She walked toward the house slowly, taking in every detail. The way the afternoon light caught the windows. The roses climbing up the walls, wild but beautiful. The small pond in the distance where ducks were swimming.
"There's a studio," Andrew said, following her. "On the second floor. Perfect light for painting. I thought you might like it."
She turned to look at him. "You thought about me when you chose this house."
"I thought about nothing but you." He moved closer. "About what you might want. About the life we could build here. About raising children in a place that's filled with love instead of ghosts." His hand came up to cup her cheek. "About growing old with you in a house we made beautiful together."
"Children?" Her voice caught on the word.
"If you want them." His smile was soft.
She looked at the house again, imagining it restored. Imagining curtains in the windows and flowers in the gardens. Imagining children running across the lawn while Chance chased them, barking happily.
Imagining a life built on love instead of fear.
"Show me the studio," she said.
Thirty-One
The house was even more magnificent on the inside than Andrew had anticipated, or perhaps it was just that seeing it through Isobel's eyes made everything more vivid.
They walked through the entrance hall together, their footsteps echoing on dusty floorboards. Afternoon light streamed through tall windows, illuminating dancing dust motes. The walls needed fresh paint, the furnishings were covered in holland cloths, but the potential was undeniable.
"It's larger than it looks from outside," Isobel said, her voice hushed as if speaking too loudly might break the spell.
"Fifteen rooms total," Andrew said, his hand finding the small of her back naturally. "Not including the servants' quarters. The previous owner died without heirs, and the property has been sitting empty for almost two years. I got it for a song, really."
"When did you buy it?"
"Five days ago." He guided her toward the stairs. "The morning after Norman came to see me. I couldn't sleep, so I rode out before dawn, just trying to clear my head. And I found this place." He paused at the base of the staircase, his hand tightening slightly on her waist. "The moment I saw it, I thought of you. Of us. Of starting fresh."
She looked up at him, those amber eyes searching his face. "Five days ago. You've been planning this for five days."
"I've been trying to find the courage for five days," he corrected. "The planning took about an hour. The execution—actually buying the property, arranging for initial repairs, working out what I wanted to say to you—that was the easy part. Finding the courage to face you after how I behaved? That took longer."
"Oh, Andrew."
"Let me show you the studio first." He took her hand, lacing their fingers together. "Then I need to say some things. Things I should have said days ago."
The stairs creaked under their feet as they climbed to the second floor. Andrew led her down a hallway, past closed doors, until they reached the room at the very end.
"Close your eyes again," he said softly.
"You're very fond of that request today."
"Indulge me. One last time."
She obeyed, a small smile playing at her lips. He opened the door, then positioned her in the doorway.
"Open them."
The studio was everything she imagined it would be.
The entire north wall was windows—tall, graceful windows that let in soft, even light. The walls were painted a warm cream, and while the room needed cleaning, the bones were extraordinary. There was even a small alcove with built-in shelving, perfect for storing supplies.
"Oh," Isobel breathed.
"The light is set just right for painting," Andrew said, moving to stand beside her. "North-facing, so it stays consistent throughout the day. And look—" He crossed to the windows, gesturing outside. "The view overlooks the gardens and the pond. Once we get the roses under control, it'll be spectacular."
