Page 22 of The Trouble With Titles
John gesticulated a vague wave. “The heirs from Italy you are to speak of. It is a dark day for the Blackwood title. Good British blood has run through the veins of our ancestors for generations.”
“Be that as it may, there are practical issues to discuss.” Simon did not wish to hear about the venerated blood of Scotts, nor the downfall of their line by introducing Italian blood. He had tossed and turned all night, considering what it meant for the management of Blackwood estates, and the tenants and people that it affected. Then there was the immediate family to consider, a thousand trivial details which added up to a muddle of epic proportions.
“What of Nicholas?” Simon had concerns because John’s health did not speak to his longevity. “Will the heir continue his allowance … when you are … no longer with us?”
John shook his head, his jowls flapping around to remind Simon just how much his older brother had declined. He had seemed a healthy man at the time he had inherited the title from their father, but within weeks, illness had set in, and just eighteen months later he was a man who looked like he mightbe a mere handful of years from the grave. It was a chilling reminder to eat well and keep up his routine at Gentleman Jackson’s, expending his energies.
“This Italian upstart better not think of changing the arrangements in place!”
Sighing, Simon leaned back in his seat to relax his stance lest he display his irritation. This was not a time for prejudices or emotions. They needed to have a plan for their change in circumstances. “We know nothing about our nephew. When the title is his, he can make the changes he wishes to. My mother is well taken care of by her marriage contract and the entailments attached to her Scottish title, but both Nicholas and I are portioned a small allowance under that document. And what of me? I am to marry Olivia Boyle on the understanding that I was to be a baron with an income. What new arrangements would be needed so I might support my bride in the manner she is accustomed to?”
John coughed into his fist, squirming about in discomfort. “Where is that damn Duncan?”
“John?”
His brother huffed, resentment in his eyes when he cast a glance in Simon’s direction. “The blood of the Boyles would have made a fine addition to the Blackwood line. We were seconds away from cementing everything Father wanted for this family.”
Hearing the news yesterday had freed Simon of some of the restrictions of duty weighing him down. Fate had determined that he could follow his own path, but in a twist of macabre humor, it was to be with a wife not of his own choosing. Bloodlines had never been particularly interesting to Simon, and he was not quite sure how or why he had allowed himself to be convinced to pursue Olivia as a spouse. The gods were mirthful with glee at Simon for his blind adherence to tradition, which had led him to this outcome. He had been trapped in a deepsleep and wakened to discover the entire world had shifted since he had gone to bed—more than ten years earlier!
This was neither here nor there. Simon needed to prepare for a changing of the guard, but John was not one to confront the troubles facing them. He preferred to put them off to another day, which never arrived. It would take persistence to reach an agreement about dealing with the rightful heir’s insertion into their lives.
“Be that as it may, we must discuss the future.”
If only I had not signed the marriage contract.
Simon pushed the thought away.If onlywas the journey into the depths of despair. He had signed the contract, and he must bear his responsibilities like a gentleman.
John lumbered to his feet, stalking over to the window to stare down upon the gardens. “I do not know how to say this, little brother, but this investigation of murder is not settled yet.”
Straightening up, Simon cocked his head to peer over at his brother. “Do you believe I need to be concerned?”
“You have been accused of killing a peer, albeit unofficially. Once word gets out … At this moment, the unknown heir is not the most pressing issue.”
Licking lips which had suddenly gone dry, Simon contemplated this announcement. He had been so preoccupied with ensuring his duties were attended to that he had not considered their contingent of visitors might be unconvinced by his alibi and, at this very moment, seeking to disprove Isla’s assertions of their moonlit conversation on the night of the murder. “Should I find an alternative defense?”
John glanced back at him. “Where were you that night? You were not with Isla.”
Embarrassed, Simon dropped his head down to examine his fingernails with studious intent. “I was … in the garden.”
“With the chit next door?”
“With the young lady from next door.”
His brother harrumphed in response. “You are protecting Miss Bigsby’s reputation, but it is a matter of time until Isla’s true whereabouts are discovered because she was out that night. If they find someone who puts her in a different location than the garden …”
John left the sentence hanging until Simon was compelled to complete it. “The men will be back to question me.”
“It is all nonsense, of course. Filminster was an obnoxious little prat. One of his own servants probably clubbed him in a fit of pique. Or perhaps some riffraff who wished to rob his home. The duke and his relations have contrived a murder plot in their heads, but they presented no evidence. The temerity! Accusing a Scott of such a heinous act. Father would turn in his grave over such disrespect.”
“This is not going to go away.” It was not a question. Their visitors from yesterday were related to the deceased and would not let this rest. Simon had not thought about it much, knowing he was innocent of the crime, but if John was concerned … it cast a new light on the priorities he had set himself. He must be prepared to prove his innocence, and with a marriage contract in place with Olivia Boyle, he could not reveal he was alone with Madeline. If he had been free to wed her, perhaps. But, even then, the scandal would be intense for a woman in her situation.
Nay, Simon must resolve this debacle without dragging her into it.
Madeline was rushingthrough her breakfast so she might leave for work on time, having tossed and turned the night before, worrying over Simon’s predicament. It might not be herproblem, but her worry for her friend’s troubles was hard to put aside. Simon had worked so hard on behalf of his family since the night Nicholas had fallen from the window, and his distress might be contained deep within his soul, but she had seen the signs of his struggle during their conversation. Molly had done the right thing by fetching her to provide him with some encouragement. It was going to be a long road to discover his new life because Simon was not the sort to enjoy idling away on his allowance, with no purpose to his days.
She was just forking the last of her eggs when Henri entered.
“There you are!”
