Chapter 18
Eighteen
"Good heavens, what is that noise?"
Isobel looked up from her embroidery as a cacophony of barking erupted from the entrance hall, followed by what sounded distinctly like a child's delighted shriek and a man's exasperated curse.
Mrs. Brendan appeared in the doorway of the morning room, slightly flustered. "Your Grace, the Duke and Duchess of Stormglen have arrived. With... companions."
Before Isobel could respond, a small chocolate-colored blur came tearing into the room, followed closely by a black and white puppy of similar size. Both dogs made straight for her skirts, circling her chair and yapping excitedly.
"Darling!" A small girl with auburn curls came running in next, her face lit with joy. "Darling, come back!"
Darling nudged her palm as Isobel lifted her up, warm and insistent. Isobel huffed a quiet laugh. “You remember me, don’t you?”
Andrew glanced over, surprised. “She remembers everyone who feeds her.”
“That is not how she knows me,” Isobel shot back, scratching behind Darling’s ear. “She nearly bowled me over the first time we met. Right outside that dreadful alley.”
A slow smile spread across Andrew’s face. “Ah. So, you do remember.”
“How could I forget?” she muttered. “The dog found me, and then you appeared like some overconfident highwayman with a smirk and an apology that was hardly an apology.”
Andrew leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You held her for a full minute before you even looked at me.”
“I was trying to cuddle her,” she said, rolling her eyes. “And she was heavier than she looked.”
Darling pressed closer to Isobel’s skirts as if in agreement.
Isobel softened. “She was sweet, though. Even then.”
Andrew watched her quietly, something almost vulnerable flickering across his expression. “She liked you instantly.”
Isobel’s fingers stilled on Darling’s fur. “Yes.” She dropped the dog down and watched it run around again with the child pursuing it. When Isobel glanced around to share another long look with her husband, she saw that he had mysteriously slipped out of the room.
"Penelope Brooking, you will walk like a lady, not a hoyden!
" A tall man with dark hair and the burr of a Scottish accent followed.
He carried a squirming infant in his arms. He caught sight of Isobel and stopped short.
"Apologies, Your Grace. My daughter has yet to master the concept of indoor voices. "
"Or indoor running," added Eleanor who was sweeping in with grace. "Really, Ramsay, must you encourage her?"
"I encourage nothing. She's a force of nature, like my wife." Despite his words, Ramsay's expression softened as he looked at his wife.
Eleanor rolled her eyes, though a smile played at her lips.
She turned to Isobel with an appraising look.
"Isobel, how lovely to see you again. I hope you don't mind the invasion.
Andrew did promise Penelope he was going to visit Darling, and I'm afraid my daughter has quite the memory when it comes to promises involving puppies.
So, we decided to come to bring the puppy to visit instead. "
"Of course not." Isobel stood, trying not to trip over the dogs now tangling themselves around her feet. "Though I confess I'm surprised to see two puppies instead of one."
"Ah yes, about that." Eleanor's smile turned mischievous. "Where is my dear cousin? My gift is finally ready to be delivered!”
"Andrew!" Ramsay bellowed, making the infant in his arms startle. "Get down here and collect your wedding present!"
"Must you shout?" Eleanor took the baby from her husband with practiced ease. "You'll wake James properly, and then we'll all suffer for it."
"The bairn sleeps through anything," Ramsay protested, but his voice had already lowered.
Andrew appeared at the top of the stairs, his cravat slightly askew, hair mussed as though he'd been running his hands through it.
His eyes found hers immediately, and for a moment the rest of the room seemed to fade. Then Darling let out an excited bark, breaking the spell.
"What in God's name—" Andrew descended the stairs, taking in the chaos of his entrance hall. "Eleanor. Ramsay. To what do I owe this... chaos?"
"You gave us a dog," Ramsay said flatly. "Did you truly think we wouldn't return the favor?"
Andrew's gaze dropped to the black and white puppy now attempting to climb Isobel's skirts. "That's not Darling."
"Obviously not. That's your wedding gift.
" Eleanor shifted baby James to her other hip.
"We would have brought it sooner, but someone—" She glanced pointedly at her husband.
"—insisted we wait until the creature was properly trained.
Which, I should mention, took considerably longer than anticipated. "
"Darling is a menace," Ramsay said, though his tone held grudging affection. "She ate my favorite boots. Twice."
"You shouldn't leave your boots where she can reach them," Penelope chimed in, having finally corralled Darling. "Mama says Darling is just spirited."
