Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
“Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.”
Dante’s Divine Comedy
C laudette Dubois glowered through the study window, her delicate features set in anger as she shifted from foot to foot on the terrace outside with her ire most evident as she tugged a shawl close to combat the November cold.
Molly turned away, concealing a smug smile at the minor victory over her repugnant companion. Her negotiation with Simon had granted her entry to the private meeting, with the stipulation that Miss Dubois must be able to observe her at all times—through the window.
He had cautioned the occupants of the room to keep their voices low so that the chaperon would not overhear their conversation. The Scotts, Molly, the Italian Scotts, and the duke and earl had opted to move their chairs closer to the baron’s desk, and had turned their backs to make it harder for their voices to travel. It was a strange arrangement, but no stranger than the events of the past weeks, so only the Italian men appeared to be mildly confused by such lengths to accommodate Molly.
It had been surprisingly easy to convince Simon, but John had supported her request. She supposed it might have to do with her having nursed the baron when no one else could be trusted to do so. John had informed her numerous times that he was impressed by her gumption.
Simon stood behind the baron, his face grim. “I suppose I must reveal the dark plots that have shadowed our home, especially in light of the accident this morning. We had hoped to welcome you and your brother under happier circumstances, but the possibility of sabotage requires vigilance over the coming days.”
“Sabotage?” Molly covered her mouth in shock. Was she the only one who had been unaware that a carriage accident might not have been an accident at all?
Marco, who was sitting close to her due to her machinations with the seating arrangements, glanced in her direction. “The coachman believes the wheel was tampered with, but we could not find conclusive … prova ?” His nose wrinkled, and he peered around for a translator.
“Evidence,” Molly replied without hesitation.
Those soulful eyes returned to her, warm appreciation in their black depths. “You speak Italian?”
“My mother was passionate about opera. She conversed with me throughout my youth.”
“You are still … youthful.” His sculpted lips curled into a devastating smile that ignited heat in her lower belly, excitement fizzing through her veins.
Molly blushed at the compliment. She was considered close to being on the shelf by society’s standards, but Marco evidently did not agree. It was still otherworldly that he appeared to notice her as a woman when he must have his pick of beautiful Florentine women, and she could not help the hand that rose to check her hair. Marco’s eyes followed the gesture, and she quickly lowered it.
Zooks, Molly, what if he is just a flirt?
Even so, she was flattered to receive any of his attention as someone unaccustomed to being in the presence of a male who attracted her so.
“As I was saying,” Simon interjected, “I had hoped to not reveal quite so much about private affairs, but in light of … Well, I will have to explain the circumstances of my mother’s death or none of this will make sense. Lives have been lost, and both the baron and my wife were nearly killed, so this is not the time to be coy. It would be appropriate for each of us to take steps to maintain our safety, so John and I have decided to reveal all that has happened.”
Molly leaned forward, nibbling on her lip and realizing she would finally learn the entire truth rather than the tidbits she had garnered.
“My mother was not a sane woman. Since her marriage to the late baron in her youth, she had sought to drive a wedge between her husband and your father. She wished for me to become the future baron and took measures to ensure this would happen. Your father—my older brother, Peter—was considered an opponent because he had left England with a wife and could bear an heir.” Simon gestured to Marco and Angelo. “So she devised a plan to intercept mail from Florence. She recruited servants to her bidding, so this must be how she went about it. And she knew well that the two of you existed.”
“My parents attempted several times to reconcile with our grandfather,” Marco replied.
Simon nodded. “It was not a brilliant plan because the truth was bound to come out at some point, but I cannot attest to her intelligence, only to her commitment to her cause.”
The duke shifted in his seat. “My father-in-law, the Baron of Filminster, visited London for the first time in decades and had the misfortune to sit beside Lord Blackwood at the coronation.”
John huffed a dry chuckle. “It was unfortunate for Lord Filminster, but as it turns out, rather fortunate for me.”
His Grace nodded. “Lord Filminster questioned Lord Blackwood about his succession in a rather inflammatory manner, which resulted in the baron informing his family of the encounter. This is how the dowager Lady Blackwood learned of it, and that night she visited Filminster’s home to negotiate with him.”
Simon snorted in disgust. “She hoped to seduce him into keeping the secret, but that did not work.”
The duke laughed humorlessly. “My father-in-law was not a pleasant man, but he considered Peter a friend and he had principles of a sort, so we surmise that he told her he had written a letter to the Home Secretary to inform him of Marco’s birth. Lady Blackwood took exception and clobbered him from behind.”
