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

by Nichole Van

But as sometimes happens with old friends, we had simply grown in different directions.

I began to hear snippets of what had occurred back in Madras. That Susan had delivered her babe and was unwell. That Dennis was escorting Honoria in plain sight, when I knew he was married to my sister. I read the reports I received over and over until the letters all but fell apart. Finally, Honoria wrote me, breaking off our betrothal.

And Dennis used every one of those months to his advantage. He had seized on Susan’s mental decline and brought a Writ of Annulment on the basis of insanity before the Archbishop of Madras. He claimed that I had kept the truth of Susan’s state from him before their marriage, and that the marriage should be struck down.” “Vile man! Why an annulment . . . that would render Madeline illegitimate. How could any father be so cruel?”

The day the Archbishop of Madras granted the annulment, Dennis and Honoria had their banns read, married three weeks later, and set sail for London.

“As soon as I learned of the annulment, I began the process of appealing the case to the Court of Arches. My sister was not insane at the time of her marriage; Dennis was not deceived. And after Susan’s death, there was no reason to let the annulment stand. It simply saddled an innocent child with the brand of illegitimacy.

Dennis was desperate to keep things that way, as Honoria wanted nothing to do with another woman’s child, and the duke would be horrified by Dennis’s actions—”

“Madeline’s case rests in an odd sort of limbo. She is many things at the same time: legitimate, but not; her father’s ward, but not. If she is illegitimate, I have the claim to her legally, as I am Madeline’s closest male relative. If she is legitimized, then Dennis has full legal claim as her father. I don’t want Madeline to suffer the stigma of illegitimacy, even if it means Dennis regaining his parental rights. Fortunately, Dennis wants nothing to do with his daughter.

The letter I received from His Grace made it clear he knows everything. He and his duchess wish to meet their granddaughter.”

If His Grace intends to take Madeline away, I will fight it with everything I have. But . . .” His voice trailed off. “I am only her uncle.” “Yes, but until the marriage is officially reinstated, ye are still her legal guardian, as ye said?”

Leah buried her face in his chest, letting him bear her up. She intended to ask him about his comment earlier. What he meant by sharing burdens ‘of those I love.’

Reconnaissance, as any good soldier knew, was utterly essential to anticipating the enemy. And Fox had made good use of his few hours at Muirford House the day before, quizzing Hadley and his countess about Westhampton and his duchess. “Her Grace is known for her warmth and charitable works,” Lady Hadley had candidly informed Fox. “His Grace is fair but stubborn when it comes to getting his own way,” Lord Hadley had added. “You intend to take Madeline, then?” Fox asked Her Grace, barely keeping the panic from his voice. “Lord Dennis had agreed she could stay with myself and my wife.”

“She scarcely looks like Dennis,” she murmured, shooting a glance at Fox over Madeline’s head. “So blond and fair. I only see hints of him in her eyes and smile.” “She strongly resembles my late sister,” Fox offered.

As if sensing the most theatrical moment to make an appearance—because, of course, the dratted cat would do such a thing—the door swung open and Mr. Dandy himself pranced into the room, tail held high. The duchess sat back in her chair, clutching the duke’s arm. “Mr. Dandy!” Madeline cried.

The duchess pressed further back into the sofa, eyes wide with alarm. “Can we please summon a footman and have this nuisance removed?” She flicked her fingers toward the cat before promptly sneezing again. The duke snapped his fingers. Unfortunately, finger-snapping did not summon footmen at Laverloch.

“Captain Carnegie, please remove this . . . this creature from my duchess’s presence,” Westhampton continued. The duke said creature, but from the tone of his voice, Fox was quite sure he meant demon spawn. Fox stood up, slowly. Leah followed. Knowing Mr. Dandy and Madeline, the next five minutes could descend into rackety chaos.

The duke took a step, as if to snatch Madeline’s hand. However, Fox’s niece had never been one to tolerate anyone standing between her and her cat. She danced out of the duke’s reach, shaking her head. “No,” she said. “I stay with Mr. Dandy.” “You will do as you are told!” Madeline flinched, her bottom lip quivering. A crying fit and possible tantrum were soon to follow. Fox knew the signs only too well.

Fox shook his head, unsure what to say or do. Madeline, despite all appearances, would be fine. She would eventually pass out and begin breathing again. Fox had endured enough of Madeline’s tantrums to know how this scene would play out. But he hardly wanted to reassure the duke and duchess at the moment.

