“Ah. A calm place to rest your head after the chaos and pain of India?” She looked pointedly at the jagged scar running from his collar to his ear lobe.
The quick perceptiveness of her question jarred him.
“Yes. I quite like that description actually,” he replied, declining to answer her more fully.
His wife was a kind woman. He knew this already. But kindness alone would not convince him to trust her with his past.
Some things, when fractured, never healed.
His trust was one of them.
Just the thought of confiding more in Leah had his hand itching for the whisky flask in his breast pocket.
Lord Hadley was the only person Fox had divulged anything to since leaving India. And even then, Hadley knew very little. Just enough to help with the legal suit before the Court of Arches.
Granted, even if Fox had wanted to tell Leah the whole of it, his oaths forbade him from disclosing much.
If Leah sensed any of his discomfort, she said nothing. More importantly, she did not reproach him for not answering her question.
Yes, he had married wisely.
They watched the glen slowly drift by.
Fox appreciated Leah’s ability to let in silence. To dwell within it. Thus far, silence with her had not been uncomfortable. It simply . . . was.
“How do ye spend your days then?” she finally asked. “In your quiet fortress of solitude?”
Fox smiled faintly at her gentle teasing. “Unfortunately, Laverloch isn’t as quiet as I would like.”
“Ah, so it is more an aspiring fortress of solitude.”
His smile grew. “Something of the like.”
“So how do yeaspiretae 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.
“Major McAlpin turned the old long gallery on the third floor into a magnificent library,” he said. “I spend most of my days there, reading and replying to correspondence. I think I might have purchased the castle for that room alone.”
“Ah, so ye have alibraryof solitude then?”
“At times. Madeline and Mr. Dandy are not particular respecters of privacy.”
“Mr. Dandy?”
Fox chuckled. “I shall allow you to meet Mr. Dandy yourself.”
Leah snorted softly. “I fear that sounds like a threat.”
“You would not be wrong in that assumption.”
“Gracious,” she laughed in earnest. “So the library is your only occupation?”
“More or less. I enjoy my books. Though I have been considering taking up hill walking, as I understand there are wonderful vistas to be had within reach of Laverloch—” Fox paused, abruptly concerned that her calm presence, the alcohol sloshing through his veins, and the lull of the carriage were easily pulling personal truths from him.
Did his wife need to know all this? How much of himself must he share with her?
