Chapter 12 #2
“Nicholas is reading it now. He confirms the missing years appear to be present.”
“That is good.”
“Molly … I wish to apologize and explain about earlier. Is there any chance of losing your companion so you might visit me in the study?”
She shook her head, a single silken curl loosening to brush her cheek, a sight that unsettled him far more than it ought. “Miss Dubois is quite displeased about this morning. She is watching me like a hawk today. See?”
Marco glanced back toward the breakfast room to find the fierce French poodle eyeing them with narrowed, reproachful eyes. Perhaps she resented the interruption to her meal. The woman did seem particularly devoted to her dining hours, if the drive to Elmstead was any indication.
“When may we speak?”
Molly’s lashes lowered, shading her eyes, and Marco wondered if she considered refusing him after his unjust rebuke. The irony of his request, that she slip away from her chaperon after he had just admonished her for doing so, could not have escaped her.
“This afternoon. She will leave me in my bedchamber to read while she sees to my”— Molly colored, and Marco realized what she had been about to say.
The implication alone stirred an unwelcome heat through him, and he forced himself to breathe evenly as she finished—“laundry, so I may meet you in your drawing room.”
“That room suffered damage in the fire,” he replied, his voice roughened despite his efforts at restraint.
She nibbled at her lower lip in thought, and Marco had to summon every shred of discipline not to lean in and claim that tempting mouth. He resisted as fiercely as he had battled the flames only hours before, suspecting that exhaustion had loosened not only his temper, but his self-command as well.
“Then meet me in the formal drawing room at the top of the stairs. I will come in about two hours.”
“Grazie, Molly. I swear I shall be on my best behavior.”
She pulled a faint face at that, appearing almost disappointed as she returned to her breakfast, though Marco had no leisure to puzzle over it.
The sound of Sebastian approaching from the servants’ staircase drew his attention at once, and he turned on his heel to learn whether MacNaby had been found.
“Did you find him?”
His Nordic friend shook his head. “I am afraid not.”
“Accidenti! I feared he might bolt!”
“Duncan tells me the butler may have stepped out on an errand,” Sebastian continued, “but he was surprised to find the butler’s pantry standing open, with signs of disarray. From the look of it, I believe MacNaby may have gathered some of his belongings and fled.”
“That would make sense.”
“I wonder how he knew we had discovered his involvement?” Sebastian pressed, clearly seeking an explanation, though there was no simple one to give him. Revealing the existence of the journal would only invite further questions.
“We shall need to speak with the baron about engaging someone to search for him,” Marco said at last. “I confess I do not know how such matters are typically handled in England.”
“I could call upon my brother and inquire whether he has resources,” Sebastian offered. “He seems familiar with”—he broke off, evidently at a loss for words to describe the strange circumstances of which he knew only fragments—“whatever is unfolding here.”
“Sì! The duke’s man who visited me in Florence mentioned Runners. Call upon His Grace. Perhaps he can assist us in hunting MacNaby down, so we may at last understand what this is about.”
“And what of the servants?” Sebastian asked. “Do we tell them anything?”
Marco rubbed at his temples, weighing the question. “I think not. We must proceed as though MacNaby has merely stepped out on business. If we alarm the household, one of the servants might frighten him away before we learn anything further.”
“Agreed,” Sebastian said. “Perhaps the duke can advise us on how best to proceed. This is well beyond my experience, whereas he has dealt with unusual legal matters on behalf of his wife’s brother, from what I understand.”
Molly was experiencing a mix of reactions to the morning’s events.
On the one hand, they now had a suspect.
On the other, much to her disappointment, the vexing Miss Dubois was not guilty of attempted murder.
How convenient it would have been if she could finally have rid herself of the woman entirely.
Alas, the evidence suggested Miss Dubois was innocent of any truly heinous crime.
“Ze servants, zey are slipping without Lady Blackwood to manage ze ’ouse.”
While Molly could agree that the late Lady Blackwood had ruled the household with an iron hand and exacting standards, she had found life here markedly more pleasant since the baroness had removed herself from this mortal coil.