“Which was when the investigation into his murder led them to me,” continued Simon. “Which, as my brother has stated, was rather fortunate for us because it came to light that he was being poisoned by my mother to hurry my inheritance, and due to a timely intervention, he is still with us.”
Molly perched forward, the unfolding story fitting in some of the missing pieces. “And what of Madeline?” Looking about, she realized not everyone present knew who she was. “Simon’s wife as of three days ago.”
Simon cleared his throat, seemingly overcome at recalling the day John’s poisoning had come to light after he had collapsed. “My mother tricked her into drinking tea laced with arsenic and accused her of trying to trap me into marriage. Lady Blackwood did not consider Madeline the right sort of bride, not being of the peerage. She must have known she would soon be found out, and it was a last desperate act to bring about the future she had envisioned. I was to be baron and to wed a proper high society wife who would elevate her bloodlines even further.”
Molly sat upright, perceiving she was about to learn the ugly truth of that day, rather than the edited version.
“Which was when my mother took an overdose of laudanum. Despite the coroner’s finding that it was an accident—and I implore confidentiality with this information—Lady Blackwood committed suicide.”
It was as Molly had suspected.
Marco slumped back in his seat with shock while his brother sprang to his feet with a horrified expression. The tension in Simon he had sensed upon their arrival now made sense, and he was at a loss for words.
“ Mi dispiace tanto … I am so sorry.”
The words hung suspended in the air, and the room went quiet. Miss Carter shifted her gaze to the window, and he realized she was ensuring that the paid companion had not overheard anything. He followed her look to see that the dainty little creature who served in the role was still in her position outside the window, but showed no signs of having heard the appalling announcement.
Angelo slowly lowered himself back into his chair, blinking with thoughts that must have been spinning as fast as his own. He could not imagine the horror of such an event. It was terrible enough that his father had died when he was so young, before Angelo had even been born, but how much worse would it have been to lose a loved one to suicide?
Yet … considering she had committed murder … where would she be placed within the circles of hell? Phlegethon , the boiling river of blood, was reserved for those who committed violence. But suicides became part of the Wood of the Suicides, being transformed into gnarled trees in a barren forest. It was quite the philosophical puzzle to consider which was worse—the violence committed against others or the violence against oneself.
“I am so sorry,” he repeated to Simon, then turned to his other uncle, the belligerent young man who had lost his temper at Angelo. Nicholas Scott was glum, fixated on his boots. “My …” Marco sought for the word. “…condolences.”
Angelo turned, noticing to whom Marco was speaking. “I am sorry, too.”
Nicholas jerked his head away, rejecting their sympathies, but his discomfort was obvious.
Eventually, once Marco had time to grasp the tale of the Scotts’ woes, he frowned in confusion. “Why are you concerned about the accident if the baroness is dead?”
Simon swallowed. “Because she had an accomplice, possibly two. One of the footmen had assisted her, but he jumped to his death when he heard about her death.”
“And the other?” This question came from his left, in a thready voice with perfect English enunciation. Miss Carter was a woman of fortitude to keep her wits about her. He could barely comprehend such events, yet she had lived through them.
“I was with my mother when she said her final words. I pointed out that despite her Machiavellian methods, the heir had been found and I would not inherit. She … Her last words … She implied that she had taken steps to prevent that.”
Miss Carter leaned forward into Marco’s peripheral vision, her pretty face worried. “You mean that she might have had someone else enthralled into assisting her?” Her hazel eyes flickered to the window, her expression bemused as she stared at her companion outside, who was clasping herself in a tight embrace in an effort to retain her body heat.
The baron cleared his throat, taking some time before speaking. “We had hoped it was over, but the incident with the carriage suggests we must take precautions. In the event that Isla—Lady Blackwood—had another accomplice to ensure that Marco, or Angelo who is next in line, cannot inherit.”
“You are suggesting that someone tried to kill us this morning?”
“Yes, and another attempt might be made. It is why we apprised you of the facts. We nearly lost Madeline because of our lack of caution, and we will not allow any further misadventure. It could be an accident, or it could be …”
The duke exhaled heavily, then declared what they were all thinking. “Attempted murder.” He shook his head. “I could have lost my brother without even knowing he had returned home. It seems fantastical that someone would risk killing four people, along with the coachman and footmen, just to target two in the vehicle. Surely it must have been an accident?”
