Page 27

CHAPTER 27

I saac caught sight of Craton Manor and gave his horse a gentle nudge, quickening the pace for the last stretch.

Fiona. He hadn’t realized how badly he wanted to see her until now.

As he dismounted, one of the younger grooms rushed forward, nearly tripping over his own boots in his eagerness. Isaac handed over the reins, giving the boy a brief nod before turning toward the front steps.

The door opened before he reached it.

“Your Grace.” Mr. Everett stood tall in the entryway, his lined face warming with something between affection and pride. Isaac’s step slowed.

“Everett,” he said with a nod. “Standing guard as always.”

“And I expect to be doing so long after you’ve grown old and grey, Your Grace.”

Isaac gave a quiet chuckle as he stepped inside—and stopped short.

Light flooded the foyer, golden and clean. The marble had been polished to a mirror’s shine, the entry rug replaced with one of finer weave and richer colors. The sconces gleamed, new draperies framed the windows, and the entire space breathed with a freshness he did not remember leaving behind.

“This is not how I left the manor,” he said slowly, eyes sweeping the grand space.

“No, indeed, sir,” Mr. Everett said, clearly pleased. “Her Grace has been very busy while you were away.”

Isaac said nothing at first. He moved forward, his boots echoing softly on the stone floor, and turned toward the drawing room.

The transformation there was even more staggering.

Gone were the somber green walls and heavy velvet curtains. In their place, bold blue wallpaper accented by cream panels drew the eye upward. New drapes in a matching shade framed the tall windows, and the furniture had been reupholstered in rich mahogany leather and light linen, the arrangement fresh and inviting.

If he hadn’t known better, he might have thought himself a guest in someone else’s house.

He let out a low breath. “Well, I’ll be dashed.”

He remembered the night on the terrace when she’d asked about making changes.

I didn’t think she would actually do it.

Not without his permission. Not without even sending word. He had no complaints.

“Isaac?”

He turned at once at the sound of her voice. Clear as a bell. And just like that, the grandeur of the drawing room faded to nothing.

Fiona stood at the threshold, a vision in soft blue muslin, her hands clasped before her and her eyes wide with something between caution and hope.

A smile broke across his face before he could stop it. He closed the distance in quick strides, grasped her hand, and raised it to his lips.

One kiss for her knuckles. Another—slower, lingering—for the inside of her wrist.

Her skin warmed beneath his mouth. It was all he could do not to gather her into his arms then and there. To bury his face in her neck and admit just how much he’d missed her.

A delicate flush rose on her cheeks. “I trust your journey was pleasant?”

“It was, thankfully, uneventful.” He let his thumb drift lightly across the back of her hand before releasing it. “And I see you’ve done quite a job with the house.”

Her eyes lit as if someone had turned up a lamp inside her.

“Do you like it? What do you think of the drawing room so far?” She took a step back, gesturing with a flourish. “I daresay I’ve done a fine job. Do you not think so?”

She straightened slightly, chin lifted with pride—but the way she angled herself toward him, the faint rise of her brows, gave her away.

Fishing.

He folded his arms, feigning contemplation.

“It’s... decent.”

Her mouth fell open.

“Decent?”

He bit back a grin.

“Are you deliberately dismissing my efforts right now, Duke?” she asked, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits.

He did not answer. He only watched her—watched the life in her, the color in her cheeks, and felt something shift deep in his chest.

God help me, I missed her.

“Are you not satisfied with your decent job, Fiona?” Isaac said, unable to hold back his laughter now.

She blinked at him, caught between indignation and realization—then narrowed her eyes.

“You wretch,” she muttered, but the corners of her mouth twitched, and within moments, she was laughing too.

The sound filled the drawing room like light spilling through stained glass.

Isaac watched her, his smile lingering longer than it should have. There was no use pretending otherwise.

I missed her.

Not just her face or her voice, but the way she was —that peculiar blend of cleverness and mischief, strength and warmth.

Dinner followed, served in the newly refreshed dining room. She spoke at length about the changes she’d made—how she’d chosen the fabrics, the colors, even the positioning of the windows for better light.

He asked questions, more than he usually did, and she answered them all eagerly, hands moving as she spoke.

It was during one such exchange, just as he reached for his glass of wine, that chaos erupted.

A blur of green and gold streaked past his face.

He jerked back as a thump hit the table, followed by the sharp splash of liquid.

