Page 54 of The Trouble With Titles
Trafford chuckled, shaking his head in dismay. “I cannot believe this muddle has been laid to rest. Will you inform me of the details? Once you have read the journals?”
Simon nodded. “If the others wish to return, I can brief all of you on the contents in a few days. It is reasonable that you are informed of the details. I … appreciate your willingness to be discreet. With John’s health and the potential scandal for Madeline … Thank you.”
“Not at all, Lord Campbell.”
He blinked. “What did you call me?”
Trafford quirked an eyebrow as he turned his head in query. “Are you not the heir to your mother’s titles? Viscount of Campbell, Baron of Lochinver? I confess I do not recall the rest, but it is another reason to not reveal Lady Blackwood’s nefarious activities. They might get in the way, and you have people who need you up north.”
Simon groaned, dropping his face into his hands as the truth struck him like a clap of thunder. “Stuff!”
His companion burst into gales of laughter, doubling up with tearful mirth. “You and me both, Campbell. Welcome to the peerage.”
Madeline was lyingin a huddle on the kitchen table, her throat raw from casting up her accounts more times than she could count. There was nothing left to hurl from her digestive system. Not one drop of tea, nor any of her breakfast. Certainly not dinner from the night before.
She lay shivering while Lady Trafford had the servants clean away the last vestiges of illness. All except her soaked gown. She vaguely considered bathing, but she had not the strength for such an endeavor. Falling asleep was inevitable in her weakened state, but she was afraid that she might not awaken, so she kept rousing herself.
Her lids were as heavy as chain mail, but Madeline was resolute in keeping them open a slit to ensure she was still in the land of the living. What if she closed them to never awaken?
She forced them open to find a pair of polished riding boots had come to a stop beside the table she was laid out on.
“Do you wish to go home? To your bed?” Despite her drowsy state, Madeline’s heart pounded with joy at Simon’s presence.
“If you … stay … with me,” she mumbled, her tongue thick in her mouth.
“I shall never allow us to part again, fair Psyche.” He gathered her up in his arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead as he lifted her up.
“I … must be … a fright.”
“You are always beautiful to me.”
“What … about … Lady Trafford?”
“She is following us to settle you in. I have sent word to Mrs. Bigsby to come home.”
Madeline’s lids drifted closed, despite her resolve. If she were to never wake up, then her last seconds were the happiest she had ever been within Simon’s powerful embrace.
Madeline scarcely stirredwhile her lady’s maid undressed and washed her in her bed. At least, that is what Lady Trafford informed Simon of when she reopened the door to the bedchamber.
“Will she recover?”
“It is difficult to say given the quantity of arsenic she consumed, but I believe so.”
“Will her health suffer as a result?”
“Miss Bigsby is young and healthy.” Lady Trafford failed to elaborate past that, and Mrs. Bigsby chose that moment to appear in the doorway.
“What happened?”
Simon held up a hand, shooing the lady’s maid from the room and shutting the door behind her. “We have informed the servants that your daughter ate tainted food. Madeline has been too ill to inform us precisely what transpired, but she drank tea with the baroness who dosed it with arsenic. Lady Trafford is a trained healer who helped relieve her of the contents of her stomach. Now she is resting.”
Mrs. Bigsby firmed her jaw, walking over to the bed to examine Madeline herself for several seconds, leaning over to brush the hair back from her face before straightening with a mixture of grief and anger upon her features. “I have questions, but let me begin with, where is Lady Blackwood now?”
Simon swallowed. “She has suffered an overdose of laudanum. The coroner has been summoned to examine the body.”
“Good.”
The simple acknowledgment made Simon wince, and he supposed his mother’s decision to depart this world had been circumspect. Mrs. Bigsby had the appearance of a vengeful angel, and he could picture her tearing the much smaller Isla apart limb by limb with her large hands if she had had the opportunity to do so.
