"Yes," she said, agreeing with him. Unbeknownst to him, she was already a buffer when it came to their child. Max was growing into a strapping young child and would soon start crawling if he had his way. He was already rolling about and there were teeth, and... well... She was a doting mother as much as Quentin was a doting father. There were times since the baby came that she got lost in being a mother, sitting in a rocking chair as she gazed down at his face that nearly replicated his father's. He'd be a red haired version of Quentin in his manhood, and she was proud that she gave him the flaming hair.

"I cannot wait for the trip. It's been much too long." She didn't know the plans for the baby, if they were leaving him in the country with the servants, or if they were taking the child with them. It was, after all, a dangerous thing for a boy his age to be going to Africa, right? Of course she would protect him, but could she keep him away from the rails when he learned to walk?

For the moment, however, she would focus on the map. Of course, that didn't stop her from her usual descent into his lap, and then her arms made that familiar loop around his shoulders as she rested her forehead against his neck. "I should probably check with the modiste about the clothes I ordered for this trip." She was used to the heat, so she knew exactly what to buy for the voyage, clothes based more off of function than fashion. She was pretty fashionable but at least she was fine with the uglier things like practical wear.