Page 3 of The Trouble With Titles
Which was why he had a father who was a full two generations older than himself and an older brother who could have been his father for their age difference.
“It is your duty to marry well, and that Bigsby chit is a distraction. Dreadful bloodlines. You must focus on your studies. There are courtesans whom you can visit, but that Eleanor Bigsby will cry foul and trap you into marriage withher daughter just to spite me if you continue to meet with the flibbertigibbet alone!”
Simon bit back a retort. Debating made matters much worse, so he held his tongue.
His father slammed his hand on the desk, but it was rather ineffectual. The baron had not aged well. Too many years of cigars, rich foods, laudanum, and alcohol had worn him down to a hollow husk of his former self. He was emaciated, his wrinkled skin as pale as a whitefish with the translucence of aged glass. The wisps of hair he had left were white and sparse, and his bald pate was rife with blue veins visible beneath the skin. Lord Blackwood was a cautionary tale that convinced Simon to take care of himself lest he follow in his father’s footsteps.
Simon repressed a shudder at the thought.
“Duty is important,” he commented when he noticed his father was awaiting a response.
“Look here, son. I know I have told you this before, but you are a man now and you must face the future. It is obvious John will not have heirs, which means there is no longer any doubt that you will one day become the Baron of Blackwood.”
Simon straightened up, a frown on his face as he considered this fresh declaration. He had not thought about it, but his much older brother John was now in his forties and remained childless. His wife was in poor health. After fathering two stillborns, John did not display any interest in pursuing another attempt at siring an heir to the Blackwood title.
Peter Scott, the baron’s second son, had died in Italy when Simon was still a babe in the nursery. Simon had no recollections of his older brother, and it was entirely possible he had never met Peter, who had returned from his Grand Tour to quickly fall out with the baron in an epic storm over a young Italian woman before returning to Florence. War with Francehad broken out, making it difficult to reestablish contact before Peter had died from a fever fifteen years ago.
Which left Simon as the young spare, something he had not thought about. The declaration that he was not merely the spare, but was to be the future heir to the Blackwood title, was disconcerting.
The baron sat back with a pleased expression, evidently having noted Simon’s reaction. “John has made it known that he will not attempt to have children again. You will be the future Lord Blackwood when your brother leaves this world.”
Simon was not sure how to feel about that. Until now, he had always imagined that in the future he would marry Madeline, with or without his father’s consent. Odds were that it would be without Lord Blackwood’s consent, so Simon had always thought he would follow her into trade as they had talked about the night before. In the morning light, learning he had no choice in his future path, Simon felt the pressure of expectations pressing on him. A thundercloud threatening torrential rain to wash away his choices. How would Madeline feel about his revelation? Would she consent to be his wife if she was to become Lady Blackwood? What of her work at Bigsby’s?
There would be much to discuss when he met her in their garden after dinner.
“Which is why I have instructed the servants to lock up the house during dinner. You shall not go to the gardens tonight to visit that Bigsby chit. She is not fit to be the future Lady Blackwood, and that mother of hers will not allow her to serve as your mistress. Your wife will bear my grandchildren, and she must elevate the family bloodlines, which is why … your connection is severed.” The baron’s tone was triumphant, his wrinkled face pulling into the caricature of a smug smile.
Simon jumped to his feet. “I am a grown man! You cannot lock me in the house!”
He had no intention of allowing the baron’s interference to stand in his way. His father’s declaration was outrageous, but it would not stop Simon from seeing Madeline. Nevertheless, he amplified his visceral reaction to the news in order to convince his father that his ploy would prove successful. It would make it easier for Simon to sneak out later that night if the baron believed he had won their little conflict.
Arguing ensued for another ten minutes before Simon found his cue to exit and departed the study. Entering the dim hall, he found his little brother, Nicholas, who must have been eavesdropping on their contentious conversation.
“When did you arrive?”
Nicholas was several years younger than him and had not yet had his growth spurt. The lad was half Simon’s size, with a spindly body but large hands and feet that declared he would be a tall chap when he eventually grew into them. The boy’s blue eyes were wide as he stared up at his brother, his dark brown waves of hair in need of a trim lest he be mistaken for a fop.
“Deuce it, Simon! How do you find the courage to be so outspoken with the old man?”
Simon laughed, bringing his hand down on his brother’s shoulder to lead him toward the library, where their father would not overhear their conversation.
“Father will always bang on about duty and rules and proper behavior. It is important that you know what you want, and the rules be damned.”
Nicholas shook his head in disbelief. “But … he is so … mean!”
“He is a bitter old man, so it is important that you do not care what he thinks. Be brave. Be your own man. Follow your own path. Father will never allow you to do anything interesting if you pay him mind.”
His brother considered his advice, apparently mulling it over with careful thought. “I want to be like you. You are never afraid and everyone likes you. Father is always complaining about the state of the world, and the commoners next door.”
Simon drew up, irritated at how his father’s behavior might affect a young boy’s perspective. “There is nothing common about the women next door. They are all exceptional, every one of them. Mrs. Bigsby boasts wealth to rival our family’s, and she earned it through ingenuity and hard work. It is Father who is common with his obsession about bloodlines and appropriate conduct. Nay, do not pay heed to his sour concepts of right and wrong. You must seek your own path, Nicholas Scott!”
Nicholas nibbled on a fingernail, clearly thinking, then dropped his hand, raising himself to his full height. “I promise to be brave like you.”
“Good lad.” Simon reached out a hand to tousle his brother’s hair. They were the youngest in the Scott home by far. It was important they stick together. “How was Eton?”
Nicholas groaned, his shoulders slumping before he dragged his adolescent body to flop onto a settee. “Latin is so difficult!”
Simon chuckled, following suit to take his own seat and catch up with his brother. He and John were the only family Simon enjoyed spending time with, so it was a pleasurable respite to provide advice for Nicholas’s troubles at school.
