Chapter 3
“In English society, threats are rarely announced. They are simply seated across from you.”
Impressions of England by an Unrepentant Foreigner
Claudette Dubois glowered through the study window, her delicate features set in anger as she shifted from foot to foot on the terrace outside, her vexation most apparent 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, albeit 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 toward the windows 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 fortitude.
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 our utmost 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 in the language throughout my youth.”
“You are still … youthful.” His sculpted lips curled into a devastating smile that ignited warmth in the region of her heart, excitement sparkling 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 avoid revealing 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 scattered tidbits she had piecemeal garnered.
“My mother was not a woman of sound mind. 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 was in a position to bear an heir.” Simon gestured to Marco and Angelo.
“So she devised a plan to intercept mail from Florence. She recruited servants to do 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, for the truth was bound to come out at some point, but I cannot attest to her intelligence, only to the relentlessness of her purpose.”
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, remarkably fortunate for me.”
His Grace nodded. “Lord Filminster questioned Lord Blackwood about his succession in terms that were decidedly provocative, which resulted in the baron informing his family of the encounter. This is how the dowager Lady Blackwood learned Filminster knew there were two heirs in Italy. That very night, she visited Filminster’s home to negotiate with him. ”
Simon snorted in disgust. “She hoped to persuade 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 possessed 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 struck 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 at last 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 attempting to entrap 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 accused of murder, and it was a last desperate act to bring about the future she had envisioned. I was to be baron and to wed a properly connected 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 carefully edited version.
“Which was when my mother took an overdose of laudanum. Despite the coroner’s finding that it was an accident, and I must implore confidentiality with this information, Lady Blackwood took her own life.”
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 profoundly 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. “… sincere 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 untimely departure.”
“And the other?” This question came from his left, in a thready voice with perfect English enunciation. Miss Carter was a woman of mettle to keep her wits about her. He could barely comprehend such events, yet she had lived through them.