Once a Duchess(70)

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Sixteen

 

 

The ride to Bensbury should have taken only an hour, but a heavy downpour slowed Marshall, Naomi and Aunt Janine’s progress to a crawl, nearly doubling the time they were cooped up in the coach.

 

Aunt Janine passed the time with a disjointed ramble about various scholarly works she’d read on Egyptology, her latest passion. She intoned about long dead pharaohs and their tombs until her voice began to crack. When she paused, Marshall exhaled in relief.

 

Naomi asked Aunt Janine a question about the Book of the Dead. “The Book of the Dead,” Aunt Janine croaked. “Fascinating topic!” The old lady fished a flask out of her voluminous black reticule, took a long pull, and then launched into another lecture.

 

Marshall shot his sister a withering look. She had the grace to shrug sheepishly.

 

Fortunately, he was soon able to tune out Aunt Janine and think about the reason for leaving London. The printed apology was bound to ignite a frenzy of gossip and speculation. There was no possibility of meeting with Isabelle in town without it being reported in the on dits. If there was any chance of their relationship progressing, he had to get her out from under the scrutiny of the ton.

 

To that end, he sent her a note this morning, informing her of his intention to leave town and inviting her and Fairfax to join him if she desired to talk everything over. He had no idea whether she would come. The uncertainty gnawed between his shoulder blades, tensing the muscles in his upper back until he thought he’d crack.

 

When they finally arrived at Bensbury, Marshall made a hasty escape to his study. A short time later, there was a soft knock on the door. Naomi had changed out of her traveling costume into a pale pink dress with short sleeves and a high, ruffed neck. She crossed to the window, laid her hands on the sill, and looked out at the noontime sky darkened by roiling clouds. “It looks more like a chilly winter day, doesn’t it?”

 

Marshall watched his sister for a long moment. She was still so young, and he was loathe to drag her into his personal affairs, but it seemed he would need a few enforcements to ensure he did right by Isabelle this time. He poured himself a drink, swallowed his pride, and prepared himself to beg his eighteen-year-old sister for help.

 

“Do you know why we’re here?” he asked.

 

Naomi didn’t look at him, but he watched her expression become thoughtful as she gazed out across the rain-drenched park. “An interesting question. The most important one, really. Why are we here? What purpose do our lives serve?”

 

Marshall groaned. “I wasn’t speaking so esoterically.”

 

She flashed him a mischievous smile. Gad, she had a disarming mind. He still couldn’t get used to thinking of his baby sister as a grown woman, much less one with the intelligence to cross wits with her eldest brother, and to do it with such ease.

 

“Touché.” He inclined his head.

 

“You’re here because of that apology, of course.” Naomi took a brief turn around the room. She stopped in front of the Athyrium filix-femina in its pot atop a plant stand next to a bookshelf. “What’s this one?”

 

“Lady-fern,” he answered.

 

Naomi lightly ran a finger down a feathery green frond. “Do you love her?”

 

The simple question clapped him over the head like lightning out of the blue sky. Did he love Isabelle? He lusted for her, certainly, but he couldn’t very well tell his sister that. And he was hideously remorseful for divorcing her and making a muck of her life. They were compatible. Marshall found he enjoyed her company, and it had surprised him to realize that such compatibility was important to him in choosing a wife, after all. He cared for her, and hoped she’d agree to marry him again — but that was just to make amends. Wasn’t all of that enough?

 

He crossed his arms across his chest and cleared his throat.

 

“Oh, good,” Naomi quipped. “You haven’t gone to sleep. You stood there so long I was afraid you’d nodded off with your eyes open.”

 

Naomi sat herself in the chair behind Marshall’s desk. He started to object, but she gestured him to have a seat. He sighed and rolled his eyes, then plunked into the chair she’d indicated. Maybe she wasn’t quite so grown up yet, after all.

 

She propped her arms on her elbows and pressed her lips against her steepled fingers in a spot-on imitation of Marshall’s own gesture. “I’ve another question for you now,” Naomi said in a serious tone.

 

He crossed his right ankle to the opposite knee, and twiddled his thumbs. “I’m listening.”