Simon shook his head. “We must assume the worst. It is the safest course. Which is why … I am taking my bride to Scotland in the morning. We shall visit my new estates to ensure she is out of harm’s way. My mother was quite obsessed with severing my connection with Madeline, and after nearly losing her, I will not risk it. I am afraid I cannot assist in sorting this out. We were to share dinner here this evening, but she cannot set foot in this house if there is even a possibility of harm befalling her.”
Struggling to his feet, the baron patted his brother on the back. “Agreed. Considering Isla’s obsession with bloodlines, Simon must see to Madeline’s safety, and we shall put our heads together to resolve this matter.”
Marco rose to his feet, walking back to the other side of the room with a gesture for Angelo to join him.
“What the hell have we stepped into here?” he muttered in a low voice.
Angelo rubbed his face, his expression solemn as he sought an answer. “It could be just an accident. After such events … perhaps they are seeing shadows where there are none. What reason would an accomplice have to continue this madwoman’s quest after she is gone? I understand their … attentzione ?”
Marco struggled to think of the English word, his thoughts swirling in his head. They had known that something odd had happened, and that the dowager baroness was dead, but this was a hornet’s nest. “Caution!”
Angelo nodded. “I understand their caution, but perhaps it is nothing.”
“Will this delay my return to Florence?”
His brother shook his head in cheery rebuke, his usual good spirits restored in an instant. “We just arrived. Give England a chance. I wish to see more of it. Discover if a farmaceutica is needed here. How are your ribs?”
Marco chuckled, his mood lightened as he rubbed his aching chest. “They are much better. You are determined to bring Florentine medicine to the world.”
Shrugging, his brother grinned. “It is the best, and I could find my own place in this world doing something that is meaningful.”
Reaching an agreement, they returned to their seats.
Lord Saunton offered a commiserating smile. “It is a lot to take in. We apologize for greeting you with such grim tidings.”
“I do not know what all of this means. We thought we would settle matters with the baron about how to handle the title now that Lord Filminster’s murder had been solved, but I suppose we must address this first. How do we even proceed?”
Simon leaned over the desk, pushing a pile of notebooks forward. “These are my mother’s journals. I read them once to uncover the truth of what happened, but I was not looking for an accomplice. Perhaps there is a clue in there somewhere, but if I am leaving, who is to read them? It shall need to be someone who knows about the situations she is referencing and our family tree. However, they are … unpleasant.”
“I shall do it,” said Miss Carter in a bright tone, though her face showed some reticence to the notion, and Marco found himself impressed at her resilient offer to read the ravings of a homicidal lunatic despite her misgivings.
“I appreciate that, Molly, I do. But this is not appropriate reading for an unmarried woman.”
The baron coughed into a handkerchief. “I think it is important that you take Madeline away after all she went through. Her poisoning was more violent than my own, and she plays no role in this, so I shall read the journals.”
“No!” The taciturn one, Nicholas, rose from his seat to limp forward. Reaching the desk, he picked up the journals to tuck them under his arm. “Simon has done enough, and you are recovering your health. This is my task to complete because she was my mother and … I have done nothing to assist. This will be my contribution.”
Simon contemplated his younger brother for several seconds, doubt written on his features until he finally agreed. “Perhaps that is the right thing. There are three years’ worth of entries missing. The period when Mother married our father. I searched for them, and it seems that they should exist. Considering what is in these journals, I shudder to think why she might have thought those were the ones to get rid of.”
Nicholas bobbed his head. “She could have misplaced them, I suppose.”
“That is doubtful. She kept these locked in her writing desk, and considering what her journaling reveals, it is unlikely she would have allowed them to go missing. Perhaps she destroyed them.”
As he listened to the exchange, Marco’s concern was that Simon did not seem to consider that the accomplice might be in the study with them. The baron had been poisoned, so it was not him. Perhaps the attractive Miss Carter might possess some unknown motive to forward the murderous quest, although she seemed rather pragmatic, so he did not think so. And, if they were considering those with a close relationship to the dead baroness, would the ill-tempered Nicholas not directly benefit from his and Angelo’s deaths?
He shuddered lightly at the direction of his thoughts. Angelo was right. The creeping gloom that his English family had been living with was contagious, causing even him to see monsters in the shadows. Talk of heinous poisons did nothing to lift that shroud of dread.
But the carriage incident could have merely been an accident.
