Page 59 of The Trouble With Titles
“Lord?”
Simon nodded. “My mother held titles of her own. I am to be confirmed as the Viscount of Campbell, Baron of Lochinver, and … a couple of minor ones which I do not know how to pronounce. Once I am confirmed, I must see to the estates. I do not know what their condition is, who the stewards are, and what measures need to be taken to care for the tenants and staff.”
“How long will you be gone?” Madeline’s tone was forlorn, and Simon wished he could speak to their future, but he could not even speak to his own until he had gathered more information. After all he had put Madeline through, he needed to put his affairs in order without burdening her with his problems. Until he had done that, he did not wish to create false hopes.
CHAPTER 16
“With his golden bow and quiver of arrows slung across his back, Eros flew down from Olympus, his heart guiding him to his beloved Psyche.”
Lucius Apuleius, Metamorphoses
NOVEMBER 26, 1821
The weeks had passed at a slow pace, with Madeline recovering her strength one day at a time. A month earlier she had returned to work, but just in the afternoons. Lady Trafford wanted her to take the time to convalesce, so even after so much time, Madeline was still attending to her duties at Bigsby’s on a reduced schedule.
She would have protested, but the aches and weakness of her muscles in general attested that the noblewoman was correctto curtail her activities. Her health was returning, but her body needed the time to heal.
Madeline had spent the extra time with Molly, and visiting John to read to him as he made his own slow recovery. Nicholas was filling out, putting on muscle due to eating regular meals and forgoing spirits.
And Simon wrote to her every day. It was strange to correspond with him. Her letters frequently did not arrive with him because he was traveling from estate to estate to inspect their conditions, so the conversation was rather disjointed. He would recount what he had found at the estate he was visiting, and describe the beauty of the mountains and lochs he viewed on his morning rides, and write of how he wished she could one day accompany him to experience the grandeur of the Scottish countryside. Of the seven estates entailed to his titles, Simon had been pleased to discover competent stewards managing estate affairs at four, apparently retainers hired in his grandfather’s time. A fifth steward he had deemed uninspired but acceptable. Another, he had decided, would need to be replaced, and she had not heard from him about the seventh yet.
Madeline was hopeful that he would be returning soon, since he had now reached the final stop in his journey, but Simon had not indicated if that was the case. She missed him, wishing she could work longer hours to occupy her mind because, having lost her last iota of patience, she had written a most immodest missive this morning, demanding to know his intentions.
The rules of courtship be damned.
And as soon as she found the courage to post it, she would.
It was a difficult position she was in. On the one hand, she was a successful woman of industry, and on the other, she was a gently-bred woman who followed the rules of polite society. Attempting to reconcile the two required balancing two worlds in opposition.
It did not help that Simon was an important man, now a peer in his own right, and Madeline did not have a clear concept of how they would manage their divergent lives into a single partnership given the unexpected change in his circumstances. All details that, in their past, in a time of childish optimism, they had never discussed. Unifying such complexities would take a great amount of thoughtful planning, adding to her frustration at his prolonged absence which prevented genuine discourse. She yearned for his return so they might frankly discuss a shared future.
“It is cold this evening,” remarked her mother as they ate dinner. “You should put on a pelisse if you plan to visit the garden tonight.”
Madeline scooped up white soup with her silver spoon. “I do not wish to visit tonight.”
Mama raised her face. “Why?”
“Is there a point to doing so? Simon is not here. There is no possibility of an encounter.”
Her mother’s lips quirked into a smile. “I do not know about that. He seemed to be looking forward to visiting with you when we met this afternoon.”
Madeline dropped the spoon, splashing soup so that Henri protested in dismay, “Hey! Watch it, Maddy!”
“Simon is back?”
“He must be. We signed contracts this afternoon.”
“Contracts?”
“Indeed. We have been corresponding over terms these past weeks. He was here to sign off on his purchase of stake in Bigsby’s.”
“Bigsby’s! You sold him shares?” Madeline was astounded. Mama had always eschewed investors in her business, preferring to remain independent. She had once had an unpleasant experience with a minor partner who had attemptedto oust her from her own business, and had to fight it out in the courts before buying the opportunist out.
“I did. The contracts include clauses to protect your and Henrietta’s rights of ownership. I hired the same firm of solicitors that wrote the contracts for Lady Jersey. She retained her ownership in the family bank when she wed.”
“Why did you sell him shares?”
Mama shrugged. “It seemed reasonable if he is to join our family. He mentioned you might be interested in managing the artisans if he is to work with me in running the manufactory. We will hold not just a Royal Warrant, but claim nobility within the family, which will be excellent for business.”
