserable tea of leaky sandwiches, his lordship had even recommended the perfect lady for the job. Miss Leah Penn-Leith. Fox had scarcely looked up from his burnt shortbread as Hadley spoke, but the earl’s every word drummed into his skull nonetheless. “She is exactly the wife for ye, Carnegie.

Like the decision to take his suit to the Court of Arches. To demand that Madeline remain with him while he fought to restore her standing in the world. To purchase this castle far away from prying eyes and human bustle.

He had been living at Laverloch Castle for nearly three months now and had yet to make an appearance in the village.

Her eyes returned to him—incapable, it seemed, of staying away—helplessly searching for the missing pieces that would complete the puzzle of him. How had he received that dreadful scar? How much had he endured for King and Country? How many battles fought? And why did the thought of his suffering make her heart ache? She was the veriest fool.

Her ready answer appeared to nonplus him. He swallowed, the motion drawing her eye to his Adam’s apple and the beginnings of whiskers darkening his jaw. She took in a deep breath and ordered her eyes to stop ogling this man with only marginal success.

He speared her with his electric blue eyes. A jolt skittered down her spine. Oh, dear. She still found him alarmingly attractive. Her eyes dipped, drawn to the tendons flexing along his throat, to the press of muscular shoulders beneath his superfine coat. Her heart pounded.

He held out a staying hand. “Let us say no more on the matter, Miss Penn-Leith. Ours would obviously not be a love match, but rather a marriage of convenience.” He took a deep breath, saying what needed to be said. “So we would not, of course, have a true marriage in every sense.” The lady visibly deflated at his words, the scorched red of her face retreating.

And was Miss Penn-Leith always going to detect the flaws in his thinking? Though that was rather a wife’s job, he supposed.

“I am tired, Miss Penn-Leith. Exhausted, soul-deep. I long for rest and quiet and possibly, I think, . . . a companion.” The words sank deep. A companion. Yes. That was it. How odd that it had taken him so long to arrive at this point— He wanted a friend. One who would never leave him.

Moreover, she instinctively understood him. His view of the world resonated within her, plucking at the strings of her own regret, of her own weary worry for the future.

The problem, of course, was that she had spent the last twenty years wishing to be so much more to a husband than a mere companion. She wanted to be a man’s—this man’s—everything . . . his wife, his lover, his equal. Could she truly marry Captain Carnegie, knowing she would not receive all of him?

“May I ask how your ward . . .” “Madeline,” he said her first name and nothing more. No surname. Just . . . Madeline. “Madeline,” Leah repeated, slowly. “May . . . may I ask how she came into your care?” Fox’s face instantly shuttered, dark curtains falling over his visage. “I do not discuss Madeline’s past. Suffice it to say, she is motherless and under my protection.”

Would Fox next tell Leah a story of a nefarious uncle with designs on young Madeline’s fortune? Or perhaps disclose that Madeline was the long-lost child of the previous king, and a disreputable duke wished to use her as a pawn for political gain? Leah nodded as if she understood, but in truth, she did not. Why must Madeline’s history and very existence be kept secret?

Ye have much of life ahead of ye. ’Twould be a shame to settle for competence and sausage rolls when ye could have . . . love.”

I fear you have chosen the wrong Old Testament story. I am more akin to Job, attempting to rebuild my life out of ashes.”