Her father's voice held no warmth, only a kind of grim satisfaction as Isobel stepped through the door of the Leyton house. He stood in the hallway, a glass of whiskey already in hand despite the early hour, his eyes taking in her traveling bag with calculating interest.
"I am." Isobel moved past him without waiting for permission, heading toward the stairs. "Temporarily."
"Trouble in paradise already?" Lord Leyton followed her, his voice taking on that familiar mocking tone. "I knew that rake couldn't keep a woman satisfied for long. Too busy with his club and his whores to?—"
"Careful." Isobel stopped on the third step, turning to look down at him. "I may be staying here temporarily, but I am still theDuchess of Foxdrey. And you will speak of my husband with respect, or you will not speak to me at all."
Her father blinked, clearly taken aback. "Since when do you have a spine?"
"Since I married a man who taught me that I deserve better than being treated like property." She continued up the stairs. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to rest."
She didn't wait for his response, didn't look back to see his reaction. The old Isobel would have cowered, would have apologized, would have made herself small to avoid his anger.
But she wasn't that woman anymore.
Joan appeared in the hallway as Isobel reached her old chamber, her eyes wide with concern. "Isobel? What are you doing here? What's happened?"
"Can we talk?" Isobel asked quietly. "In private?"
Joan nodded, following her into the room and closing the door behind them.
The chamber looked exactly as Isobel had left it—the faded wallpaper, the narrow bed, the window that looked out over the cramped garden. It felt smaller somehow, now that she'd experienced the spacious elegance of Foxdrey House.
Or perhaps she was the one who'd grown.
"Tell me," Joan said, sitting on the bed and patting the space beside her.
Isobel set down her bag and sank onto the mattress, suddenly exhausted. The events of the past twelve hours crashed over her—the ball, the whispers, Andrew's burned and broken appearance, their argument, her decision to leave.
"The Mayfair Fox burned down," she said finally.
Joan gasped. "Oh no. Was anyone hurt?"
"No. Andrew got everyone out safely." Isobel's throat tightened. "But the building is gone. Everything he built, just... gone."
"Poor Andrew." Joan took her hand. "He must be devastated."
"He is." Isobel stared at their joined hands. "And I left him."
The words hung in the air between them.
"You left him?" Joan's voice was careful, neutral. "Why?"
"Because he asked me to." Isobel looked up, meeting her sister's concerned gaze. "Not in so many words, but that's what he meant. He said he needed time alone to figure out who heis without the club. That he doesn't know what makes him different from his father without it."
"That's understandable, isn't it?" Joan asked gently. "The club was his entire life. His identity. It makes sense that losing it would send him into a crisis."
"Of course it makes sense." Isobel pulled her hand away, standing and pacing to the window. "I'm not some unfeeling monster, Joan. I understand that he's hurting. That he's lost something incredibly important to him. But..."
"But?"
"But he's so focused on what he's lost that he can't see what he still has." The words came out tersely. "He kept saying he doesn't know who he is without the Mayfair Fox. As if being a duke means nothing. As if restoring Foxdrey means nothing. As if being my husband means nothing."
Joan was quiet for a moment. "Did he say that? That being your husband means nothing?"
"He didn't have to say it." Isobel pressed her forehead against the cool glass. "He made it clear that figuring out his identity crisis is more important than our marriage. That he needs to be alone to sort himself out."
"So you gave him what he asked for."
