The two men sat in silence for a moment.
“Ye know . . .” Hadley began, “I ken there is something ye could donowthat might improve the odds of your suit.”
Fox found himself caught between a growl and a chuckle. “Don’t say it.”
“Get yourself a wife,” Hadley winked. “The judges will be more keen tae find in your favor if you’re seen tae be a family man.”
“A wife? Have you not been hearing me, your lofty earlship? I need a competent nurse for Madeline, a cat tamer for that wretch over yon—” Fox jerked his chin toward Mr. Dandy, sitting on the window sill and staring at them as if plotting their demise. “—a fairy godmother to hire devoted servants, a clerk to balance my household accounts, and a bodyguard to ensure no one disturbs my peace.”
“So in other words,” Hadley lifted his glass, “a wife.”
Fox rested his head against the back of his chair, brain so . . . weary. His head hurt, his hip throbbed, and he was desperate to return to his nap, despite the welcomeness of Hadley’s presence.
“The last thing I need is a spoiled lady adding her opinions to the disaster that is my life. Not to mention, what sane, sociable creature would wish to remove herself to this inhospitable corner of Britain?” Fox lifted his head to pin Hadley with a bleary look. Wind rattled the windowpanes, as if to emphasize the point. “You know some of my history, Hadley. I have no desire for love or romantic entanglements; this court case proves as much. I’m a poor gamble for any lady.”
Hadley sobered at last, bolting the rest of his whisky with a wince.
“The right lady would join ye here,” his lordship said, voice quiet and earnest. “A truegentlewoman. A lady who would run your household with precision and treat ye with kindness. One who would provide the maternal guidance that Madeline requires and be a companion for yourself. Such a lady would not care about the scars ye carry, within and without.”
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.
And yet in the same breath, just the thought of courting a lady felt exhausting. The clatter of conversation. The prying questions and flirtatious banter. The impossibility of knowing what a woman was thinking.
He had once been passably good at such things. But since Coorg . . . that war and its devastating aftermath . . . .
How could he trust a woman again? After all that had occurred?
Fox’s heart raced, his hand itching to reach for the whisky bottle again.
Hadley was right. Fox’s scars were as much internal as not. For him, there would be no fairy tale ending, no happily-ever-after.
A rattle sounded outside the library door. William entered carrying a tray, a teapot and cups quaking atop it. He set the tray on a table between Fox and Hadley, bowed, and left.
Fox stared down at the repast provided—shortbread singed black at the edges, cucumber sandwiches soggy and leaking. And the tea . . . scarcely smelled like tea. How could one brewteawrong?
“Aye.” Hadley nodded, picking up a sandwich that promptly dripped milky liquid onto the biscuits. “Ye most definitely need a wife.”
Fox stared intothe dying fire in his library, dark clouds shrouding the evening sky outside the window. The wind earlier in the day had churned the weather into a stormy gloom.
Lord Hadley had departed hours ago.
Dinner, when it had finally arrived, had been a tasteless affair of boiled chicken, undercooked turnips, and stale bread. Fox had stared at the gray meat, stabbed the still-hard neeps, and sighed.
He wanted to weep.
To stomp down to the kitchen and rage at his staff.
To write his solicitor in Aberdeen and order the man to hire more capable people post haste.
But that required effort. And Fox didn’t have the energy foreffort.
