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

by Nichole Van

Think of marriage to me as more of a business arrangement: I acquire a helpmeet—yes, another biblical word—and, in return, you receive financial stability and a home of your own.

He had Aileen, his childhood love, at his side. The woman he always turned toward, as if she were the sun feeding the garden of his heart.

“I do know Captain Carnegie. Are ye satisfied? We have a prior acquaintance.” “Ye know him? How is that possible?” “He was in Staffordshire with his regiment when I traveled with Aunt and Uncle Leith that summer. We attended a house party together.” More silence . . . still loud and buzzing and thunderous. “Bloody hell, that was twenty years past, Leah.” He shook his head. “That hardly constitutes knowing a man.” “Perhaps not, but he is not a stranger tae me.” “So he remembers ye, too?” “Well . . . no, not as such, but I ken—” “Ye like him. Ye are a wee bitty infatuated with him.” Malcolm’s eyes narrowed. “Ye would have tae be, to remember him after all this time. Do ye love him?” Blast her brother and his too-seeing heart. Leah couldn’t get the words out of her mouth, but the ferocity of her blush spoke volumes. She did like Fox.

After all, she knew what was about to happen. Separately, both she and Fox had spoken with the vicar, authorizing the reading of their marriage banns. Once the banns were read today, everyone would learn of her impending nuptials.

Had she been feeling more herself, Leah would have laughed at the spectacle. As it was, she waited, fingers knotted around her reticule strings. But then a gentle hand took hers, untangling her fingers. Startled, Leah looked to find Fox at her side, quietly threading her palm through his elbow. He has flecks of gold in his blue eyes, Leah noted first. He looks tired, she noted second. Shadows smudged the pale skin beneath his eyes, and a taut tension pulled at his mouth. He even winced in the sunlight, as if his head were sore. And yet, tired and worn and hurting, he had come. “Thank ye,” she murmured. “My pleasure,” he said in return.

For his part, Fox smiled, shooting a kind glance at Leah. “I indeed feel the weight of my good fortune.” Her heart nearly burst for happiness.

To savor the relief that, perhaps, her younger self had not been as much a fool as she had supposed. In the course of just one hour, Leah found herself as smitten with him as she had been all those years ago. Perhaps, even more so.

Had Leah known how being married—or even almost married—would have so expanded her conversations with others, she would have pursued the state more aggressively.

Uncle Leith had commandeered Ethan’s attention for the London Season, wanting to show off his accomplished poet nephew to all his acquaintances in town.

Their mother had adored telling the story. How when Isobel had decided to marry Mr. John Penn, Grandfather Leith had been incensed. As a condition of her marriage contract, he had made two non-negotiable stipulations: One, the new couple would combine their surnames into Penn-Leith. Two, John would use Isobel’s generous dowry to build his bride a fine home more in line with the station to which she had been raised.

Leah folded her arms across her chest. “And what did Uncle Leith say?” “Nothing more than what Hadley and others have said.” Malcolm sipped his whisky. “Your captain is a well-respected, honorable man—though . . . damaged in heart and body due to his involvement with the Coorg War in India. However, unlike Hadley, our uncle has friends of friends who were in India during the war. Before your betrothal, Uncle had heard rumors of what occurred there.” “Such as Fox’s injuries?” “Not necessarily that. More like something scandalous involving a betrayal of sorts. No one can say what specifically occurred, just vague tell of an illicit marriage? A possible annulment? A woman’s tragic death? Regardless, Carnegie fled Madras as soon as he had recovered enough from his injuries tae travel. Next thing anyone kens, he purchases Laverloch Castle—one of the more remote castles in Scotland—with heaven-knows-what money. Uncle Leith thought the captain had received an inheritance from a distant relative, but he didnae know for sure. It’s just all . . .”

“in marriage, ye become part of someone else. In a way, ye lose yourself in them. With my Aileen, this feels . . . glorious. Our marriage is loving. We support and nourish one another. But if the love goes off . . .” His voice trailed away for a moment. “Well, I imagine ye can become so lost that ye struggle to keep any piece of yourself.”

