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"The provisions are complete and correct," Julian stated.
"There remains one additional matter, Your Grace." Mr. Vance removed his spectacles, cleaning the lenses deliberately with a silk cloth. "The legal question of succession."
Julian's hand stilled over the blue ribbon.
"The existing entail recognizes your heir presumptive as Lord Geoffrey Hawthorne of Barbados, your fourth cousin. He stands to inherit the dukedom, the principal estates, and all entailed properties should Your Grace die without direct male issue." Mr. Vance replaced his spectacles, looking steadily across the table. "The question I must formally put to you, Your Grace, is whether you intend to postpone your departure long enough to sire a direct male heir, or whether the legal instruments shall remain as drafted, recognizing Lord Geoffrey."
The name fell into the quiet room with heavy weight.
Lord Geoffrey Hawthorne—a fourth cousin residing in Barbados whom Julian had not seen since the cousin was a boy of twelve visiting England for a single summer. He recalled a tall, sunburned youth whose laughter echoed across the garden, but nothing more. The man who stood to inherit Ravensmere House, the ancestral lands, the tenant farms, the London properties, and the conservatory was a distant relative who had not set foot in England for twenty-four years.
His sudden anger turned inward, directed entirely at his own oversight. He had spent months focused exclusively upon the trust deed, the board of trustees, the expedition archive, and securing a duchess capable of safeguarding Thomas's life's work. He had proposed to Adelaide because of her sharp intellect and shared devotion to the collection, ensuring the museum and conservatory were protected by institutional covenants.
The thought had never crossed his mind during the weeks of preparation, legal drafting, and formal vows. In his single-minded focus on preserving his brother's memory, he had overlooked the primary obligation of his rank: securing the direct succession of his title.
The oversight stemmed from an existence to be consumed by foreign journeys, requiring no lasting domestic continuity because he had long viewed his own life as temporary.
He looked down at the unrolled map. The Lycian mountains rose in dense contour lines, their steep slopes descending to the Mediterranean. Xanthos waited at the terminus of his planned route, its ancient ruins holding botanical evidence capable of reshaping historical knowledge. In two months' time, his chartered vessel would set sail; the Ottoman permits were executed, the supplies cataloged, and Adelaide's corrections had already improved his navigation route.
Now his solicitor sat across from him, asking whether he intended to remain in England long enough to father an heir.
The thought of Adelaide—her ink-smudged cuffs, her precise corrections, the gentle care with which she had mounted the pale violet, and the quiet composure in her hazel eyes—collided with the reality of his impending departure.
If I delay the expedition, I can secure the succession. A year. Perhaps less. Adelaide is thirty. I am thirty-six. There is time.
Yet a year's delay meant twelve months of residing beneath the same roof—twelve months of shared breakfasts, of her voice correcting his taxonomy, of her hand brushing his over field ledgers, and of her presence filling the grand house while he prepared to set sail for hazardous shores. It meant a year of deep emotional intimacy, only to depart into danger knowing precisely what he stood to lose.
Julian stared at the coastal chart until the contour lines blurred before his eyes. The red mark at Xanthos seemed to demand his presence—the final unfulfilled journey of a life spent fleeing from loss.
If I go now, and I do not return, Geoffrey Hawthorne inherits everything. My title. My lands. My tenants. Thomas's collection, held in trust by men who have already tried to take it once.
If I stay, I give Adelaide a child. I give Ravensmere a proper heir. I give the estate the security it deserves.
And I make leaving her the hardest thing I have ever done.
His hand lay flat on the map. The Lycian mountains pressed up against his palm. Somewhere beyond them, Xanthos waited. Somewhere in this house, Adelaide was cataloging specimens, her fingers turning pages, her mind moving through the collection with the quiet certainty that had undone him from the first.
Julian did not answer Mr. Vance.
He sat in the silence, and the silence sat with him, and the question remained.
CHAPTER 14
"That is quite enough for one morning."
Adelaide set her quill back into the inkpot and flexed her cramped fingers over the manuscript she was compiling from Julian's expedition journals. The pages unrolled before her were dense with his field notes, his careful script contrasting with her own annotations crowding the margins. She had been transcribing since dawn, and the light through the study window had shifted from pale gold to the warm amber of early afternoon.
Her back ached and her fingers were stiff from hours of continuous writing. Julian had departed before she awoke, called away to his solicitor's office or to meet with legal administrators regarding estate business in the city.
Ravensmere House remained hers to explore for the afternoon, and she had not yet ventured below stairs.
Rising from the desk, she smoothed her skirts and traversed the hallways she was still learning to navigate. The wide stone staircase leading to the domestic quarters was impeccably kept, opening onto a long passage that smelled faintly of rosemary and fresh baking bread.
The kitchens were spacious, warm, and bright, illuminated by wide windows that caught the afternoon sun. Polished copper cookware lined the walls in neat rows. At the center worktable, the cook looked up from rolling pastry dough and offered a broad, welcoming smile.
"Your Grace! We were just remarking that we had not yet seen you below stairs. Come in, please."
"Good afternoon," Adelaide stepped into the warmth, the heat of the wide hearth surrounding her. "I caught the scent from the hallway and could not resist investigating."
