Once a Duchess(94)

 

“Oh?” he said in a neutral tone. “I trust she is well?”

 

“I believe so, yes. She tells me she’s going to visit Isabelle this week.”

 

Heat crawled over his shoulders and neck. Why wouldn’t she go away and leave him alone? “How about that,” he said noncommittally.

 

“She related an amusing anecdote,” Naomi said. “It seems Isabelle found herself trapped in the middle of a squabbling committee of ladies who could not decide on a cause for their charity event. So Isabelle promised a thousand pounds to each of five causes, just to make the women be quiet and end the meeting.” Naomi let out a silvery laugh.

 

Marshall felt like the air had been punched from him. “Did she really?” he managed to drawl.

 

“Isn’t that just like Isabelle?” Naomi shook her head from side to side. “Generous as the day is long, but won’t put up with anyone’s nonsense.” She laughed again. “It reminds me of the time she — ”

 

Marshall’s fist crashed against his desk, sending papers flying. “Enough!” he roared. “Get out!”

 

Naomi flinched as though he had struck her. Then her eyes filled with tears and her chin trembled.

 

Marshall immediately regretted yelling at her.

 

She scrambled out of her chair and backed away from him. “You’ve been monstrous ever since she left. I used to feel sorry for you, but I don’t anymore.” Her mouth twisted with hurt and anger.

 

Marshall stood, his temper rising again. “If my society doesn’t suit, I can pack you off to Helmsdale to keep Mother company.”

 

“I’m glad you’re running away to Brazil.” Naomi fumbled with the doorknob behind her. “You’re an idiot.” She wrenched the door open. “Isabelle is better off without you,” she shot, “and we will be, too.” She turned on a slippered heel with a flourish of her skirts, and slammed the door behind her.

 

Marshall stood at his desk, staring at the door. He flexed his hands, opening and closing them into fists at his side. As much as he’d like to take offense at Naomi’s remarks, he couldn’t. He was an idiot. He was a bad-tempered brute who made his sister cry. And Isabelle was better off without him. About that, and so many other things, Naomi was absolutely right.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Twenty-Two

 

 

Isabelle sat on a wooden bench in the little garden behind the house. Despite the cold morning, the sun shone warm on her face. The pages of her book gleamed a soft white.

 

“Ma’am!”

 

She looked up from her reading. Bessie leaned out a window with her hands cupped around her mouth. Isabelle smiled and shook her head. The woman would never be a prim housekeeper like the stuffed shirts the titled class employed, but Bessie’s earthy ways suited Isabelle just fine.

 

“What is it?” she called back.

 

“There’s a gentleman here to see you.”

 

“Who?”

 

“He asked me not to say. He says it’s a surprise.”

 

Isabelle’s smile faltered. Marshall? Her heart slammed against her ribs. She gulped. “Show him to the parlor,” she instructed. “Tell him I’ll be right there.”

 

She marked her page and closed the book, then pressed the backs of her fingers to her mouth.

 

Marshall had come to her. At last. She’d gotten past her anger, but it didn’t change the fact that he couldn’t be trusted again. Could he? The question clanged in her mind, over and over, as she walked to the house.

 

She removed her bonnet and briefly considered changing into something more presentable. No, she decided. This was her home. She would meet him on her terms. She patted her hair, then opened the parlor door.

 

A man stood with his back to her. His broad shoulders filled a camel coat. A white neck cloth peeked over the collar, and a bit of sunned neck showed in the space between the cravat and his clipped, sandy-colored hair.

 

At the sound of the door, he turned. His hazel eyes crinkled as a broad grin split his face.

 

“Justin?” Isabelle clapped a hand to her mouth and staggered back against the door. Her eyes widened in stunned disbelief at the vision before her. Her dear friend had been missing for so long, without a word — but here he was, in her parlor!

 

“Hello, Isa.” He cocked his head to the side in that disarmingly charming way of his. “How are you, darling?”

 

Isabelle threw herself into his outstretched arms. He grabbed her to his chest in a strong hug. She laughed and laughed while joyous tears poured down her face.