Page 27 of The Trouble With Titles
John broke into a fit of coughing, the hacking wheeze of his lungs painful to hear, which pulled Simon’s attention away from his problems as he waited for his brother to recover. After a couple of minutes, John drew a deep breath and rose to his feet to face Simon’s accusers with a baleful glare.
“I think you overestimate the loyalty of our retainers, gentlemen. I can assure you Simon has informed me of whom he was with the evening of the coronation, and he has good reason to withhold the identity of his companion. In the interests of cooperation, I shall send for my butler, who can assist you with questioning our servants, for I can also assure you that there are no murderous fiends living under this roof. Then I expect you to drop this inquiry into my brother or I will pay a visit to the Home Secretary to complain about these heavy-handed antics. The Scotts have been valued members of the noble class forcenturies, and we shall not tolerate any further sullying of our reputation.”
Trafford opened his mouth to speak, before sinking back into his seat. “Halmesbury?”
The duke stepped forward. “Questioning your servants would do much to set our minds at ease. We thank you, Blackwood.”
John nodded, waving to the bell. Simon walked over and rang for MacNaby to make arrangements. Perhaps they could settle this disagreement without further trouble.
Madeline headedto the secluded garden as soon as dinner was over, stopping to pull on a shawl to cover her bared shoulders in her rush to reach the garden. She knew Simon would come, despite his infrequent visits these past years. His absence had never been about them. Rather it had been real life impinging on the romantic world they had created together in the quiet of the foliage and stone.
Henri had given her grief, and her mother had glanced at her frequently throughout the meal, a question in her eyes. She could tell Eleanor Bigsby was worried about the situation with Simon and how it might affect Madeline’s plans to consider the matchmaker’s recommendations, but Mama had steered the conversation toward forthcoming social events to quiet Henri’s misgivings.
Taking up her place on the stone bench, Madeline twisted her fingers as she considered her position. Then she shifted six inches closer to where Simon would take his seat to close the distance between them. Anticipation fluttered like butterflies in her stomach as she observed the half-moon above, fat withportent. It was the past waning away to usher in a new cycle, and Madeline had some hopes, despite cautioning herself that she did not know Simon’s desires for the future.
But he is seeking me out again. Surely that means …
The crunch of boots upon the walkway interrupted her musings, and she lowered her gaze to watch Simon approach. She took in his lean form, the wide shoulders and slim hips, before noting he appeared to be crestfallen. Her anticipation rearranged itself into anxiety.
Simon dropped onto the bench without a word, his hip brushing against hers as he bent forward to lean his elbows on his long, muscular legs.
“What is it?”
“I am meeting with our solicitors in the morning. My mother’s alibi has been disproven, so I need to explore my legal options in case …”
“This might be a serious problem to contend with?”
Simon nodded, his face glum. “The family of the late baron is convinced I have something to do with his death. The Duke of Halmesbury and his kin. Apparently, Lord Trafford, who is linked to them, was attacked after he sent me a letter last month.”
Madeline wrinkled her nose in confusion. “What was in the letter?”
“At the time, I did not know who sent it. It merely stated that the sender knew something about my relationship with a baron and asked me to meet. I thought it was some sort of mistake and forgot about it, but now I cannot locate it amongst my things. This Trafford fellow attended the meeting, and he claims someone followed him home and attempted to kill him. He was most put out when I stated I received the letter, but it has been misplaced somewhere amongst my things in the study.”
She considered this information, realizing she needed more information than the scraps she had heard from Simon and Henri if she were to provide any input of use. “My understanding is Lord Filminster is presumed to have been killed because he knew of your nephews living in Italy, who would be the rightful heirs if their existence came to light?”
“That seems to be their hypothesis.”
“And Lord Trafford attempted to provoke a response from you to confirm that you might be the killer by sending you an anonymous letter, and he now claims an attempt was made to silence him.”
“Which is ridiculous! The silly fop was likely attacked by someone wishing to divest him of his valuables. It is obvious he is moneyed from his clothing.”
“What if someone in your household was aware of the Italian nephews?”
Simon frowned, glancing over at her with confusion. “What do you mean?”
“I imagine that these lords have investigated the murder quite thoroughly. Lord Filminster was almost arrested for patricide according to the news sheets, and the baron was killed two months ago. They have had time to explore the different motives for the crime.”
“None of my family is capable of murder, Madeline!” His tone was stringent.
Madeline shifted away to the end of the bench, so she might think without the distraction of the heat emanating from his body. Simon was obsessed with his duty to the Scotts, ever since the night of Nicholas’s accident. His emotions were too close to the surface. In her view, he must ask some hard questions so he might defend himself appropriately. She decided that as his friend, she must speak the harsh truth, even if it upset him.
“I like John, but your brother is frail. Men who are ill can behave out of character, and he might be concerned with legacy as his mortality beckons. Nicholas overindulges in spirits, which tend to limit one’s morality, and might be worried about a stranger inheriting. He has two doting brothers who enable him in his habits, but who knows what your nephews might do. And your mother—” Madeline faltered. She had not the faintest notion of what Lady Blackwood might think about the situation. According to Simon’s past anecdotes, the countess often repeated the opinions of her late husband with no emotion to indicate whether she agreed with the sentiments expressed or not. “—might have … reasons … we are unaware of.”
Simon shook his head, tensing into a position of umbrage as if he would leap to his feet, yet he remained perched on the bench’s edge as if contemplating it but not quite decisive. “This is ridiculous! John is too unwell to go about bludgeoning men to death. As you pointed out, Nicholas is too soused to talk his way into a stranger’s study at midnight. And my mother has her own money and resources, so the situation affects her not at all. These lords have got this into their heads when there is an obvious explanation. I heard one of Filminster’s footmen was killed in August. Perhaps he did it because he was caught pilfering when the rusticating baron arrived and found things amiss at Ridley House.”
Madeline was silent for several seconds, thinking about his arguments. “Be that as it may, I am merely pointing out that you should attempt to find out more about the evidence they possess.”
“We allowed them to question our servants, so John hopes that will put an end to it.”