Her heart couldn’t abide this. This ongoing disintegration of all she knew and loved. Aileen’s death. Malcolm’s grief. Madeline’s leaving. Fox’s sorrow. How much more loss would her husband have to suffer? And how cowardly of Leah . . . that she simply couldn’t endure it.

But their fragile tentative new growth toward a true marriage had now been uprooted. Would the pain and grief of Madeline being torn from their grasp freeze the tender bud of Fox’s devotion? And if it did, how was Leah to bear it?

The man’s broken recitation tugged at Fox’s heart strings. But Fox hadn’t been a military captain for nothing. He recognized a crumbling defense when he saw it.

“Taking her from us would be akin to the loss of your own babe. Even after every vile, inhumane thing Dennis did to—to Susan, to myself personally—I have always treasured his child as if she were my own.” That got the duke’s attention. His head snapped up. “Dennis hurt you? Specifically? Not just your sister?”

Leah stared. That dratted cat. How had he escaped the Laird’s Lug? And why was he out in the mist and heather? Was he coming to find her?

And as Leah pressed her face to Mr. Dandy’s fur, she realized another truth— She would be all right. She would. Even if she and Fox had to surrender Madeline to the Westhampton’s care, they would get through the loss together.

Because he was here—grizzled, rugged, battle-worn, but still so agonizingly attractive. And not just for his handsome face, but for the loyal, loving heart she knew beat within him. For the strength of character he possessed to overcome the cruelest blows life could deliver. He kept walking toward her, closer and closer, until she was in his arms.

“Are they going to take her then?” Fox shook his head. “As it turns out, the duke’s iron will is matched by that of his granddaughter.” He told Leah what had happened. “Madeline insisted she would hold her breath over and over until we were all allowed to live with the duke and duchess. Their Graces decided to negotiate a truce.”

“We reached a compromise. Madeline should have a relationship with her grandparents. That is only right. But the duke and duchess finally acknowledged that Madeline also needs a true family.

I asked the duke if my guardianship of Madeline could be drawn up in a formal agreement. He said he will have his solicitor draft it immediately. Dennis has said he has no interest in knowing Madeline, and honestly, both His Grace and I would like to ensure that remains the case.”

“And ye came straightaway tae find me, to tell me,” she almost whispered. “Of course. I’ll always come for you, my heart.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Finding you is the easiest thing I’ll ever do. Because when I’m with you, I’m home. However, I have neglected to mention one very important thing.” “Ye have?” “Aye, Leah, I have. And it’s this: I love you.”

“I hope that one day we might be blessed with another child. My child. Our child.” Leah kissed him at that, whispering yes into his skin. Fox responded in kind, thrilling her with hungry kisses, his hands moving down to hold her tightly.

My hardships enabled me to understand what was most important.

In short, I needed to grow up and stop being such an arse.

Particularly as Leah was currently ten hours into birthing a child. His child. Their child.

The cat leapt onto the burly Scot’s lap and bumped his head against Malcolm’s shoulder, demanding pets. The bloody cat adored Malcolm Penn-Leith.

The Duke and Duchess had remained at Laverloch for nearly three weeks last summer and, despite some initial misfires, their visit had resulted in all of them forming a long-lasting friendship.

For his part, Fox rather liked the thought of being shut up in his warm, cozy castle with his lush wife, scarcely climbing out of bed for months on end.

And so the family removed to Thistle Muir, settling in with Malcolm and filling the silent house with the sound of Madeline’s pattering feet and Mr. Dandy’s yowling. Though he pretended to dislike the noise, Malcolm slowly lifted out of his bleak melancholy.

They had spent a delightful Yuletide together, made all the more joyous by the news that Fox’s suit before the Court of Arches had been successful. Susan’s marriage had been reinstated and Madeline declared legitimate.

“Ye’ve a fine son, Captain Carnegie,” she announced, all smiles. “Mrs. Carnegie appears tae be doing well. We’ll be ready for ye tae come up in a minu—” The girl hadn’t finished her sentence before Fox was out of the room and taking the stairs two at a time.

Before even glancing at the boy, Fox leaned forward and took his wife’s mouth in a possessive kiss. “You are a goddess, wife,” he rasped. She laughed, that throaty sound he so loved. “I love ye, too, Fox Carnegie.”

Fox pressed his lips to the babe’s downy cheek in his arms and then turned to Leah, kissing her soundly. “I find it remarkable how my love for you deepens over time.” He nuzzled her neck. “I thought I loved you a year ago, but what I feel now pales in comparison.”

To love . . . practically. Your world has spun a new axis, A different sun, your faithful gone. You, alone, must shape a new form, A chanting 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.

Today I smile because I see That you are loved . . . emphatically.