Prologue #2
Lifting her gloved fingers to her lips, she recalled the nearness they had shared and felt a warmth rise within her, an affection that both comforted and unsettled her.
Madeline gazed up at the star-studded heavens and fought back the feeling of dread that had been plaguing her these past months.
Simon was adamant their future would be together, but he was so young.
He had not even reached his majority yet, and she was a year younger than him.
So much could go wrong in the next few years to drive them apart until they gained control over their lives.
Gathering her things back into her basket, she made her way inside.
As soon as she opened the terrace doors to enter the library, she knew her mother was in the room. Mama had a magnetic presence, one that filled spaces and attracted all eyes to her. As Madeline’s eyes grew accustomed to the light, she looked about but could not find her in the dim interior.
“It will end in unhappiness.” The pronouncement came from near the fireplace, which was empty, the warm nights of summer not needing the intrusion of its heat. After the initial fright, Madeline deduced her mother must be seated in one of the plump wingback chairs that dominated the room.
“Perhaps he will convince the baron,” Madeline replied.
Silence followed her words, which even to her ear did not sound confident. Finally, her mother responded. “For your sake, I hope this is so. But you should prepare yourself, daughter. It may not come to pass.”
“Simon will find a way. He loves me.”
“The baron is a cruel man who does not consider the happiness of others, Maddy. He is persistent in his grievances, and it is unlikely he will relent on the subject of class.”
Eleanor Bigsby’s tone was bitter as she emphasized the subject of their neighborly feud. Madeline could not protest. The baron remained unwavering in his rigid views on proper breeding. It would not help that Madeline herself was now involved with the trade that raised his ire so.
THE NEXT DAY, 1810
“You are to stay away from that chit next door, you hear?”
Simon had been summoned to his father’s study for a stern reminder of duty.
It was not the first time, and he was resilient, so it did not perturb him.
This had become a ritual, a litany about the terrible Bigsbys each time Simon returned home.
It had not deterred him in the past, and it would not deter him now.
“I need a response, young man!”
Simon had learned that it did not do to quarrel with the old man. It was impossible to change his fixed ideas, and any attempt prolonged their altercations. “I heard you.”
Lord Blackwood was a man from a different era.
Now in his seventies, he had buried two wives before marrying Simon’s mother twenty years earlier.
Isla Campbell was a Scottish viscountess with a healthy appetite for status.
She had been a girl of Madeline’s age when she had wed the baron who had children older than herself.
Imagining it was enough to make Simon nauseous, but it was the way of the noble classes.
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. If you require companionship, there are other ways to find it, but you will not disgrace this family by being trapped into a match beneath your station. That Eleanor Bigsby will cry foul and trap you into marriage with her 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 France had 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 to slip away later that night if the baron believed he had won their quarrel.
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 never lose sight of what is right, even when he disagrees.”
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.”