Simon sat at the desk John had vacated. Although the baron’s stamina was improving, he still required frequent periods of rest, but Molly was pleased that his complexion was more healthy with each passing day. The gray pallor, from when Lady Blackwood had been slowly poisoning his tea, was disappearing, and he had more vigor.
Their visitors had left, and Angelo and Nicholas had retired to their rooms to leave Molly, Marco, and Simon to discuss some details before his departure. Molly was saddened that Madeline would be leaving; their daily teas together in the shared garden between the Scott and Bigsby homes had been the only brightness in her otherwise dull days.
“I have written down some details of affairs that need attention. The baron must sign anything official, but I have been managing the estates in his stead for some time now. Which means there are some estate matters that may arise in my absence for you to see to.”
Marco had resettled in a wingback chair facing the desk, his fingers drumming the padded arm to mark his tension. “You understand I intend to return to Florence. I cannot … how do you say this … take up the mantle when I will not remain here to manage the Blackwood estates.”
Molly’s stomach dipped in disappointment at hearing his intentions to return to Italy, but she supposed it was better to be forewarned rather than get her hopes up about any sort of potential match. Unfortunately, it did nothing to curb her fascination with the handsome gentleman. Was this how the men Isla Scott had seduced had felt about her?
Ugh! I hope not.
Simon stroked his bearded chin, leaning back in his chair to contemplate the new heir. “I am afraid you are the future Lord Blackwood with hundreds of servants and tenants, not to mention thousands of subjects, relying on you. Whether you reside in Florence or in England, there is no avoiding the responsibilities of the title. You can learn something of it now, or when the baron departs this world. I recommend sooner rather than later would be in your best interests.”
Marco frowned. “I am a man who makes his own choices.”
“And your choices must include what to do with issues that affect the estates and the people who rely on you. I understand this was unexpected.” Simon paused as if in reflection, his expression softening to one of sympathy, before resuming. “My advice is to learn something of the duties of the title while I am away, and calculate how to incorporate them in your future path. I myself have several titles I have inherited from my mother, but I wish to pursue a future in stone manufactory, so I have hired a good man of business to see to the estate work who will report to me. There are rewards to be had from this, I assure you. And the baron is in residence to discuss these matters.”
Marco raked through his lush waves. Molly wished she could whip off a glove to finger through the silky strands of black and discover if they were as soft as they appeared. She wondered what his scent might be, but she could not sniff it from this afar.
“Cazzo!” He winced, his eyes flickering to Molly, who smiled back in innocence as if she had misunderstood him.
“What of Miss Carter? Why is she included in this discussion when everyone has left?”
“The baron is the trustee of Miss Carter’s estate. With him incapacitated, I have acted on his behalf, but there are some details related to her trust that will need to be seen to urgently because it has been more than six months since Miss Carter joined our household after her mother … left us … so I wished to discuss this with the two of you before I leave.”
Molly’s mouth fell open, aghast at the news. She had not realized that Marco would be essentially acting as her guardian in Simon’s stead. It seemed somehow wrong to be contemplating what his firm lips would feel like pressed to her own, when he was to act as … as … as her de facto parent!
From the corner of her eye, she could see that Marco’s brow had furrowed, and she wondered if he was having a similar thought. The frisson of mutual awareness during their introduction seemed almost shameful in light of this announcement.
“Someone is going to have to explain to me my relationship to Miss Carter,” Marco finally responded. Molly thrilled slightly at the underlying note of rejection. It suggested that perhaps a familial tie was undesirable to him, but that could be wishful thinking on her part. Perhaps he was just irritated at the additional responsibilities.
Simon gave a nod of his head. “It sounds like excellent dinner conversation, but for now we shall consider the details of the trust that need to be attended to. The baron will need to sign off, but you must prepare the documents that are required with our solicitors.”
Dear cousin Simon was focused on removing his bride from danger posthaste, or Molly suspected he would have noticed something was amiss between her and her— ick —substitute trustee, who even now was glancing at her with discomfort. But, despite everything, Molly was excited to think they would be in residence together, and perhaps her trust would provide a reason to spend some time alone together.
Then she remembered her chaperon, turning to the window to find Miss Dubois shooting daggers from her large brown eyes as she shivered in the autumn air, which would have grown frostier as the meeting had progressed. Molly was going to pay for making the vicious French poodle stand out in the cold, but overall, she thought it had been worth it to attend the meeting with the men.