“Of course! I informed him of Simon’s brilliance in orchestrating the modernization of our estates after Father turned over the reins years ago. A fine heir, indeed. You will never guess what he had to say to that!”
Isla leaned forward, handing John a cup of tea. “Dear, you must calm yourself.”
The remonstration had put Simon on the alert. John had not been well since their father died, and the coronation was sure to have exerted him with so many hours of ongoings. Worse, the baron was off to dinner with friends to celebrate, which Simon considered ill-advised, but his brother had been excited about it for weeks, so he had not the heart to dissuade him. John was aging beyond his years, a cloud of wispy, fair and gray curls forming a halo around his head, while his face sagged with pouchy flesh. In that moment, his complexion was more ruddy than usual, and he was heaving slightly as he drew breath. The unusual activities of the day were wearing him down.
“Perhaps you should stay in tonight,” Simon had suggested.
“No!” John straightened in alarm. He must have realized the sharpness of his tone, relaxing back into his seat with his tea. “Tonight is important. I shall rest before I head out.”
“Drink your tea, dear. It will help,” Isla coaxed, a benign expression on her face. Her irises were mesmeric in the late afternoon light, and Simon pushed down a surge of irritation. It appeared his mother had enjoyed a little laudanum at some point during the day, her pupils pinpoints in a constellation of riveting blue. Her reliance on her tonics was yet another cause for concern.
Just then, Molly entered the room dressed for dinner in a muted mourning gown of lavender velvet, which offset her rich brown hair and hazel eyes. “Oh, hallo. What are we about, then?”
Simon rose to his feet. He was still not accustomed to the young lady’s presence in their home. Molly Carter was the niece of his father’s second wife. Not a blood relation to the Scotts, but a valued member of the family just the same. John was now the trustee of her estate by a bizarre mix-up in her mother’s will which had stated John Scott, clearly meant to be their late baron, but with no specification, the solicitors had played ignorant to assume it was the son rather than the father. Which meant, in effect, Simon, who was managing all affairs related to the Blackwood title.
She was a practical young woman, especially when compared to the eccentric Scotts, and Simon enjoyed her calm presence. However, he had yet to form a comfortable relationship with her. “Molly, please join us.”
Her lips had quirked into a smile, and she took a seat beside Isla, who busied herself pouring a cup of tea to hand to her step-niece.
“John was informing us of a rather irritating baron from Somerset whom he sat beside at the banquet.”
“Just so. What did your friend have to say to Simon’s genius?” asked Nicholas, a smirk on his face as he poured out a port. Simon had been well aware of the jab aimed in his direction, but ignored it.
“The little upstart had the temerity to imply family disloyalty!”
This was followed by a cry from the expressionless Isla. “What?”
“He asked if I was aware that Peter had married before he left England? Had I taken the trouble to seek out his offspring, or was I following in my old man’s footsteps to manipulate the heir of my choice?”
At these words, for just a moment, Simon woolgathered. If Peter, the brother he had never met, to his recollection, had sired heirs … that would mean Simon would be free to pursue his own path. With Madeline.
If only …
The thought of it had his heart leap with excitement before he scolded himself for foolish whimsy, refusing to complete the thought that would lead to frustration at his circumstances.
“What a cad,” Isla proclaimed. “Your father was committed to duty. The baron would have brought Peter’s children into our home and raised them as his own even if they diminished the Scott bloodlines. If there had been any progeny. It is a ridiculous accusation!”
John bobbed his head. “I do not trust the little weasel not to spread lies. You are to steer clear of him, you hear?” The baron had peered about with an expectant air while he waited for each member of the family to assent to his request.
Molly stared back in mild confusion when it came her turn. “Whom am I to avoid?”
“The Baron of Filminster.”
“Oh. Certainly, I shall avoid him.”
Simon buried a smile, hearing the irony in her voice despite the polite response. Molly was in mourning for her mother, so she did not get out and about much. John’s intrinsic understanding of what her day consisted of as a bereaved, unwed young lady was deficient.
Shortly the family adjourned, Simon managing to solicit the much-needed signature from his brother. Isla was to dine with friends, and John was off to a separate, but similar event.
Simon had turned to find Nicholas, only to find he had disappeared without so much as a goodnight, frustrating Simon’s intention to corner his little brother before he left for the night.
Shaking his head in aggravation, Simon held out an arm for his step-cousin to escort her to their lonely dinner. Molly smiled, locking arms with him, and they walked down the hall.
“Are you enjoying your stay with us?”
Molly giggled. “We have years ahead of us in this household. Must you remain so formal?”
The question gave him pause. He had not considered his studious nature might be viewed as too proper. It irked him, but then he had become rather serious over the years. He could not recollect the last time he had burst into genuine laughter. Doing his duty was killing his humor by a million tiny increments, and he hated it. But not as much as the duty he would fulfill come tomorrow.