“Happiness is what we make of our situation, not what the situation intrinsically

Leah knew Malcolm called Aileen his ‘strong, Highland lass.’ And Leah’s sister-in-law did, indeed, hail from tall, sturdy stock. But Malcolm always belied his words and treated Aileen with reverent tenderness.

I just dinnae want to watch your loving heart suffer and wither away due to a lack of nourishment.”

His bride, he abruptly noticed, had rather kissable lips—a bowed upper lip over a plush lower one that looked rather succulent, now that he contemplated it— Right. The end of one’s marriage ceremony was not the time to begin thinking about kissing one’s wife.

Had they been unmarried, a maid would be next to her, and he would be sitting opposite, his back to the horses, watching the scenery roll by in reverse and praying the swaying coach did not overwhelm his stomach. But with a wife, he no longer had to submit to propriety. He could pull her onto his lap if he wished, and none would mind.

Perhaps it was the alcohol clouding his vision, but Fox decided then and there that his wife was decidedly pretty. Her eyes were particularly beautiful—wide-set, warm, and fringed with thick lashes. The curves of her body in the tight fit of her silk bodice beckoned him to take a second (and third) glance and set a low heat simmering in his veins. He pulled his eyes away from her lips before his drunk brain said or did anything untoward.

“So how do ye aspire tae spend your time then? I merely ask because I mean to ensure that ye go about your days as ye wish.” Warmth spread through Fox’s chest. Yes, he did like this woman. He liked the soothing lilt of her Scottish brogue, the husky timbre of her vowels.

The very thought sent an aching shiver down her spine, rendering her skin hot and feverish. Ignore it, she pleaded with herself. Do not wish for more than he is willing to give. It will only bring heartache.

And then, leaving Thistle Muir for the last time after their wedding breakfast . . . Well, best not to think upon that if she didn’t wish to weep. Hers were not tears of sadness, per se. Merely the surfeit of emotion that such a monumental change in one’s life could bring. Even now, she could feel the bridal sixpence Aileen had placed in her boot. “For good luck,” her sister-in-law had whispered, hugging her tight. “For a happy life.”

Thirty-eight years old, and she had never known the touch of a man’s lips.

Leah let it all pool in her mind—glowing and joyous and so achingly desired—and then, with brutal efficiency, she emptied the pail, casting off her longing like dishwater out the kitchen door. Such yearning would only bring her unhappiness in the end. After all, contentment was not measured by experiences lived, but by one’s attitude toward those experiences.

Unfortunately for Leah’s resolve, just awakened was a remarkably attractive look on Fox Carnegie.

Leaving Leah behind and quite forgotten. Well. That had to count as the shortest, most uneventful honeymoon known to womankind—a three-hour carriage ride and quarter-hour of conversation.

Because if Fox hadn’t mentioned preparing a room for his bride, his staff had likely assumed she would be sleeping with him. Laverloch wasn’t some fussy palace with deliberately designed separate sleeping quarters. No, historically, the laird and lady would have shared the principal bedchamber.

That was the moment she remembered Ethan’s note, the one he had sent before the wedding. In the tumult of everything, she had utterly forgotten about it.

But now, you are set free. To love . . . practically. Your world has spun a new axis, A different sun, your faithful gone. You, alone, must shape a new form, A home, a rhythm, a wild song, Sculpting the stone of yesteryear, Into a shape where you belong. And now I pray for you to see A way to love . . . practically. Leah was crying by the end.

And Leah could and would do that. It was what she had vowed when she married him. She had simply assumed that Fox would carve a space in the home for her, too.

It was only as Madeline slid her hand into Leah’s and tilted her head back to look up that Leah finally noticed it: Blink, blink, blink. Madeline had Fox’s eyes.

Though Leah had firmly explained to Madeline that people could not be delicious, she had lied. Because at this very moment, cuddling the wee lass, Fox looked delectable. Dressed in shirtsleeves, a waistcoat, and dark blue trousers, he filled the room with masculine energy.

Their heads nearly touched. “Let me get us some plates,” Leah said, causing both Fox and Madeline to look up at her in the same instant. The image burned into Leah’s brain. Fox and Madeline staring upward, their cheeks so close together, they nearly touched. Side by side, the resemblance was unmistakable. The girl was a miniature, female version of Leah’s husband—the same wide-set blue eyes, the same curling hair with a cowlick to the right, the same hint of a left dimple. Gracious.

