"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'syourwedding 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.
