Chapter 174: The Morning Guest

It was a Saturday morning.

The Foster dining hall was alive with the twins’ endless babbling and squeals of laughter. Their little faces were smeared with mashed food, their chubby hands reaching for anything within their grasp as they made a glorious mess of the breakfast table.

For the first time in days, Judy seemed less withdrawn.

She wasn’t sulking in silence or wearing the gloomy expression that had become so familiar. Every now and then, she even leaned toward the twins and murmured something sweet to them.

Julian noticed. So did Leanne.

Their eyes met briefly across the table.

A good sign. Perhaps Morgan had finally managed to talk some sense into Judy.

"Miss Isobel."

Albert, the butler, stood respectfully at the dining room entrance.

"There is a gentleman at the main door asking for you. He said he came to pick you up."

Julian’s hand stopped halfway to his coffee cup.

"What is his name?"

"Richard, Sir. Richard Learson."

The atmosphere at the table changed instantly.

Morgan slowly lowered his spoon. His eyes went straight to Isobel.

One by one, four more heads turned in her direction.

Isobel suddenly became very interested in the toast on her plate.

"Dad, Mom, Brother..." She hesitated before glancing at Judy. "Sis..."

Judy looked up. For the briefest moment, something flickered in her eyes.

She cast a furtive glance at Isobel before looking away.

"I forgot to mention last night that I’m going to the orphanage today. I want to visit the children and deliver some things for them." Isobel spoke in a soft voice.

Then she pushed her chair back.

"I should probably go—"

"Sit down."

Julian didn’t raise his voice.

"Finish your breakfast first."

"But, Dad, Richard is waiting—"

"Then he can wait."

Isobel slowly lowered herself back into her chair.

Julian’s expression remained calm.

"You are not leaving this table with an empty stomach just because a man has arrived at our door."

Morgan’s lips twitched. He reached for his coffee, hiding the faint amusement in his eyes.

That was his father.

Protective without making a spectacle of it. Possessive without ever having to say the word.

Julian turned toward Albert.

"Invite Mr. Learson inside. Have him shown to the receiving room."

He paused.

"And make sure he is comfortable."

"Yes, Sir."

Albert bowed and left.

Julian picked up his coffee again. He took a slow, deliberate sip.

Nothing about his expression suggested anger.

But Morgan knew his father.

So did Leanne.

Julian was thinking.

A man had arrived at the Foster mansion early on a Saturday morning to take his daughter somewhere.

Julian wanted to know why.

More importantly, he wanted to know what kind of man Richard Learson was.

He set his cup down.

"I’ll meet him."

Julian rose from his chair.

Morgan immediately pushed his own chair back.

Julian looked at his son.

"You’re coming?"

Morgan slipped his hands into his pockets.

"Of course."

"You don’t need to."

"I know."

Morgan’s eyes shifted toward Isobel.

"But she’s my sister."

There was something unmistakably protective in his voice.

Julian studied him for a moment. Then the corner of his mouth lifted.

"Very well."

Father and son walked out of the dining hall together.

Neither said a word. They didn’t need to.

They both understood exactly why they were going.

...

At the living room, Richard was studying a landscape painting on the wall, when he heard footsteps echoing on the marble floor.

He turned around excitedly hoping to see the smiling Isobel. What he had not expected was to see two men approaching him.

The older man walked with an effortless authority that made the entire entrance seem to belong to him.

Julian Foster.

Richard recognized him immediately.

Beside him was Morgan.

Julian stopped a few feet away.

His gaze traveled over Richard slowly—not rudely, but thoroughly.

The kind of look a father gave a man standing in front of his daughter.

Richard straightened.

"Mr. Foster."

"Richard Learson."

Julian’s voice was courteous.

"You’ve come for Isobel."

"Yes, Sir."

Julian gave a small nod.

"She mentioned she was visiting the orphanage today."

"Yes. I promised I’d take her. It was where we grew up."

"I see."

A silence followed.

Richard shifted slightly.

Julian’s expression didn’t change.

"You understand that Isobel is very important to this family."

It wasn’t a question.

Richard frowned.

Why would she be important? Then he thought of the current project where Isobel was the team lead came to him.

It must be it.

"Of course," Richard replied respectfully.

"I hope you do."

Julian’s voice remained perfectly calm.

"That means when she goes somewhere, I like to know where she is, who she’s with, and when she’ll be coming home."

Richard swallowed discreetly.

"Yes, Sir."

Morgan stepped forward.

"And if anything happens to her—"

"Morgan."

Julian’s warning was quiet.

His son immediately fell silent, but his eyes remained fixed on Richard, hard and unwavering.

"Isobel is capable of taking care of herself." Richard said. "But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop looking out for her."

He studied the two men in silence.

There was something strange about the way they spoke of Isobel.

It wasn’t simply concern. It was deeper than that.

Richard couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

Why are they so protective of Isobel?

His gaze moved from Morgan to Julian.

They act as though she’s family.

But how could that be?

He had never heard Isobel mention anything about the Fosters being related to her.

Before Richard could make sense of it, Julian turned his attention back to him.

"You have my permission to take her."

Richard’s shoulders relaxed slightly.

"Thank you, Sir."

Then another thought struck him.

Permission? Why would Isobel need Julian’s permission?

She was an adult. She could come and go as she pleased.

And yet Julian had just spoken as though Richard had come to ask a father for permission to take his daughter out.

Richard’s uneasiness returned.

Julian’s gaze sharpened.

"Don’t thank me yet."

Richard straightened.

Julian took a slow step toward him.

"I am trusting you with Isobel for the day."

The statement was calm, almost courteous.

But there was something unmistakably serious beneath it.

"Sir?"