Brazil, though, would be a tropical paradise — warm and damp, teeming with undiscovered plant life. He’d wanted to do this for years, to really sink his teeth into some meaty botanical work. He was excited, he told himself as he stared dully out the window. There was nothing for him here. Brazil offered an opportunity to lose himself in his work. And he needed to lose himself in something, before he was lost forever.
“I’ll send this right away, Your Grace,” Perkins said.
“Tell the courier to wait for the reply,” Marshall ordered.
He ran a hand down the side of his face. His cheekbone was more prominent beneath his palm than it had been a few months ago. Back when she might have loved him. Before she despised him, at any rate.
Perkins’ papers rustled as the secretary prepared Marshall’s letter. “One more thing.” Marshall turned. “Please send Mr. Gerald in. I’d like to finalize his list of provisions for the horses.”
“Of course.” Perkins bent his neck before stepping from the study.
When the secretary had gone, Marshall glumly eyed the stack of paperwork awaiting his attention.
It was no easy task for a nobleman of Marshall’s position to leave the country for six months. He’d wanted the expedition to last a year, but the howls of protest from his family brought an end to that notion. Grant would have the assistance of Marshall’s various solicitors, bailiffs, stewards, and men of business to keep the Monthwaite estates and investments running smoothly. Still, his brother expressed apprehension at taking the reins from Marshall for even half a year.
He plunked into his chair and began going through his work with only part of his attention on it. Another part toyed with the idea that had taken hold of him some weeks ago. What if he never came back? Accidents at sea were not unheard of. They could encounter a French war vessel. There were diseases in South America, too, like yellow fever. As heir apparent, Grant would have to take over the dukedom permanently if something happened to Marshall. He was a smart, capable young man. He would adapt.
Grant would adapt, too, if he simply didn’t come back for a year, Marshall thought petulantly. Or never. He could send word once he was there. No one could force him to return. And the work he could accomplish! Ignoring the other work demanding his notice, he jotted down a few notes as to what he could say to explain a permanent leave of absence.
“Oh, there you are,” Naomi said breezily as she strolled in, as though Marshall hadn’t been chained to his desk for the last month.
Marshall flipped his notes over. “What is it?” he asked without looking at her.
“Nothing, really.” There was a soft rustling of fabric as she settled into the chair across the desk. “I’d like to spend some time with my brother before he sails to the other side of the world.”
Marshall cleared his throat and very carefully affixed his signature to a purchase order. “I don’t have any time to give you just now.”
She took no notice of his dismissal. “It’s such a shame you won’t be here for Christmas. It’s always such a jolly time watching you and Grant try to out-eat each other. Now poor Grant shall have to dispatch the lion’s share of the goose all by himself. I fear his stomach will burst, and then where will that leave Mama and I? Oh, well,” she sighed, “I don’t suppose that’s any of your concern, now is it?”
Marshall pressed his lips together and resolutely kept his eyes on his work. If he ignored her, she would leave.
Several minutes of silence passed. Marshall became engrossed in a report of Hamhurst’s autumnal crop yield, and truthfully forgot his sister was still in the study.
“I wonder if Isabelle will prepare Christmas dinner herself or if she’ll have a cook do it.”
Marshall startled at Naomi’s voice. He slapped his hand against the desk. “Are you still here? I told you I have work to do.”
Naomi shrugged. She held her hand out at arm’s length, examining her manicure. “I haven’t prevented you from working, have I?”
Marshall made an annoyed sound at the back of his throat and attempted to put his mind back on the report.
Naomi hummed tunelessly.
Marshall closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. He reminded himself how grateful he was Naomi had not been harmed when she was abducted. Remembering that harrowing trial sapped the worst of his temper.
“I had a letter from Miss Bachman today,” Naomi announced.
Marshall’s guts twisted at the name of Isabelle’s friend. In what marked the greatest display of cowardice he had ever exhibited, he’d refused to see Lily Bachman when she’d come looking for him a week after Isabelle left. At that point, he could barely hold himself together. He didn’t have the fortitude to withstand another of Miss Bachman’s withering diatribes, no matter how much he undoubtedly deserved it.