Page 13 of The Trouble With Titles
“If you are honest, Simon, you are more concerned with duty to the title than the young lady’s heart.”
He grimaced. “True, but I intend to work on building a genuine marriage.”
“And I am sure she will be committed, too.” It was Isla’s last word on the subject. She folded her hands neatly in her lap and put her head back to doze off while the carriage trundled on.
Madeline checkedher pocket watch as her carriage pulled to a stop in front of her home. Her footman opened the door to set the steps in place. As she was alighting from the dim interior, she caught sight of Simon with his mother walking up to their front entrance. Madeline paused, watching him for a moment as he disappeared inside. She had been thinking of her daily routine on the drive home, of how much she enjoyed the walled garden. But the memories and hopes it evoked were troubling.
She wondered if there was some method to continue her respites there without associating the secluded oasis with the past and with Simon, and she believed she had come up with just the thing. A test of her developing theory was in order.
But, for tonight, she was going to deliver the news to her mother that she was willing to consider courtship. Perhaps Mama could engage a matchmaker while there was still a possibility of Madeline being able to bear children. She knew Mama would be pleased. Legacy was important to her and, with no sign of interest from Henri, Eleanor Bigsby was facing a future without grandchildren unless Madeline pursued marriage. The clock was ticking, and the process of finding the right man would be complicated, given a wife’s lack of legal rights and that the endurance of the manufactory must be assured for decades to come.
Entering the house, Madeline located the news sheets and headed to the library for a read. Soon tea was brought in, and she perused the articles. It was too soon for word of Simon’s betrothal, but she found herself committed to skimming all the headlines despite herself.
She was just finishing her cup when Henri entered.
“Good evening.”
“Oh, excellent! I am in need of a cup.” Her sister walked over to flop onto the settee beside her, then poured out her tea and added milk and sugar.
Settling back with a blissful sigh, Henri took a cautious sip to verify the temperature and put it on the table to cool down. “Did you hear the frightful news?”
Madeline’s brow puckered. She could hardly claim she did not want to hear the lateston-ditswhile holding news sheets. Gossip made her weary, and she rarely read them except for the stock and business news. She could not admit to the embarrassing truth—that she was scouring the small print for an announcement about Simon Scott and Olivia Boyle.
“Has something of import happened?”
“A baron was found murdered. This morning! He had not visited London in more than twenty years, but he was here for the coronation. All of Westminster is talking about it.”
Madeline squashed a surge of irritation. In her opinion, Henri was far too enamored with the celebrity of Parliament and high society. She supposed it was appropriate—her sister acted as a social hostess for their great-uncle Reginald, who had been widowed nigh fifteen years ago and displayed no inclination to remarry. It was just that Madeline found it dull. Perhaps exposure to the Scotts next door had made her weary of class distinctions. However, a significant portion of their clients fell into the categories of people her sister and Uncle Reggie dealt with, which had led to orders for Bigsby’s, so she could hardly dissent.
Nevertheless, she needed to consider her idea about the walled garden. She found her peace there, away from the family business and social gossip.
“Which baron?”
“Lord Filminster. People are saying that the coroner suspects that his estranged son did it to hurry his inheritance. They have not spoken in years, but the son lives here in their London townhouse.”
Madeline considered this surprising turn of events. A nobleman murdered? Such a heinous act was unheard of.
“Well, then … I hope the heirisguilty, or his reputation is being destroyed without cause.”
“I did not think of that. It would be terrible for him if he is innocent.”
Nodding in agreement, Madeline hoped that her sister would reconsider her propensity to gossip. Henri spent far too much of her time with people who were willing to ruin the credibility of their acquaintances for their own entertainment and, perhaps, from hidden envy of the people in question.
CHAPTER 3
“He tried to live without her, but every thought returned to her face, her voice, her touch—Eros found no peace away from Psyche.”
Lucius Apuleius, Metamorphoses
AUGUST 31, 1821
Simon entered the breakfast room to find the entire family gathered in the throes of aggravations.
“I am well, I tell you!” John was shouting, heaving as he struggled to breathe. “Give me my damn coffee!”
“You must stop the coffee, dear. It is not good for you. Roderick, bring Lord Blackwood a pot of tea.” Isla waved toward the baron with a voice that did not brook argument. This, however, did not deter Simon’s older brother. Simon could haveforetold it. He had spent years attempting to persuade his family to pursue healthier habits, to no avail.
“I do not want tea! Duncan, bring me my coffee!”
