Page 17 of The Trouble With Titles
He gritted his teeth at his selfish nature. She was Molly’s confidante now, not his. Which was as it should be. Molly must be bored in their home, and Madeline was the perfect companion to enliven her day. Madeline deserved a friendship with someone of equal footing instead of with him and theburdens he bore. The possessive feeling that sprung up at finding them together was uncalled for, and must be beaten down.
As he approached the house, the butler, MacNaby, appeared in the doorway leading into the main hall. “Sir, Lord Blackwood has requested you join him in the study.”
“The study?” Simon worked out of the study. John rarely entered it unless there was a large amount of documentation to sign.
MacNaby bobbed in acknowledgment. “There are some unexpected guests. His lordship had them shown into the study for privacy.”
The butler turned and disappeared before Simon could clarify. Unannounced guests on a Sunday afternoon? It seemed rather untoward. Pulling out his handkerchief, he dabbed his face dry. It was a hot day, and venturing outside had been a mistake.
Entering the hall, he stopped in front of a mirror to check his collar and cravat were in order. Tugging his cuffs, he strode toward the study, then paused in the doorway to swivel his head about in surprise.
MacNaby had understated the guests. Several gentlemen were gathered, seats having been brought in from the library. The windows had been opened to allow for a cooling draught, and some of the men were standing near to the windows in a bid to find relief from the heat. If they were anything like him, they wished to remove their wool coats, but it was not the done thing.
Taking stock, he realized he did not know any of the gentlemen present, but he recognized the huge blond Viking who was unmistakable. The Duke of Halmesbury. Next to him, with his arms folded as he peered out at the garden, it appeared to be the Earl of Saunton. The rest of the men were strangers, but there was a young lad with them with his hat still on,standing in the corner and staring back at him with unusual silver eyes that seemed vaguely familiar. Simon could have sworn he had seen those fascinating irises somewhere in the past few weeks, but he could not bring it to mind.
John rose from an armchair, his posture weary, and Simon experienced a pull of anxiety. His brother was pale, gray, and flushed all at the same time. He should be resting after so much exertion from the day, which he confirmed by signaling Simon to speak on his behalf.
“What is this?” The question was directed at the duke, the highest-ranking peer present and, as such, the leader of the assembled men.
Simon counted five.
His Grace swung his head around, his gray eyes assessing him. “Mr. Scott?”
“That is correct, Your Grace. What can I do for you?”
John broke into a paroxysm of coughing, hacking into a handkerchief and prompting Simon to rush over and coax him back into his seat. “Gentlemen, perhaps you could state your business and we can set an appointment for another day. Lord Blackwood is in need of his rest.”
His Grace approached, pausing a couple feet away to address him. “I am afraid this cannot wait, Mr. Scott. This is a matter of …mortalimportance.”
There was a pause.
Mortal?
That seemed unduly ominous.
“They have news, Simon. Of Peter. We must hear them out.”
Simon glanced down at his brother, whose breathing had eased and who was looking up at him with worry on his face. “Are you sure? They can come back another day.”
“I need to hear what they have to say.”
Simon nodded, and His Grace took it as his cue to make introductions.
As he had thought, it was Lord Saunton he had spotted at the window. To his surprise, a younger gentleman was introduced as Lord Filminster, which was a name that had come up a few times in recent weeks. Presumably the son who had inherited the title from the murdered baron, but Simon did not ask. Then he was introduced to a coxcomb with hair in startling contrasting tones and a luxurious suit that could have been dreadful but had turned out to be a creation of sartorial genius. Sage green with a gold brocade waistcoat. Too lavish for Simon’s tastes, but the buck had a flair for it which Lord Boyle could only hope for. It turned out to be Lord Trafford, whom Simon had heard about—he had been something of a disreputable rogue until the news sheets had reported he had wed last month.
The duke gestured to the corner. “And this is … Mr. Gideon. He is … brother-in-law … to Lord Trafford.” Halmesbury seemed hesitant in introducing the lad, who bowed his head politely but said nothing. His beaver was still on, as it had been when Simon had entered.
They took their seats, Simon first ringing a bell. Duncan entered and Simon ordered tea for his brother, whose well-being still had him worried. Glancing about, he asked if their guests would care for some, too, but they shook their heads, and Simon did not wish to encourage them to remain longer than necessary. Despite their polite demeanor, there were undertones of resentment in the room. John needed to retire to his rooms to recover from his outing to church, and the interminable meal with the Boyles.
“We represent several lords, and I have been authorized to speak with you by the Home Secretary in the interests of keeping this discussion unofficial.”
The duke’s voice was calm, but Simon’s unease was rising. He could not think what was of such import that these peers would interrupt their day of rest. The single notion to enter his head was that John had mentioned something months ago about the late Filminster raising the subject of Peter’s issue. But, surely, it could not be that?
“This morning we received confirmation from Florence that Peter Scott sired two children with his wife, Mrs. Bianca Scott, before his death.” The duke paused. “Malechildren.”
Simon jumped to his feet in bewilderment. “What?”
John gasped, clutching his chest, and began to pant. Simon immediately forgot about the incredible news, rushing over to his brother in alarm. The baron waved him back, concentrating on his breathing. After a few minutes, he had recovered, the guests waiting in silence. Then he gestured to Simon, a cue to continue the discussion. He looked back at their guests, who were waiting with an expectant air. All except the youth, Gideon, whose silver-gray eyes were scrutinizing his brother with unwavering interest.
