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A nthony couldn’t stop thinking of Isabella even during his conversation with Helen. Maybe because he could hear Isabella’s open and free laughter as she played chess with Patrick. When she laughed, she reclined her head and showed her pearly teeth with abandon. He liked that. He liked how calm and happy her laughter made him feel. Not that Helen wasn’t pretty, intelligent, or sensible, but she lacked any spark or opinion.

“What do you like to do in the summer?” Helen asked, distracting him from watching Isabella imitating the knight’s steps for some reason.

“I prefer spending the summer in the country,” he said. “London can be too warm and humid.”

“I agree. The country is so beautiful. I love nature.”

He waited for her to say something more specific, but she didn’t add anything. “I love taking long walks up the hills, being in contact with nature.”

“I love that too.”

Again he waited. But nothing.

“Sometimes I enjoy climbing rocky cliffs in the Peak District.” He showed her his hands covered in calluses from gripping the limestone rocks. “The emotion of being on the top of a cliff after an arduous climb is intoxicating.”

Her perfect smile faltered, and her left eyebrow twitched. “I love that.” She lacked enthusiasm and confidence. It was like talking with an automaton.

He worked his jaw.

Helen had done nothing but agree with everything he’d said. Apparently, she loved everything he did, found everything he said fascinating, and approved of his every choice. Whilst they might share the same tastes, her voice sounded disingenuous and pretentious. Or perhaps he expected too much from a future wife, and she was simply nervous and overwhelmed.

Managing a dukedom as ancient and powerful as that of his family was a burden. He wished to find a wife who wasn’t only someone he admired and liked, but who could also share that encumbrance with him and help him by proposing different ideas and points of view.

He didn’t mind an argument or disagreement. Sometimes, the best ideas and solutions came from disagreements. But Helen was offering him only polite smiles and hollow answers. Unlike Isabella.

The brief conversation he’d shared with her had been enjoyable and down-to-earth. Above all, she’d been herself as she was now with Patrick, and she hadn’t let Grandmama intimidate her too much.

She was someone he could trust because deceit didn’t come easily to her. Helen, on the other hand, kept pretending to be someone she wasn’t. And last but not least, Isabella made him smile, and happiness was the most powerful feeling after love.

Isabella and Patrick walked over to them, laughing and chatting. He’d like that too. Having a wife who was also his companion, friend, and lover. Probably he had too-high expectations, but dammit if she didn’t meet them. And to think he hadn’t cared about finding the perfect wife.

“After the most disastrous chess game of my life, I’d like a nice cup of tea,” Patrick said. “What about you?”

Helen didn’t answer but angled towards Anthony, waiting for his answer. He wanted to tell her not to wait for him.

“I’ll take the queen’s favourite drink,” he said. “A claret with whisky.”

Helen hesitated. He could bet she’d meant to ask for whatever he wanted, but she didn’t want a claret with whisky.

She fluttered her eyelashes. “Perhaps I shall have the same.”

Isabella leant closer to her sister. “Excuse me. You drinking claret with whisky? Since when?”

“I do now and then.” Helen blinked quickly.

“What about you, Isabella?” Patrick asked.

“I’ll have a…coffee,” she whispered the last word. “Mother detests it. We never drink it at home. She doesn’t even want to hear its name. She’s convinced that drinking coffee makes people rebellious like the Americans. She doesn’t want anything from the Americas in our home. She had a fit when Uncle Thomas decided to move to Boston.”

“Isabella.” Helen arched her eyebrows in a cautionary manner.

“Potatoes are from the Americas,” he said. “Your mother ate roasted potatoes tonight.”

“Shush.” Isabella waved him off. “Oh, please, do not tell her. She’ll take them off the menu, and I love them.”

“Isabella, you’re talking with the duke.” Helen clenched her fists.

“Let’s find Rogers,” Patrick said. “So you can drink your coffee even though Grandmama detests it, too.”

After the drinks were served, Anthony sat between Helen and Isabella at a table far from Lady and Lord Montrose and Grandmama.

Helen scrunched up her nose as she drank the claret with whisky. She suppressed a gag and swallowed. Her eyes welled up.

No, he didn’t find the situation funny in the least.

He dipped his head to meet her gaze. “If you don’t like it, you should leave it.”

She blinked teary eyes. “It’s delicious.”

Bloody hell.

