Concerns over his suit before the Court of Arches, Madeline’s future, and the need for order in his household trumped all other desires. He didn’t have the will or the time to go looking farther afield than this woman.
She was perfect for his needs.
Hadley was correct. Fox did need a wife.
This marriage would be about children—one child—and housekeeping. It would be unwise to veer from those intentions, would it not?
Moreover, given the frightful intensity of Miss Penn-Leith’s blush, the idea of a true marriage clearly distressed her. Was it him specifically? Did she find him lacking?
Or was it more that she didn’t know him? Would her response temper once they became better acquainted?
Or was her reaction more deep-seated? Was this why she hadn’t married? Fear of intimacy?
The questions chafed, as Fox didn’t know which answer was correct. Regardless, he held to his purpose, wishing it were acceptable to take a healthy swallow from the flask in his breast pocket or, at the very least, pace the room.
“A true marriage?” He faced her concerns with the stoic verve of the soldier he was. “The idea seems distressing to you.”
Miss Penn-Leith’s hands fisted into her skirts, her skin so scarlet, Fox nearly winced. It was nearly comical how this woman’s formidable self-possession collapsed at the thought of marital intimacy.
“Uhmm, I cannae say—” She cleared her throat, eyes drifting away, looking everywhere but at him. Were she a London debutante, she would be wringing her handkerchief and swooning. “That is . . . I should like . . . Or, rather, I cannot . . .”
Fox couldn’t bear to watch her practically drown in blushes and maidenly modesty.
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.
Must she appear so relieved at the thought ofnothaving to share his bed? Fox ignored the stab of wounded male confidence that accompanied the thought.
Clearly, he had made the correct decision here.
“A m-marriage of convenience,” she managed to stammer out, lifting those hazel eyes to his. “Ye d-dinnae wish for children of your own?”
Children? Yes, whataboutchildren of his own? Blast, he truly hadn’t thought this through, had he?
Though . . . given what he had experienced, firsthand, of childbirth and the perils of its aftermath? The idea of such things . . .
“No,” he said, perhaps more emphatically than he intended, finally giving in to the urge to pace before the bow-window. His leg ached from the long ride down the glen, forcing him to lean on his walking stick. “I cannot say that I want children. The risk to yourself would be too high, and we are both perhaps too old to be starting a family.”
A long pause.
He dared a glance back at her. Fortunately, her color and demeanor appeared to have settled. With the shock of unpleasant questions finished, her good sense seemed to have reasserted itself quickly.
Another excellent trait.
She studied him with a small dent between her brows.
“I must ask . . . why do ye wish tae marry at all?” Her voice turned quiet. “I could help ye hire a competent housekeeper. Ye dinnae need a wife, if ye simply wish for a childless marriage of convenience.”
Fox paced again.
It was a fair question, he supposed.
What sort of marriagehadHadley envisioned? Why hadn’t Fox given it more thought himself?
And was Miss Penn-Leith always going to detect the flaws in his thinking? Though that was rather a wife’s job, he supposed.
More to the point, was she preparing to refuse his offer? The very thought made him want to find a bottle of wine to drown his sorrows.
