"I'm certain he remembers you," Isobel said. Noticing his good manners and a lack of artifice which was refreshing. "Andrew doesn’t speak much of his university days."
Lord Ashford's eyes lit up. "I must confess, I was rather in awe of him back then. He had a way of commanding attention even as a young man. Though I hear he's reformed his more... notorious ways since marriage."
"He's been a devoted husband," Isobel said firmly, surprised by the defensive note in her voice.
Lord Ashford's smile widened. "I meant no offense, Your Grace. Quite the opposite. I always thought His Grace had more depth than his reputation suggested. I'm glad to hear my instincts were correct."
"What sort of books do you enjoy, Lord Ashford?" Joan asked, and Isobel felt a surge of affection for her sister's subtle steering of the conversation.
"Oh, a bit of everything. History, philosophy, the occasional novel when I'm feeling adventurous." He grinned. "My mother despairs of me. She says I'll never find a wife if I spend all my time with my nose in a book."
"I quite like books," Joan said, her cheeks flushing prettily. "I find there's nothing better than losing oneself in a good story."
"A woman after my own heart." Lord Ashford's expression was openly admiring. "Tell me, Miss Leyton, have you read the new Walter Scott? I thought it rather brilliant, though some found it too romantic."
As Joan launched into an animated discussion of literature, Isobel found herself studying Lord Ashford more carefully. He was attentive without being overbearing, intelligent without being condescending. And the way he looked at Joan, with genuine interest and respect, made something warm bloom in Isobel's chest.
This was what she'd wanted for her sister. A man who would see Joan's worth. Who would value her mind as much as her beauty. Who would make her laugh and challenge her and keep her safe from men like their father.
"There you are."
Andrew's voice sent a familiar shiver down her spine. He appeared at her elbow, his hand finding the small of her back in a gesture that felt both possessive and protective.
"Ashford," he said, his tone pleasant but with an edge that made Isobel hide a smile. "I see you've met my wife and her sister."
"Indeed. We were just discussing literature." Lord Ashford seemed entirely intimidated by Andrew's presence. "Miss Leyton has excellent taste in books."
"Does she?" Andrew's hand pressed slightly more firmly against Isobel's back. "How fortunate for her to find someone who shares her interests."
The territorial undertone wasn't lost on anyone, and Isobel found herself both amused and oddly touched.
"Darling," she said, using the endearment deliberately and watching his eyes widen slightly at the word. "Lord Ashford mentioned you were at Cambridge together. You should renew your acquaintance. Perhaps invite him to call on us sometime."
Understanding flickered in Andrew's gaze. He was being protective of Isobel. Making certain any man who showed interest in having a conversation with her was worthy of his attention.
"Of course," Andrew said, his tone warming fractionally. "You must join us for dinner, Ashford. I'd enjoy reminiscing about our university days. And I'm certain Miss Leyton would appreciate discussing books with someone other than her sister."
"I would be honored, Your Grace." Lord Ashford bowed. "Miss Leyton, would you care to take a turn about the gardens? I believe there's a rather impressive hedge maze that might interest you."
Joan glanced at Isobel, who nodded encouragingly.
"I'd be delighted," Joan said, setting down her empty glass and taking Lord Ashford's offered arm.
As they walked away, heads bent together in conversation, Andrew pulled Isobel closer.
"Well played, Duchess," he murmured in her ear. "Though I should warn you, if Ashford proves unworthy of your sister, I'll thrash him myself."
"I don't think that will be necessary." Isobel leaned into him, allowing herself the luxury of his warmth. "He seems genuinely kind.”
"Dance with me," he said suddenly. "They're about to start the music, and I find I'm desperately in need of holding you."
"That's hardly proper."
"Since when do we care about propriety?" He was already guiding her toward the area cleared for dancing. "Besides, we're married. We're allowed to be scandalously devoted to each other."
And as the music began and he pulled her into his arms, Isobel knew she was no longer afraid of falling.
She'd already fallen.
