Prologue #3
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 welcome respite to provide advice for Nicholas’s troubles at school.
After he left Nicholas to spend time with their mother, the day proved uneventful. Long and boring, but finally the sun was setting. It was time to join his Psyche in their garden of flowers.
Simon peered out from his window on the third floor, enjoying the wash of colors on the horizon before leaning out to consider the trellis that was attached to the wall near his window.
It was a good three feet from the ledge he leaned from, but it was fortunate that his bedchamber happened to be on the side of the house that had a sturdy vine climbing the wall.
The moment his father had announced the house would be locked, Simon had decided he would use the trellis to climb down.
Madeline would be waiting for him even now in the gathering night.
Reaching out an arm, he grabbed hold of a wooden slat and shook it to test its strength.
It was sturdy and fastened to the wall securely.
Simon climbed out onto the stone ledge that passed beneath the windows.
He had considered climbing down in his stockings but decided to wear his riding boots to protect him from the sharp stems sure to poke out of the branches of ivy.
They were well grown, as thick as his forearm, and had been creeping up the wall for more decades than he had been on this earth.
It was sure to be uncomfortable to descend.
Much easier to scale when he returned than to climb down was his guess.
Grabbing hold of the trellis, he committed, allowing it to take his full weight and exhaling in deep relief when it held.
He began to gingerly make his way down, surprised by how much it worked the muscles in his shoulders, back, and arms. It took longer than he expected, until he was a few feet from the ground.
Using the wall to push off, he dropped down, bending his knees as he hit the ground to dissipate the shock, and then rose up to straighten himself, brushing twigs and leaves from his clothing.
When he knew he was unharmed, he strode along the side of the house to the hidden garden, careful to duck down under the stone balustrades so no one would see him from one of the windows.
Entering the secret garden, he saw Madeline jump to her feet with joy. She must have been wondering where he was—
A terrible scream rent through the evening, causing Simon’s heart to thunder painfully within his chest.
His jaw dropped in horror as his mind attempted to process what was happening. Madeline stared back at him with a look of shock and disbelief.
Within a second, he recognized the voice.
“Nicholas!”
He turned on his heel to race back to the side of the house that his window faced, and as he turned the corner, his worst fears were realized. Far beneath his window was the crumpled heap of his little brother, a tiny pile of clothing and limbs, and Simon knew exactly what had happened.
Rushing forward, he dropped to his knees beside his lifeless brother and ripped off his own gloves.
Checking for a pulse, Simon almost fainted with elation when he felt the flicker beneath his fingertips.
Sitting back on his haunches, he assessed his brother’s condition, noting that the boy’s leg was twisted at an odd angle.
“It is broken,” announced Madeline, who had approached behind him.
Simon was fighting back tears, guilt wrenching his gut. “You must go home. I must take care of him.”
As he gently scooped Nicholas up in his arms, her soft touch brushed over his shoulder, but by the time he was on his feet and turned around, Madeline was nowhere to be seen. Simon had no time to consider his Psyche at that moment. Nay, he must take responsibility for his negligence.
His brother weighed almost nothing, still but a child, as Simon made his way with care to the front of the house.
Taking most of the boy’s weight with one arm, he managed to knock on the door, which was opened within a few moments by their butler, Walter MacNaby.
MacNaby was a most proper upper-servant, with a round face and a ready smile, but the moment he saw Nicholas, his blood drained to leave him pale.
“Send for a doctor,” commanded Simon, stalking past the retainer. As he reached the staircase, his mother was coming down.
“MacNaby, did you hear that dreadful scream—”
Lady Isla Scott was an ageless beauty of not quite forty years of age, with dark brown hair and striking blue eyes, who spotted the limp form in his arms.
“Nicholas?” she shrieked.
Simon watched in despair as she swooned, crumpling into a heap on the stairs, but was helpless to catch her while he had his brother sheltered in his arms. He leapt forward to use his legs as a barrier lest she tumble down.
“Mother?”
