"I should let you rest," she said, her voice carefully controlled as she stepped back. "You've clearly had a trying evening."
Andrew frowned. "Duchess."
"Goodnight, Your Grace." She turned and ascended the stairs, refusing to look back even though she felt his gaze burning into her.
She disappeared down the hallway toward her chambers, her heart a leaden weight in her chest.
She'd been a fool to soften toward him or to think that the moments they spent together signified affection on his part.
He was probably with another woman tonight. Maybe several.
And she was the pathetic wife waiting at home like some loyal dog.
Never again.
The morning light was soft through the drawing room windows as Isobel sat doing some painting, though her mind was far from the art.
Joan had sent a note yesterday—brief, carefully worded, but Isobel could read between the lines. Father was drinking more. The creditors had stopped calling, but his temper hadn't improved.
"Your Grace, you have a visitor," Mrs. Brendan announced. "The Duchess of Stormglen."
"Eleanor?" Isobel set aside her embroidery as Eleanor swept in, looking elegant in a deep green walking dress.
"Don't look so surprised," Eleanor said with a warm smile. "I promised you a wedding gift, didn't I? And I've been a terrible cousin-in-law for taking so long to deliver it."
She gestured, and a footman entered carrying a large, wrapped package.
"Eleanor, you shouldn't have."
"Nonsense. Open it."
Isobel unwrapped the package carefully, gasping when she saw the exquisite dress that lay beneath.
"Eleanor, this is too much."
"It's exactly enough." Eleanor sat beside her.
Isobel's throat tightened. "Thank you. Truly."
"Now." Eleanor's expression turned more serious. "How are you really? And don't give me pleasantries. I want the truth."
Isobel glanced toward the door, ensuring they were alone. "I'm... managing. Andrew is attentive when he's here, but he's often at the club. And I'm worried about Joan."
"Your sister?"
"She's still with our father. I thought… I hoped that once I was settled, Andrew might help me find her a suitable match. Someone kind. Someone who would take her away from that house." Isobel twisted her hands in her lap. "But I don't know how to ask him. We're still learning each other, and I don't want him to think I married him just to extract favors."
"Have you spoken to him about it?"
"Not yet. The timing never seems right."
Eleanor took her hand. "Isobel, if you don't ask for what you need, you'll never receive it. Andrew is many things—stubborn, proud, occasionally infuriating—but he's not cruel. If you explain your concerns about Joan, I believe he'll help."
"What if he refuses?"
"Then at least you'll know where you stand." Eleanor squeezed her hand. "But I don't think he will refuse. Not when it matters to you."
"How do you know?"
