Once a Duchess(52)
A rustle of silk and the flash of color in the hall caught his attention. “Naomi,” he called. His sister stepped into the room, greeting him with her usual cheerful smile. He rose to meet her.
After a brief exchange of small talk, Naomi leveled a shrewd look on her brother. “What’s on your mind, Marshall?” At his raised eyebrow she explained, “You’ve commented on the weather twice in the space of five minutes. Something has you distracted.”
It was no good prevaricating; Marshall came right to the point, although he attempted to mask his interest in the subject by casually straightening his papers as he spoke. “Have you heard from Isabelle?”
Naomi shook her head. “Not since our return to town.” She settled herself in an armchair in front of Marshall’s desk. “I’ve wanted to speak with you about her.” She cleared her throat and smoothed her skirt with both palms. He waited for her to continue. “I was afraid you were angry with me for inviting her to my party and, well, I suppose I didn’t want to raise the issue.” She blushed prettily and looked down at her hands.
Marshall sat with one thigh on the edge of the desk, and the other foot on the floor. “Why?” he asked, bewildered. “Afraid I’d lock you away in a tower? Am I really such an ogre?”
Naomi’s wide eyes flew to his face. “Oh, no, nothing like that! It’s just that I knew you wouldn’t approve. It was wrong of me to do it behind your back and Mama’s. I apologize.”
He resisted the urge to ruffle her hair. Young ladies of eighteen didn’t appreciate childish gestures. Instead, he nodded. “Thank you. It was, indeed, improper of you to invite her, but I accept your apology.”
His sister breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you. However, I do want to discuss Isabelle further.” She drew her shoulders back and lifted her chin to look him squarely in the eye. “It was really too bad of Grant to treat her so abominably.”
“I agree,” Marshall conceded.
“And it was wrong of him to treat me so abominably, too. He tried to ruin my party.”
Marshall nodded firmly. “I agree with that point, as well. I’ll speak to him.”
“Isabelle rescued me from humiliation. Did you try the menu she prepared, Marshall? Every bit as good as any chef in London.”
“She is quite remarkable.” A smile touched his lips as he recalled her furiously whipping dishes together. “Would you believe I never knew about her culinary talents until recently?”
Naomi’s eyes narrowed appraisingly. “Yes,” she said at last, “I would believe that. I think there is a great deal about Isabelle you either don’t know or have misjudged.”
Marshall blinked. He was not used to being rebuked by his younger sister. His throat tightened a fraction. “That’s possible.”
“In any event,” Naomi said with a wave of her hand, “Isabelle did me a great service, and ultimately you, as well. It would not do for word to get ’round that the Duke of Monthwaite’s guests were left to go hungry. Lady Lucy wouldn’t like hearing that,” she said pointedly.
Marshall shifted in his seat. Not long ago, he felt confident about pursuing Lucy Jamison. Then Isabelle came along and mucked up all his neat logic, just as she’d always done. Lucy was still the sensible choice, but he had increasing difficulty picturing a lifetime with her. “Isabelle saved us all from unkind gossip,” Naomi continued. “I should like to do something to thank her, but I won’t proceed without your permission.”
“That’s a reasonable request,” he said, somewhat begrudgingly. Why did Isabelle have to reappear in their lives? “What did you have in mind?”
“Oh!” Naomi exclaimed. She blinked in surprise. “I haven’t gotten that far! I didn’t think you’d actually agree.”
Marshall smiled wryly. “Well, I do. We owe Isabelle a debt of gratitude, and it would be remiss to not acknowledge her efforts on our behalf in some way. I’ll see what I can think of, and you do the same, all right?”
Naomi nodded happily. She rose, kissed his cheek, and departed to go on a round of calls with their mother.
When she’d gone, Marshall exhaled loudly and dropped into the chair she’d vacated. He propped his elbows on the arms and rested his chin against his steepled fingers, his long legs stretched in front.
As much as Thomas Gerald concerned him, he’d given that matter only a fraction of the attention it deserved, because his mind kept wandering back to Isabelle.