This would be an unbearable marriage if she allowed her heart to gobble up such meager scraps of his attention.

Fox didn’t just look delicious; he smelled it, too. The scent of expensive shaving soap clung to him. She wanted to lean her nose into the space between his shoulder and jaw and inhale, just as he had done with the scones.

Fox laughed at that. A booming, delighted burst of sound that lit his eyes and destroyed nearly every ounce of Leah’s good sense. Oh, gracious. This would all be much easier if she didn’t find her husband so very . . . delicious.

“But . . . her mother?” Leah placed the question tentatively. “On that, I am sworn to absolute secrecy. My oaths silence my tongue on everything that pertains to Madeline’s life before Laverloch, particularly the details of her parentage. And I am a gentleman. When I swear an oath, I keep it.” He met Leah’s gaze then, intent, earnest. “Especially when Madeline is at stake.”

Unfortunately, the pull of physical craving was an old familiar friend. Was he really as bad as all this? But with alcohol this time, not laudanum as after Coorg?

The light turned her hazel eyes into pools of golden-green summer and rendered her soft, pink lips even pinker and softer and so very . . . kissable. It would take only three steps, and he could have her in his arms, pressed gently against the stone wall, his head descending—

Dennis, who had been his closest and longest friend. The loss of his friendship had been like a cannon broadside—reducing every aspect of Fox’s life to smithereens. Even nearly five years on, Fox wanted to smash things when he brooded over it too long.

He had been a captain in His Majesty’s army, as well as an officer in the Presidential Army of India.

Fox’s wife stood firm, chin raised high. She was indomitable, a foundation refusing to be moved. Admiration rose in Fox’s chest. He appreciated his wife’s good sense, but seeing Leah in full battle mode—cheeks flushed, eyes snapping—was a fierce sight. It made him regret even more the platonic circumstances of their marriage.

He hated that Coorg and the chaos that followed had broken something within him and, like Humpty-Dumpty, he couldn’t seem to piece it back together.

“Pardon?” Leah’s color rose once more. “I don’t appreciate you ordering me about,” he bit out. “I’m not a witless invalid, nor one of your courtyard slaters, to be managed and dictated to.”

Fox took another swallow. “I didn’t marry you for your opinions.” “Of course, ye did,” she shot back, refusing to be cowed. If he weren’t so annoyed, he would have found it admirable.

“I see,” she finally said, expression shuttered. “Ye married me because ye wanted a servant who couldnae leave. Someone bound by the law to stay beside ye, no matter how cutting your words or dark your mood.” The starkness of her tone knocked the breath from Fox’s lungs. He had just said so, had he not?

Captain Fox Carnegie had married her to secure an indentured housekeeper—one paid in pin money, a dower, and a married surname.

Her choices now were simple: accept the reality of Fox and his expectations, or mire herself in regrets. Ever the practical, optimistic sort, she chose acceptance, as painful as it was to admit. Regret would give her nothing more than two red eyes, a sore head, and an aching heart. Things she hadn’t the time for.

An array of wonders greeted her. Exotic carved chairs and crates stamped in foreign symbols she assumed to be Hindi. The smell of exotic spices lingered, a wisp of memory on the wind. So not the Major’s items then, but Fox’s collection from his years abroad.

Seeing the two of them together did something to Leah’s chest. It was warmth and agonizing ache rolled into a solitary tight ball. Warmth . . . because any man who loved a child like this must be blessed with a true and loyal heart.

Leah spared one final glance out the window. Madeline now had hold of Fox’s hand, swinging it merrily as she skipped beside him. He lifted his head. His eyes unerringly locked with Leah’s. She froze. His expression faltered for only a moment before he raised a hand in greeting. Madeline paused and followed Fox’s gaze. She immediately began jumping up and down, waving madly at Leah and drawing a smile from Fox. The two of them appeared ridiculously alike—matching grins and wide eyes. Despite the weight in her heart, Leah pressed a palm against the glass, smiling in return.