Lord help him if the baroness was injured, too. Simon had much to answer for as it was, and he did not need any more added to the substantial burden of culpability he was fighting off as he took care of his current duty. He must see to his brother, and there was no time for his emotions.
Roderick, one of their footmen, appeared in the hall, breaking into a run to bound up to the baroness. He assisted her to sit up, her expression dazed. Simon took it as his cue to run Nicholas up to his bedroom, which was next to Simon’s on the third floor.
Placing the boy into his bed, Simon removed his shoes and breeches, leaving his small clothes in place as he carefully rolled his stocking off the injured leg.
Hissing in anguish, Simon stepped back to stare at the limb with a hand clamped over his mouth lest he cast up his accounts at the overwhelming shame of what he had done.
The break was bad, bone poking through the skin, and Simon had no knowledge of what to do to help Nicholas while he awaited the doctor’s arrival.
Behind him, the sound of someone entering the room startled him from his misery.
“What is this?” demanded his father, his alarm clear.
“Nicholas fell from … the window.” Simon knew his secret departure was about to come to light, but he could not quite bring himself to admit the truth.
“I do not understand … the window is shut.”
Simon swallowed. The time had arrived faster than he had expected. “My window.”
“Why would he fall from your window?”
“He … was … following me.” Simon knew it.
He had encouraged Nicholas to be more like himself.
The boy must have come to visit him in his room and seen the window Simon had left open.
The window he had left open so he might sneak back in.
And Nicholas had decided to be brave, so he had followed Simon to join him on an unknown adventure.
But he was a small boy who had misjudged the distance to the trellis.
Lord Blackwood grunted, approaching the bed to reach out a trembling hand toward the leg. “Is he …” For the first time in his life, Simon witnessed his father overcome.
“He lives yet. MacNaby has sent for a doctor.”
The baron nodded, his eyes moist as he stared down at his youngest son.
Simon wished the old man would rage at him, blame him for what he had done in leading his little brother astray.
Lord Blackwood must have realized what had transpired, but instead, he plopped down on the edge of the bed and panted in shock, as if his emotions were attacking his aged body.
The next few hours were a blur. The doctor arrived, his face grim as he examined the boy.
Eventually, he set the leg. Nicholas mumbled a little when the bone was pushed back in place but did not awaken despite what must have been agonizing pain.
Once the leg was set, the doctor stepped out into the hall to discuss the situation with Lord Blackwood. Simon joined them.
“There is bruising on the boy’s head, but little that can be done. It is a matter of time before we know his condition. The hope is that he awakens in the next few hours. If he does not … there is no method to predict head injuries, I am afraid. It is a matter of time.”
His father nodded at the news, his expression distant. “What of the leg?”
“A very bad break. It is certain the boy will have a limp, but it is the head injury that worries me most. With a situation like this … you should prepare yourself for the worst, my lord.”
Simon’s stomach clenched into a tight knot, but he kept his wits about him, noting the doctor’s instructions with great attention to detail, including the administration of the laudanum he provided.
He was battling with a dark tide of emotion threatening to drag him under, but he had to be present and take care of Nicholas, and he could not afford the luxury of lamenting his role in his little brother’s downfall. His tiny brother, who looked up to him.
His mother arrived to see her youngest boy but became hysterical when she saw he had still not awakened, so Lord Blackwood led her away. “Come, my dear, perhaps a little laudanum would do your nerves some good.”
Some hours later, in the early hours of the morning, Simon sat alone beside Nicholas’s bed to keep vigil. His brother was pale and vulnerable beneath the covers. Full of life and energy just hours earlier, Simon would give anything for the boy to open his eyes and say something.
He thought about how he had encouraged his little brother to break the rules and buck authority, and without warning, his guilt resurfaced as he bowed his head to weep, his shoulders shuddering with the force of it. If Nicholas died, it would be his fault. He had done this!
I am a selfish bastard.
Wiping the tears from his eyes, Simon got down on his knees, clasping his hands together to pray.
Please, Lord, I am so sorry for my hubris! I promise to do my duty if you allow Nicholas to live!