“She was a gracious baronezz, who knew well ’ow a grand ’ouse’old should be kept. If she were ’ere, never would we ’ave such a terrible fire!”
Molly bit back her response, though she could not prevent the thought from forming clearly in her mind.
But Lady Blackwood, and her dark designs, are the very reason we nearly lost the house, you dreadful woman.
“Zis shows great incompétence from ze servants, all because milady ees not ’ere to keep ze discipline.”
In Claudette Dubois’s version of events, which Molly could at least accept as sincerely held, the household had suffered an unfortunate accident rather than a calculated act of sabotage.
Yet if that were so, Lady Blackwood herself had hired these allegedly incompetent servants.
Did that not place the fault squarely at the baroness’s door?
The poodle’s rambling assertions were both illogical and absurd.
“What would she say of ’er bedchamber being ruined? All ’er beauteeful things!”
Molly suspected Isla Scott would indeed have been furious with MacNaby, but not for the reasons Miss Dubois imagined.
More likely because he had failed in his dreadful purpose.
If anything further were required to expose the late baroness’s true nature, it was the fact that she had endured Miss Dubois’s corrosive companionship for so long.
Molly glanced at her timepiece and noted that Miss Dubois’s departure drew near. It was best to hold her tongue so as not to delay the removal of her most unwelcome watchdog, particularly as she had an anticipated meeting with Marco to occupy her thoughts.
At first, after his rebuke, Molly had been deeply wounded.
But reflection had softened the sting. He had looked pale and worn, as though the weight of his circumstances pressed upon him without mercy.
The poor man was wrestling with decisions that would alter the course of his life while narrowly escaping death at every turn.
It was worrisome enough to reside in a house shadowed by such peril.
She could scarcely imagine the burden of being its intended victim.
Molly, at least, was merely collateral to the danger.
“Milady would be gravely disappointed to see what ’as ’appened in ’er absence.”
Molly frowned at the relentless prattle, her irritation mounting. Were the dreadful milady present, after all the evils committed, Molly would be disappointed as well.
But she forced her thoughts back to her own affairs. If she could not secure a match with Marco, perhaps she might ask Simon once more to join his household next door. It would be an imposition, but she suspected Madeline might be persuaded to help her find a position at the stone manufactory.
She would be surrendering her place in polite society, but what, truly, would she be giving up? That of a gently bred young woman tethered to an embittered paid companion? Was such a sacrifice truly so great?
I would not need a chaperon if I were to marry Marco.
She crushed the errant thought at once. It would not do to indulge such hopes. She intended to continue her efforts to bring him up to scratch, but she must also accept the possibility of failure.
“Is it not time to see to my delicates?” The question was pure manipulation, meant to hurry Miss Dubois out, and Molly did not care in the least. She had reached her limit, for now, at least.
Miss Dubois consulted her own timepiece and complained anew about being tasked with the duties of both paid companion and lady’s maid.
Molly paid her no mind, knowing Simon had committed to generous wages to secure the woman’s services.
Perhaps she should have insisted upon joining the household next door, but when she had raised the matter, Simon had reminded her that she would lose standing in society if she resided among tradeswomen.
Despite the impressive success of Madeline’s family, Molly was still ranked above them, despite her lack of accomplishments.
Or was it precisely because of that lack?
Great relief followed the click of the lock as Miss Dubois finally departed with a basket of Molly’s delicates.
Molly sprang to her feet and crossed to the looking glass, adjusting her hair before hurrying into the hall.
After a quick glance for servants, she descended the stairs to the next floor and crossed into the formal drawing room.
The chamber was designed to impress. This level boasted the highest ceilings, with sweeping windows and luxurious drapes falling in elegant cascades.
Above, painted frescoes invited lingering study, their intricate details and historical symbolism enough to occupy any lover of art for hours.
A richly colored rug anchored the space, while elegant settees and armchairs beckoned one to sit and partake of tea.
Exquisite paintings adorned the walls, yet Molly noticed none of it.
Her gaze went straight to Marco, who stood at one of the windows.