"Andrew. What about him frightens you?"
Isobel was quiet for a long moment, watching a robin hop along the garden path. "That I'll lose myself," she said finally. "That I'll become like every other woman who fell for his charm, only to discover I was nothing more than a temporary amusement. That I'll care, and he won't. That I'll need him, and he'll choose the Mayfair Fox over me every time."
"Those are valid fears." Eleanor's hand squeezed hers. "But may I offer another perspective?"
"Please."
Isobel found herself relaxing around Eleanor far too easily and the realization unsettled her more than it should have. How absurd that Andrew’s cousin felt safe in ways he did not.
Eleanor’s warmth came without expectation, without games, without that unnerving intensity Andrew carried like a second skin. With Eleanor, trust felt natural. With Andrew… it felt dangerous. He was the one who tempted her, challenged her, saw too much. And perhaps that was the real reason it was easierto trust his cousin—because Eleanor did not have the power to undo her, and Andrew already did.
"Andrew spent his entire life watching his father destroy everything he touched. He swore he'd never become that man, never let his vices control him, never hurt the people who depended on him. The Mayfair Fox isn't just a business to him; it's proof that he succeeded where his father failed. It's his identity, his redemption."
"I know that," Isobel said quietly. "Mrs. Brendan told me about his father, about the rebuilding."
"Then you understand why letting go of any part of that terrifies him." Eleanor stopped again, this time beside a bench overlooking the rose garden. She sat, patting the space beside her. "But here's what I've observed in the past few weeks: Andrew is already changing. He looks at you like you're the only person in the room worth seeing."
"He's fulfilling our agreement. Nothing more."
"Is he?" Eleanor's smile was knowing.
"I don't—" Isobel pressed her hands to her face. "I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to trust a man not to cage me, not to control me."
"Not to be your father," Eleanor finished gently. "I understand that fear too. My marriage was... complicated in the beginning.When I married Ramsay, I spent months waiting for him to reveal his true nature, to become cruel or controlling. But he never did. He was simply himself—flawed, stubborn, occasionally infuriating, but fundamentally good."
"And if Andrew isn't good at all? What if his deepest fears are realized and he has become just like his father?”
Eleanor shook her head stoutly. “Impossible.” Her voice was firm. “Andrew has his faults, certainly, but he is nothing like his father. And Isobel, if you never give him a chance, then you’ll never know be able to sort out all these answers on your own. And that, I think, would be the greater tragedy.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the afternoon sun warm on their faces.
"The puppy," Isobel said finally. "That wasn't really about returning a favor, was it?"
Eleanor's laugh was soft. "No. Though Darling truly is a menace, and Ramsay genuinely considered it payback." She stood, brushing imaginary dust from her skirts. "But I also thought that perhaps caring for something together, sharing that responsibility, might help you both see what you could be. A partnership. A team. Something more than two people circling each other warily, afraid to make the first move."
"You're meddling."
"Terribly." Eleanor smiled without apology. "But I prefer to think of it as strategic encouragement. Now come, we should return before Penelope teaches that puppy something wholly inappropriate. My daughter has been spending far too much time with her Scottish relatives."
As they walked back toward the house, Isobel's mind churned with everything Eleanor had said. Could she risk trusting Andrew? Could she risk opening her heart to a man whose whole identity was wrapped up in the very thing that had destroyed her family?
Through the drawing room window, she could see Andrew sitting on the floor with the black and white puppy in his lap, while Penelope instructed him on the proper way to pet a dog. He was laughing at something the child said, his whole face transformed by genuine amusement.
This was the man beneath the rake's reputation. The man who recalled their first meeting with perfect clarity. The man who, as of late, had started coming home to her instead of staying at his club.
Andrew was the man she was terrified of wanting.
Nineteen
The front door closed behind Eleanor's family with a decisive click, and suddenly the entrance hall felt cavernously empty. Andrew stood on one side, Isobel on the other, and between them sat the dog, his tail wagging as he looked from one to the other as if awaiting instructions.
"Well," Andrew said, breaking the silence. "That was..."
"Hectic?" Isobel supplied.
"I was going to say illuminating." He watched her carefully, noting the slight flush still coloring her cheeks. Eleanor had said something during their walk. He'd wager his entire fortune on it. "My cousin has never been subtle in her meddling."
"No, she hasn't." Isobel knelt, and the dog immediately bound over to her, nearly knocking her backward in his enthusiasm. "Though I suppose we should be grateful she didn't bring more puppies. Or suggest we take Darling as well."