His wine sloshed over the tablecloth, the glass rocking on its base before tipping onto its side.

“Good God?—”

He stared, stunned, at the creature now preening itself atop the roast pheasant platter.

Bright green, streaked with yellow. A parrot.

Beside him, Fiona gasped.

“What in the blazes is going on here?” he barked, rising slightly from his chair as two footmen hurried to mop up the spill.

“Were the doors left open? Who let this thing in?”

He turned sharply toward the staff.

But before anyone could answer, laughter bubbled from across the table.

He looked at Fiona.

She was tearing off a bit of bread from the basket and holding it out with an expression that was far too amused for the circumstances.

“He’s my new friend,” she said. “And he’s quite partial to warm rolls.”

Isaac blinked. “You’ve what ?”

She offered the bread to the bird, who snatched it with his beak and resumed eating.

“Mozart is family now,” she said with a breezy shrug, as if discussing an old cousin rather than a creature who’d just overturned his wine.

Isaac stared.

Family?

Isaac narrowed his eyes at the bird, which now sat contentedly in the bread basket as though it had claimed it by right.

“Please do not tell me that is the name you’ve given him.”

Fiona tilted her head, arching one brow. “And why ever not?”

She turned back to the bird with fondness in her gaze. “He adores the pianoforte. Don’t you, Mozart?”

The creature ignored the tidbit she offered in favor of helping himself to the warm, untouched rolls beside it.

“Such shameless gluttony,” Isaac muttered, folding his arms as he watched the bird tear into the bread.

“Do not be unkind, Isaac,” Fiona said without looking at him.

He shifted his weight and glanced at her askance. “Of all the names in the world, you chose Mozart ?”

“I think it suits him perfectly.” She beamed.

Mozart squawked once, then tilted his head.

“Perfect!” the bird echoed.

Isaac stared.

The parrot repeated it, louder this time: “Perfect!”

“Good heavens,” he said. “It speaks. Of course it does.” He rubbed a hand across his jaw. “What’s next? Will he be giving recitals?”

“We are making excellent progress,” Fiona replied, eyes twinkling. “He landed atop the pianoforte after his first proper flight. I took it as a sign.”

Isaac turned slightly, watching her more than the bird now. She looked entirely too pleased with herself, like a girl who’d found treasure and meant to keep it.

She leaned over to stroke the bird’s feathers with the back of her knuckle. “He was soaked through and trembling when I found him. Wing torn. I kept him in my chamber for days until he could stand properly again.”

Her voice had softened. Isaac felt a tighteness beneath his ribs.

“You are full of endless surprises,” he said, watching her with something almost akin to awe.

She looked up, face alight. “The most pleasant ones.”

“Heavens!” Isaac sighed.

“Heavens! Caw!” Mozart squawked with enthusiasm, flapping his wings once for emphasis.

Fiona bent over in laughter, one hand pressed to her stomach. Isaac arched a brow, not quite managing to hide his surprise. “Manners there,” he said, pointing a finger at the bird.

“Maaan-ers!” Mozart cried back, mimicking both the word and the scolding tone with near-perfect precision.

Isaac blinked.

“Oh no,” he murmured.

“ Oh no! ” Mozart repeated, louder this time, as if issuing a grand declaration.

Fiona had to clutch the edge of the table to stay upright.

Isaac narrowed his eyes at the bird, then turned to his wife. “Is he always this... rebellious?”

“Only around you,” she replied between peals of laughter. “He has been perfectly angelic before now.”

“Manners,” Isaac tried again, enunciating with exaggerated care.

“Maaaaanners,” Mozart replied with great importance, puffing out his chest.

There was a beat of silence. Then, with the gleam of a true performer, the parrot cocked his head and said, “Isaac!”

Isaac’s mouth parted. “He knows my name?”

Mozart tilted his head the other way. “Duke!”

At that, Fiona collapsed into another round of laughter, wiping the corner of her eye. “I might have told him your name.”

Isaac stared at the parrot, who looked quite pleased with himself. “I see.”

“Perfect!” Mozart sang.

Isaac gave in. A low laugh rumbled from his chest as he shook his head. “You may have created a monster, Fiona.”

Fiona scooped Mozart back into her hands. “He is a very clever monster, thank you.”

Mozart squawked in agreement. Isaac watched the two of them—his wife and her impudent little shadow—and felt a grin stretch across his face.

Good Lord. I might actually be fond of the blasted thing.