Page 45 of The Trouble With Titles
“Perhaps, but Lady Trafford searched through your brother’s things while she was waiting to begin the treatment. She could not find anything that contained arsenic to explain his symptoms. You should think about how he could have received it … and who might have given it to him.”
Memories of Nicholas and Duncan flashed through his mind. Duncan spent a significant amount of his time committed to John’s well-being, but the head footman had also assisted with Nicholas after his accident. They had become friendly, as close to friends as a servant and child of the nobility might become under such circumstances. But the servant had always seemed intelligent and practical to Simon. The thought that Duncan might be coerced into murder by his younger brother seemed incongruent with his affable character.
Simon shook his head. “I cannot believe anyone in this household could be a cold-blooded killer.”
The duke shrugged. “Unfortunately, your belief, or lack thereof, does not signify. If not you, then who?”
It was a rhetorical question, the duke shifting his gaze back to the window as Simon’s thoughts scattered in every direction as leaves in a strong wind.
CHAPTER 12
“The voice warned her: 'Do not open the box, no matter what you desire, for it contains only peril.”
Lucius Apuleius, Metamorphoses
After retching his guts out, John was drowsy and falling asleep in his bed. His color was slightly improved since his collapse in the study, and his breathing had eased. Footmen had removed the evidence of his emptied stomach, and the windows had been thrown open to air out the room.
Lady Trafford had requested lavender water to dispel the noxious odor of illness, and was now instructing Molly on the baron’s care.
“You are to keep the door closed at all times. No one must have access to the baron until an investigation has been conducted. I will have meals delivered from our own kitchens, but he is not to eat or drink anything from this house.”
Molly nodded, her face pale and earnest while Simon listened on with gratitude that Lady Trafford was a woman committed to the art of healing, and practical about the security of the situation. He had already been informed that he would not have access to John, which he had agreed to. The duke was more than willing to remove John to his own townhouse if there was any balking at Lady Trafford’s instructions, but John wished to remain in his own rooms, so he had directed Simon to cooperate fully. Simon concurred, noting that his brother was weak and did not need the undue stress of being moved after such prolonged and violent vomiting.
“A guard from our home will be arriving soon to stand in the hall, so if you do need to rest or leave the room, he will ensure no one else enters while you are otherwise occupied. My husband will introduce you directly, so there is no question that he is the guard we summoned and he, in turn, will introduce you to his replacement for the evening shift.”
Simon’s cousin bobbed her head in acknowledgment, leaning in to whisper as she glanced over to his brother, “Will he be all right?” John was frail and helpless within the embrace of the canopied bed.
Lady Trafford paused, lowering her voice so that the patient would not overhear. “It will be a long and painful recovery. Arsenic corrodes the organs, but I believe the doses have been minute, likely to persuade a coroner that he suffered from a long illness. I think Lord Blackwood’s health will improve without those doses.”
Simon realized he had been holding his breath in an effort to overhear the viscountess answer from several feet away. Exhaling heavily, he stroked his beard with a trembling hand. Anger and confusion warred for domination. Who was there to be angry at, without knowing who was behind this? Well …There was one person with whom he was livid—the incompetent Dr. White!
Was the old fool a fellow conspirator to whomever was trying to kill John?
Nay, it seemed more likely White had missed the signs. Nevertheless, Simon was going to demand some answers by sending for the doctor.
Madeline liftedthe heavy brass knocker and brought it down on the door, rapping as hard as she could for several seconds. Still there was no response, causing her growing queasiness to increase. Something was wrong—she could feel it in the pit of her stomach.
Why were the servants not answering?
She tried one more time, then gave up to head home. After striding through her home, she exited through the library terrace and hurried down to the shared garden to access the Scotts’ property. Making her way up to their terrace, she approached Simon’s study to see if he was in.
Peering in the window, while being careful to use the wall as a shield, Madeline experienced the first flush of relief when she caught sight of him at his desk, scribbling with a quill upon a page. Reaching out, she rapped her knuckles on the window. The sound was muted by her glove, but Simon straightened to look over to where she was hiding. Catching sight of her, he rose from his seat to stride across the room and open the terrace door.
“Madeline?” He stood aside, ushering her in with a wave of his hand as he peered about to ensure no one witnessed her entry.
She entered, pausing to glance up at him, noting the telltale signs of strain. The accusations against him were wearing him down—she could see it in the shadows across his face and the rigid set of his shoulders. How she wished she could do more than merely ease his burdens.
“You should not be here.” His voice was gruff, but his blue eyes ran over her with appreciation. “You look lovely.”
Madeline hesitated, reaching up to check her bonnet and tucking in an errant lock of hair. “Do you know where Molly is? She was to meet me more than an hour ago?”
Simon’s face hardened. “Molly is with John. He … has taken a turn for the worse … and …” It seemed as if he wished to say more. “I will have to explain later. Tonight, perhaps? In the garden? I must send for his physician and inform the family to … I … Can we meet after dinner?”
She nodded, blinking in surprise at his vacillating sentences which were uncharacteristic of him. “I shall wait for you.”
Simon reached out to take her hand up in his, lowering his head to press a kiss to her knuckles. “I must speak with my mother and Nicholas about John with some urgency. Can you let yourself out?”
“Of course.”
