"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."
"Don't you?" Eleanor stopped walking, turning to face her fully. "I've known Andrew his entire life. I've seen him charm countless women, watched him seduce and flirt and maintain a carefully calculated distance from anything resembling real feeling. But the way he looks at you..." She shook her head. "That's not calculation. That's something else entirely."
"You're mistaken." Isobel's voice came out too thin. "This is a marriage of convenience. Nothing more."
"Is it?" Eleanor's gaze was uncomfortably penetrating. "Then why, pray tell, are you both so miserably determined to avoid being alone together?"
"We're not."
"Isobel." Eleanor's voice softened. "I'm not your enemy. I'm not here to judge or pry. But I am here because I care about Andrew, and because I can see that whatever is happening between you two is tearing you both apart."
Isobel looked away, blinking against the sudden sting of tears. "I don't know what I feel."
"That's honest, at least." Eleanor resumed walking, pulling Isobel gently along. "Tell me, what frightens you most about him?"
The question caught her off-guard. "What?"
