Leah turned to watch Fox stroll into the kitchen, gaze fixated on the steaming scones.
“Delicious!” Madeline echoed, expression pleased as Punch. She skipped to Fox with her hands stretched wide.
Grinning, Fox swung her into his arms and planted a noisy kiss on her nose. Madeline giggled and pressed his cheeks between her palms, squishing his lips together and laughing madly.
Though Leah had firmly explained to Madeline that people could not be delicious, she had lied.
Because at this very moment, cuddling the wee lass, Fox looked delectable. Dressed in shirtsleeves, a waistcoat, and dark blue trousers, he filled the room with masculine energy.
Her husband appeared to still be feeling the aftermath of his excesses the day before, if the sallow skin of his face were any judge. But his eyes, as he met Leah’s gaze over Madeline’s head, were clear. At least Fox didn’t take to the bottle first thing in the morning.
“Good morning to ye,” Leah said with an inward wince.
The day after her marriage and she was greeting her new husband like he was a customer at the local bakery.
“Good morning,” Fox replied, equally formal, as if he were visiting said bakery.
And then, to complete Leah’s imagined tableau, he placed a knee on the bench beside the table, leaned over the scones, and drew in a deep breath, as if savoring the aroma of the baked goods on offer. Madeline joined him, scrambling out of his arms to kneel on the bench, pressing her wee palms on the tabletop, and making a similar show of smelling the scones.
Their heads nearly touched.
“Let me get us some plates,” Leah said, causing both Fox and Madeline to look up at her in the same instant.
The image burned into Leah’s brain.
Fox and Madeline staring upward, their cheeks so close together, they nearly touched.
Side by side, the resemblance was unmistakable.
The girl was a miniature, female version of Leah’s husband—the same wide-set blue eyes, the same curling hair with a cowlick to the right, the same hint of a left dimple.
Gracious.
Leah turned away, untying her apron and reaching for plates from an obliging cupboard, that ache taking residence once more in her throat.
Assuming Madeline was Fox’s daughter, why not tell Leah so?
It was one thing to raise a ward; it was something else entirely to raise her husband’s (likely illegitimate) child.
Fox dodged kissing Leah yesterday. He wanted nothing from her physically, that was clear, and had seemingly forgotten about her only hours after they married.
And yet . . .
He appeared to have made a little girl with another woman. A child who he treasured and adored. Who panicked him when lost.
A child he protected to such a degree that he would not disclose the girl’s past, sordid or otherwise.
Was this perhaps why? He had felt it gauche to bring up a tale of love lost whilst proposing to Leah?
But as their marriage was merely a business arrangement, whynottell her? Why not be forthright with the facts of his past?
These thoughts winged through Leah’s brain as she plated scones and gammon for each of them, taking a seat across from Fox and Madeline.
Unfortunately, such inner turmoil also rendered Leah mute as they ate.
Madeline, like most five-year-olds, was happy to fill the silence with inane chatter. She spent a solid six minutes discussing her plans for luring Mr. Dandy into her bed to sleep.
Throughout Madeline’s monologuing, Leah could sense Fox watching her, brows drawn down, as if he felt the weight of her silence.
