Love Practically Prologue #4
Blond, buxom, and flirtatious?
She was none of those things. Not a one.
So . . . if not her, then who were the gentlemen speaking—
“You are not necessarily wrong on the particulars, Dennis,” Mr. Carnegie said.
“I do prefer my women buxom, congenial, and blond. But I am discriminating. Miss Smith has not captured my particular attention. In fact, I cannot say a single woman here intrigues me enough to pursue a further connection.”
Leah bit her lip, willing herself to not recoil from the sting of his words.
“Hmmph.” Lord Dennis studied his friend. “You know, I think I believe you for once. Well, we are for my father’s townhouse in London tomorrow. And I know the prettiest blond barmaid who will make you fair weep when you see her . . .”
Leah had heard enough.
She walked away from the gentlemen, her feet moving as if detached, her head floating above her body. Pleading a headache to Aunt Leith, she excused herself.
Blond, buxom, and flirtatious.
The words chanted in her head as she climbed the stairs and retreated to her bedchamber.
Leaning back against the closed door, Leah let her tears fall, sliding down her cheeks in silent ripples.
What an utter fool she had been. How ridiculous to think that a man of Fox Carnegie’s address and charisma would truly desire to know her better.
Shame and embarrassment washed through her in equal measure.
She opened her eyes and stared opposite into the mirror attached to the washstand. Her underwhelming figure and average features—all vacillating shades of brown—stared back.
Choking back a sob, she threw herself onto the bed, greiting her disappointment into the counterpane.
For the second night in a row, sleep was a long time in coming.
The next morning brought the house party to a close.
From the upper landing of the main staircase, Leah watched Mr. Fox Carnegie depart in the same burst of male laughter and jocularity that had heralded his arrival.
No further words were spoken between them.
Leah swallowed her disappointed hopes and returned with Aunt and Uncle to their rented house in Westminster.
And yet . . . the dream of Mr. Carnegie persisted.
Or rather, not Mr. Carnegie himself, per se. She was not so deluded as to think he would ever spare her another thought.
But rather, a man like him.
One who would look at her with the same kindness in his eyes, the same earnest interest in his voice. A man who would see her just as she had felt seen in those few moments she and Mr. Carnegie had shared. A man who would be a kindred spirit. A soul mate.
In short, Fox Carnegie became her model of an ideal gentleman.
A few weeks later, Aunt Leith casually mentioned that a vicar, Mr. Hay, was coming to call.
The gentleman was well-connected and desperate to remarry, as the death of his previous wife had left him with six children to raise.
“He hails from the Slains Hays just north of Cruden Bay, Leah dear,” Aunt Leith said. “He will be an excellent match. Your late mother would be pleased.”
Mr. Hay came. He was kindly enough but twice Leah’s age and had breath that stank of turnips. Moreover, he did not have warm eyes or a soft voice or tell her earnest stories about his father. Instead, he looked her over as if she were a heifer on offer during the Forfar summer market.
Aunt Leith was furious when Leah refused Mr. Hay’s offer of marriage six weeks later.
But after the glory of Fox Carnegie, Leah simply could not accept him. She could not abandon the dream of marrying a gentleman who viewed her as if she mattered. She could not leave her father and brothers so alone. She could not ally her life with . . . turnip breath.
No. It felt impossible.
“Foolish girl!” Aunt Leith snapped. “This is how you repay all my hard efforts to secure your future. You will one day rue this impetuous decision. I wash my hands of you.”
Leah was sent home on the public stagecoach in disgrace, ensuring she had days of time to ponder the repercussions of her decision.
But at Thistle Muir, Malcolm raced out the front door to greet her, launching himself into her arms and clinging like a monkey. Ethan toddled after, hands outstretched and reaching upward. Leah gathered her brothers close, burying her face in Ethan’s brown curls.
Despite Aunt Leith’s words, home did not feel like a disgrace.
Home was a blessed relief, a cool breeze on a warm summer’s day.
Papa returned from the fields at dinnertime and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Leah couldn’t tell if he was concerned or relieved that she had returned to them unattached.
Only Cousin Elspeth tutted and pursed her lips, brows drawn down.
That night, as Leah lay in her small bedroom listening to Elspeth’s loud snores through the wall, she relived the blinding light of Fox’s smile, the soothing timbre of his voice, the kindness she felt emanating from his words.
No.
She did not regret holding on to the hope of someday marrying a gentleman like that.
No matter what her future held, Leah regretted nothing.
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