"Your mama is being diplomatic." Ramsay crossed his arms. "The beast is a terror."
"But you love her anyway," Eleanor said sweetly.
Ramsay's jaw worked for a moment before he muttered something in Gaelic that made Eleanor laugh.
Andrew moved closer to Isobel, and she was acutely aware of how near he stood, close enough that she could smell that forest-rain scent that haunted her dreams.
He crouched down, and the black and white puppy immediately bounded over to him, tail wagging furiously.
"Well then," Andrew said, his voice holding a note of amusement. "What shall we call this one?"
"That's for you and your Duchess to decide," Eleanor said. "After all, he's a responsibility you'll share. Together."
The emphasis on that last word was unmistakable, and Isobel felt heat rise in her cheeks.
“The first gift and this one are really lovely, thank you so much.”
“It’s my pleasure.”
Isobel watched the room erupt around her—Penelope darting past with a wooden sword, Ramsay chasing after her, Eleanor laughing as the baby squealed in her lap.
This was nothing like the stiff, silent house she had grown up in.
This was noise and life and joy with no punishment waiting around the corner.
A home where laughter wasn’t forbidden. A family allowed to be imperfect, loud, and utterly themselves.
And Isobel realized she didn’t just admire such chaos, she loved it.
Eleanor was watching them both with far too much interest.
"Perhaps we should take tea," Isobel suggested, desperate to escape that knowing gaze. "Mrs. Brendan, would you arrange for refreshments in the drawing room?"
"Of course, Your Grace."
The next hour passed in a whirlwind of activity. Penelope insisted on demonstrating all of Darling's tricks, most of which seemed to involve the puppy doing exactly the opposite of what was commanded.
Baby James woke and demanded to be fed, which Eleanor handled with an ease that made Isobel feel distinctly inadequate. And through it all, the new puppy followed Andrew and Isobel with single-minded devotion, as if sensing they were his new people.
"He's taken to you both quite well," Eleanor observed, settling James on her laps after feeding him. "That's a good sign."
"A sign of what?" Andrew asked, though his attention was on the puppy now attempting to climb into Isobel's lap.
"That you work well together." Eleanor's tone was innocent, but her eyes were sharp. "Dogs are excellent judges of character, you know. They can sense discord."
Ramsay snorted. "By that logic, Darling thinks we're constantly at war."
"You are constantly at war," Eleanor said mildly. "Over who loves her more."
"I don't—" Ramsay caught his daughter's expectant look and sighed. "Fine. Perhaps I'm fond of the beast. Slightly."
Penelope beamed.
Isobel felt Andrew's gaze upon her and glanced up to find him watching her with an expression she couldn't quite read. The puppy had succeeded in climbing into her lap and was now attempting to lick her face with enthusiastic determination.
"Persistent little thing," Andrew murmured, and she wasn't entirely certain he was talking about the dog.
"Rather like his previous owner," Isobel replied, gently pushing the puppy's questing nose away from her chin.
"His previous owner is sitting right here," Eleanor said. "And I can assure you, Ramsay is far less well-mannered than that puppy."
"Oi!" Ramsay protested. "I'm perfectly well-mannered. I even used a fork at breakfast this morning."
"How very civilized of you, dear." Eleanor's tone was dry, but affection colored every word.
Watching them together—the easy banter, the obvious love beneath the teasing—Isobel felt something twist in her chest.
This was what marriage could be. Not the cold arrangement her parents had endured, or the convenient business deal she and Andrew had struck. This was partnership, genuine affection, the kind of bond that weathered arguments and chaos and puppies that ate favorite boots.
Could she and Andrew ever have something like this?
"Isobel?" Eleanor's voice pulled her from her thoughts. "Perhaps you'd join me for a walk in the garden? I'd love to see if any of the roses have started to bloom."
It wasn't a request, despite the pleasant phrasing. Isobel recognized an order when she heard one.
"Of course." She stood, carefully depositing the puppy on the floor. "Andrew, would you watch the dog?"
"I'll watch the menace," he said, and there was something warm in his voice that made her stomach flip. "Go. Enjoy your walk."
Eleanor linked arms with her the moment they stepped outside, steering her away from the house with purpose.
"You're very subtle," Isobel said dryly.
"Subtlety is for people who have time to waste." Eleanor glanced back at the drawing room windows. "And I don't believe you have much time left before something gives between you and my cousin."
Isobel's steps faltered. "I don't know what you mean."