“Your father might be the most despicable man that I’ve ever known,” Benedict muttered later that night after Edward had left him and Isobel alone in the sitting room, his poor excuse that he needed to retire to bed early because he had to be somewhere early the next morning. “He doesn’t know what sort of a man I am. Does he have any idea of the kind of things that could happen to an unchaperoned woman?” he asked angrily.
Isobel shivered. “He’s aware,” she replied quietly. “He simply does not care.”
Benedict’s lip curled in disgust before he shook his head as if to clear it. “I’m sorry, Isobel. I should not talk of such things,” he murmured. “I’m just grateful that it was me that he left you with and not somebody else.”
“So am I,” Isobel breathed out. “I’m sorry that you had to come