Isabella, instead, drank her coffee with her eyes closed, savouring every sip. She’d added a generous dose of cream, milk, tonnes of sugar, and a few spices. He seriously doubted the drink still tasted like coffee, but he couldn’t help enjoying her enthusiasm and appreciation. She gulped down the drink, emptying the cup with one final tilt of her head, and when she finished, a white puff of cream sat on the tip of her nose.

Patrick burst out laughing. Helen flushed crimson.

Anthony smiled, pointing at her nose. “You have a dollop of cream.”

She laughed, wiping the cream. “Apologies. The coffee was so good.”

“What coffee?” Patrick asked. “There was barely any speck of it.”

“That’s how I like it. Sweet but strong, rich but gentle.”

“Like men?” Patrick arched his brow. “Because, you know, that description fits?—”

“Patrick.” Anthony gave him a pointed look, but he didn’t need to worry.

Isabella didn’t seem embarrassed or annoyed. “I like men who make me laugh.”

Helen gave up drinking the claret and kept her gaze down, embarrassed by he had no idea what.

When Anthony said his goodnight to the ladies, he lingered in front of Isabella.

“Thank you,” he said before he could think, not sure what he was thanking her for.

Her honesty, perhaps, or her contagious laughter.

He was grateful for the ray of sunlight she so easily brought into his life, but that was a concept difficult to explain in one sentence.

“You’re welcome, Your Grace. What for?” Her large black eyes regarded him with curiosity and trust.

He was about to say more when Grandmama called him.

“Anthony. A word?”

“Good night, Isabella.” He bowed to her, her mother, and Helen, who replied with an icy and stiff nod of the head.

He had no idea whether he’d offended Helen or if her mood change depended on something else. Isabella gave him a little wave of her hand before starting up the stairs. A wave only for him. It was a tiny, innocent gesture, but it showed their secret understanding of each other and that she wasn’t intimidated by his status. For some reason, the gesture meant so much to him, more than the entire conversation he’d shared with Helen.

“Anthony.” Grandmama waited for him.

He shut the door behind him when he entered the drawing room.

“Well? What do you think about Helen?” She was as enthusiastic as a débutante.

“Helen is very pretty.”

“And?”

“Early days. I want to know her better.”

“So this is it? That’s all you have to say about her?” She pressed her lips in a displeased line. “Helen is such a refined young lady, unlike her sister. I’m afraid that, if you marry Helen, we’ll never get rid of that wild, romping young woman. Heaven, when she laughed, Cook could have heard her from the kitchen.”

“Don’t be so harsh. Isabella is just as lovely as Helen. She’s more spontaneous and honest than her sister.”

Grandmama waved. “Tosh. Who needs spontaneity? But never mind. Patrick seems to be interested in her.”

He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. No, he was sure he didn’t like it. “Would you approve?”

“Well, since we won’t get rid of the woman if you marry her sister, then she might be a good match for Patrick.” She paused, touching her chin. “On second thought, no. Unless we send them to the estate in the deep north in the Highlands. The horrible weather and desolate landscape will do wonders for their rumbustious characters.”

“Grandmama, please.”

“Also.” Her voice lowered to a dangerous tone. “Since when do you approve of that nonsense about women’s suffrage?”

“Since I researched the subject and learnt more about it. Women are organising themselves across the world. From the Americas to the Colonies, they’re asking for the same rights.”

“That doesn’t mean we ought to listen to them.”

“We can’t ignore their demands, especially since they’re reasonable. We can’t govern anymore as we did decades ago. The world is changing, Grandmama. We must change with it.”

“You’re giving me a headache.” She touched her temples. “Promise me you’ll spend more time with Helen.”

“I don’t think it’ll help.”

“Anthony. Helen came here to know you better. Don’t be rude to her. Besides, you said it’s early days.”

“I will talk to her again.”

“Good.” She put a hand on his arm. “How are you faring?”

“I’m all right.”

“I hoped meeting Helen would lift your spirits.”

Meeting Isabella accomplished that. “Stop worrying about me.” He slipped his arm out of her touch.

“How can I?” Her voice cracked. “I lost my son to the same malady afflicting you.”

“Nothing afflicts me.” He opened the door. “Good night.”

“Anthony.”

“I have nothing else to say on the matter.”

The more she insisted on talking about his mood, the more difficult it was for him to talk. Although since he’d laughed so easily with Isabella, he wondered if he was more troubled than he thought.