"Show me," she said simply.
His smile could have lit all of London.
He kept hold of her hand as they walked out to the carriage, helping her up with careful attention. She saw Joan watching from the upstairs window, a wide grin on her face. Her father stood in the doorway; his expression unreadable.
Andrew climbed in beside her, and the carriage rolled forward.
"Where are we going?" she asked again.
"Somewhere you’ll love. Only a few hours ride away." He shifted nervously, a gesture so unlike his usual confidence that it made her heart squeeze. "I know I should have discussed it with you first. Should have asked your opinion. But I saw it and I just... knew."
"Knew what?"
"That it could be ours. Not mine. Not a monument to my past or proof of my worth. Just... ours. Something we could build together."
He had seen the place once before — months ago, before his marriage — when the property had been briefly offered to him as an investment. He had dismissed it then without much thought.
They rode in comfortable silence for a while, Andrew's thumb stroking circles on the back of her hand. The city gave way to countryside, green fields rolling past the windows.
"I've been thinking," Andrew said eventually. "About what to do next. About rebuilding."
Isobel tensed slightly. "The Mayfair Fox?"
"No." He met her eyes. "I'm not rebuilding the Fox. That chapter of my life is closed. Dalton burned it down, and perhaps that's what needed to happen. Perhaps I needed to lose it to finally understand I'm more than what I've built."
"Then what will you do?"
"I don't know yet." His smile was lighter than she'd seen in days. "And that feels... freeing."
The carriage slowed, then stopped.
"We're here," Andrew said, suddenly nervous again. "Close your eyes."
"Andrew."
"Please. Just for a moment. I want it to be a surprise."
She obeyed, letting him help her down from the carriage. She heard birds singing, felt warm sunlight on her face, smelled fresh-cut grass and flowers.
"All right," Andrew said softly. "Open them."
She opened her eyes and gasped.
Before them stood a manor house, bigger than Foxdrey House, but no less beautiful. Or at least, it would be beautiful. Currently, it looked a bit worse for wear.
The paint was peeling, several windows were cracked, and the gardens were overgrown. But the bones were good. The architecture was elegant, with tall windows and graceful columns.
It had potential.
"It needs work," Andrew said quickly. "A lot of work. The roof leaks in three places. The east wing needs completely new windows. The gardens haven't been tended in years. But the structure is sound, and the property is gorgeous, and I thought—I hoped?—"
"It's beautiful," Isobel breathed.
"It's a disaster," Andrew corrected. "But it could be beautiful. With time. With effort. With us working on it together." He turned to face her fully. "That's what I want to offer you, Isobel. Not a pristine estate that proves how successful I am. Not some grand gesture that shows the world I've rebuilt from the ashes. Just this. A house that needs love. A project we can share. A place that's ours from the beginning, not something I built before you or that I'm trying to restore to some former glory."
She stared at the house, at the peeling paint and cracked windows and overgrown gardens, and felt something shift in her chest.
This wasn't a monument to Andrew's success. It wasn't proof of anything except that he was willing to start fresh. To build something new instead of clinging to the past.
