Frowning, Fox had dug into his dinner—the most delicious meal the castle kitchens had produced in months—and tried not to ponder why Leah had declined to join him.
Had he already bungled things?Shouldhe have interrupted her in the kitchen to apologize? Blast if he knew.
A finger of brandy, or perhaps three, smoothed the edge of his agitation.
To distract his thoughts, Fox retrieved the packet of letters he had received from the innkeep in Fettermill, missives from his London solicitor discussing everything that needed sorting before the Court of Arches convened.
Fox had spent several hours attempting to write out responses to his solicitor’s questions, but as his temples kept up a steady throb, he had made little headway.
Of course, the suit before the Court of Arches had inevitably led him to thinking about Dennis, which had necessitated several more fingers of brandy.
Somewhere in it all, Fox had drifted off, and Dennis had invaded his dreams, as well.
But now, awake, he felt restless. And perhaps the tiniest bit . . . peeved.
Why hadn’t Leah—hiswife—come to find him at any point in the evening?
Fox was her husband. Shouldn’t she bid him goodnight? It seemed a wifely thing to do.
Or . . . had she been waiting for him to find her?
Dash it all.
Yes, that was the more likely answer, was it not?
Sighing, he scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling the evening whiskers there.
He had no idea how to navigate the practicalities of his new marriage, but of a surety, he was making a muck of it.
Tomorrow.
He would do better, starting tomorrow.
As for tonight, he was too tired.
Staggering to his feet, he made his way down one flight of stairs to the family bedrooms on the second floor. Normally, all of the doors but his stood ajar, as all the other rooms were unoccupied.
This evening, however, the door diagonally across from his own was closed.
Was that the room he had requested the servants make up for his new wife?
Wait—
Fox frowned, searching his memory.
Hehadinstructed William to ensure a chamber was prepared for the new Mrs. Carnegie, hadn’t he?
Hadn’t he?!
But as Fox stood there, scanning his foggy mind, he had to accept the truth: he had forgotten to mention it.
Something sank even deeper in his chest. It felt suspiciously like shame.
Because if Fox hadn’t mentioned preparing a room for his bride, his staff had likely assumed she would be sleeping with him. Laverloch wasn’t some fussy palace with deliberately designed separate sleeping quarters. No, historically, the laird and lady would have shared the principal bedchamber.
But Fox and Leah would not be sharing a bed. He was too desperate for her help to weigh down the poor woman with one more duty, namely himself.
Worse, he had neglected to ensure that she had a place to sleep.
