“Aye. Do ye not want love, romantic love, in your life at some point?” Leah swallowed, gathering her courage. “Tae borrow a Bible metaphor, ye dinnae want to end up like Esau, selling your birthright tae Jacob for a bowl of porridge. Ye have much of life ahead of ye. ’Twould be a shame to settle for competence and sausage rolls when ye could have . . . love.”
She neglected to add a second Bible metaphor . . . that of Jacob’s first wife, Leah.
The unwanted wife.
The older woman whom marriage had passed by.
The one Jacobhadto marry in order to gain Rachel, the woman he truly loved.
Perhaps Fox sensed the slant of her thoughts.
He met her gaze steadfastly, leaning on the arm of his chair. “I am hardly selling a birthright here, Miss Penn-Leith. And, of course, a marriage between us would be more than mere sausage rolls, as you put it. We would become companions, partners in building a future together. I fear you have chosen the wrong Old Testament story. I am more akin to Job, attempting to rebuild my life out of ashes.”
Well.
That sounded . . . ominous.
Whathadhappened to him in India?
“I don’t wish for romantic love,” he continued. “Past events have rendered the emotion impossible for me.”
He paused, as if finally realizing what he was saying . . . and towhom. That he had asked a woman to marry him and then told her in the same breath that he would never love her.
He lounged back, giving the wingback chair his weight, eyes weary, as if the sheer effort of remaining upright were too much.
Leah’s dratted heartstrings unspooled further, aching to wrap him up.
“I realize that my proposal may not be the sort that a lady would wish to receive, so please forgive my honesty,” he said. “But I cannot allow you to harbor any misguided idea that ours would ever become a love match. Comfort, friendship, and respect, I would hope. But not love. 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. If you agree to marry me, I will see to it that the marriage contracts provide handsomely for you. Were something to happen to me, God forbid, you would be well-taken care of.”
Leah took in a steadying breath.
Had biblical Jacob given a similar speech to his Leah to convince her to marry him?
ThatLeah had, at least, received a sometime-bedmate and seven children out of the arrangement. But she had been unloved. The Bible was unwavering on that point.
As for herself, here and now, facing a similarly bleak future . . .
In a wee mirror beyond Fox’s shoulder, Leah could see her reflection—older, plain, prim. Traits that age and time would only reinforce.
“Say you will marry me,” Fox urged. “I daresay we will make a go of it.”
Make a go of it, indeed.
His words were so . . . prosaic.
Leah’s eyes drifted over Fox one more time—boots, thighs, chest, lips.
Just the sight of him sent a hum of yearning through her veins.
This, she thought.I want this. I want him. I want to be mistress of my own home. To have a wee girl to raise. To rise each morning knowing my future is secured.
And so, in the end, she said the only thing she could, the reply that had been inevitable since the wordmarriagehad dropped between them.
Words that a younger Leah would have wept happy tears to utter—
“Aye, Captain Fox Carnegie. I will marry ye.”
5
