Chapter 13
“Some inherit a title, others a vendetta. Both can prove fatal if left unexamined.”
Impressions of England by an Unrepentant Foreigner
Marco regretted unleashing his baser impulses on Molly. All he had achieved was to make them each yearn for something he could not commit to. But she had been so tempting. And perhaps he had owed her a kiss without apologies after ruining her first the way he had.
He should be recognized for having the strength to stop at all.
When she had told him she had been thinking about their kiss, there were few things more unsettling than to have a well-bred young lady such as Molly reveal such a thing.
The only thing that could make it worse was if she had elaborated on her thoughts.
Maledizione! I cannot think about that!
There was a man trying to kill him, whom they could not find. It was time to run this MacNaby to ground!
“I searched the attic level again, after Angelo, and found a maid or two up there for my troubles. No signs of this scoundrel,” Lorenzo stated, his irritation palpable.
“And I searched the basement and this floor,” Angelo added.
“The grooms in the mews told me they had not seen him today at all,” Marco reported in a gloomy voice.
He, his brother, and Lorenzo had returned from their second search of the house and grounds, but it appeared that MacNaby was not merely out on an errand.
A missive from Sebastian had arrived to inform them that the duke had sent for Runners, and they should expect them to arrive shortly and begin their own search for the missing butler whom no one had seen for three hours or more.
“Mr. Scott?” He looked up from the seat he had taken in the library to find Duncan. “His lordship has asked that you and your brother join him in the study.”
Marco nodded, getting to his feet. He should report to his uncle that the Runners would be arriving, so it was an excellent time to talk.
Truthfully, after searching the house, there was nothing more to be done for now.
Marco did not know England, so it would be useless to try searching the neighborhood.
Best that task was undertaken far more efficiently by the duke’s men who would arrive at any minute.
He headed to the study down the hall, Angelo joining him.
“Do you think there is news?”
Marco shrugged as they reached the baron’s door and knocked.
A voice invited them in, and when they entered, Marco found Nicholas sprawled in an armchair with the ottoman propping up his leg.
Molly was seated in the corner, and Miss Dubois was installed outside the window in a bitter stance.
At least on this occasion, he knew the cause of the servant’s brooding.
He had been hit with a sharp, chilly breeze when he searched the grounds.
The late November weather was uncomfortable, but he could not help feeling the chaperon deserved it for how she annoyed Molly so.
“Please, Marco, close the door. Nicholas has news, and we shall have to keep our voices low. Miss Dubois is an infamous gossip, and we cannot allow her to overhear anything we say.”
The reminder was appreciated, even if they had been making a habit of these meetings with the petite watchdog glaring at the window.
Angelo and he took their seats and looked to Nicholas expectantly.
Their young uncle sighed with disgust. “I can confirm that the butler is our man.”
“You believe we do not need to search any further for more accomplices? The baroness could have hired more than one,” Marco rejoined.
“MacNaby was not hired. My mother may have left him with some coin to complete her foul crusade, but his motive is not money.”
The baron leaned back in his swivel chair. “More’s the pity. Unfortunately, MacNaby is a true fanatic with personal reasons to seek Marco’s death. And Angelo’s. I think I have been spared his wrath because of my poor health.”
“Wrath?” Angelo’s brows had shot up to almost his hairline, his low voice flabbergasted. “What have we done to invoke his wrath?”
Nicholas scowled. “Perhaps ‘wrath’ is not the correct word, John. I would say it is his … ambition.”
The choice of words startled Marco, leaning forward to urge Nicholas along. “The journal from thirty years ago somehow reveals”—he stopped, cocking his head in confusion—“ambition as a reason to pursue multiple murder attempts?”
“It is complicated, but let me begin with the short answer to illuminate the matter … MacNaby might be Simon’s father.”
Silence fell. Even Nicholas, who had proclaimed the news, seemed rather bemused to state it, as the repercussions of the statement trickled into their minds. In his peripheral vision, Marco saw Molly fold her arms as if defending against the news.
“That would explain his willingness to enact Lady Blackwood’s revenge,” she finally squeaked into the prolonged quiet.
Nicholas remained silent, as if to allow them all the time to absorb the revelation. After another minute or two, John encouraged him to continue.
“Walter MacNaby joined the household of Lord Campbell in Edinburgh when my mother was a girl. Shortly after, when the marriage contract had been signed for her to marry my father, Lord Campbell died suddenly. My mother inherited the title and the entailed properties when she was just seventeen. Which was when she took it into her head that if she had a son, that son would one day ascend to the rank of baron, but only if she could clear the way to make that happen because the late Lord Blackwood already had two heirs in place.”
“No disrespect intended, but … she was cracked in the head even then?” Molly questioned.
Nicholas nodded. “And just as manipulative. She decided she would need someone belowstairs in her new London household to carry out her will, and she wished MacNaby to accompany her as part of the retinue of servants she would bring. He, however, wished to remain in Scotland, so she …” He was pale, drumming his fingertips on the journal he had just read with a haggard expression. “Perhaps Molly should not be here.”
She jumped to her feet, bristling with alarm.
“No!” Then, casting a glance out the window at Miss Dubois, she lowered her voice and sat back down.
“This affects me as well. I have a right to know the truth. Do not attempt to treat me as some mere shrinking violet just because something in that journal is improper!”
“I agree. Molly can hold her own. She proved her mettle when she took care of me after my collapse. I do not think it would be right to exclude her.” The baron’s show of support placated her, and Molly settled back into her chair with an expression of relief.
Nicholas soughed. “Even I cannot process what I had to read, but so be it. My mother went to considerable lengths to entice MacNaby into joining her. They had a brief but imprudent attachment in the months before and after her wedding. Simon was born within the first nine months of her arrival in London.”
Silence fell again, until at last, a soft, feminine “ick” broke the tension, prompting Marco to huff out a humorless half-chuckle.
“Ick, indeed,” agreed Nicholas.
“What of you?” Angelo asked. “Are you … the son of Lord Blackwood or …”
“Reading these journals has revealed that my mother had a habit of singling out male servants whom she recognized she could manipulate. It is not impossible that I am a result of one of those manipulations. She was obsessed with her mission, and the excessive quantities of laudanum she partook in did not help clear her thoughts. Some of her entries are pure rambling.”
“I am sorry,” Angelo replied.
Listening with disgust, Marco felt he had re-entered the circles of hell. Before he could stop himself, the words left his lips. “Will these sordid English intrigues never end?”
Molly turned to him, her lips parted in surprise at his vehemence. “I assure you that these sordid English intrigues are isolated to Lady Blackwood alone. No one in this room played any role in this.”
Marco shook his head, still seething. “And yet, for some obscene folly from three decades past, a man has tried to kill me not once but three times! I should never have come! It feels as though the devil himself beckons me to my death over events that predate my very birth!”
Molly flinched ever so slightly, refraining from responding as her face settled into desolate lines.
Marco realized he had wounded her with his words, yet his frustration continued to simmer.
“I apologize, Molly. That was not directed at you. I am simply not accustomed to hearing of such despicable behavior.”
She nodded, but her shoulders remained a little slumped. What had he said to produce that reaction? She had the glum appearance of someone who had received terrible news, when all he had done was allow some of his outrage to escape.
Angelo glanced at her, too, a question in his eyes, but he apparently decided to ease the tensions with a shift in subject.
“Nicholas, I wish to acknowledge your fortitude in reading your mother’s journals.
It must have been difficult, and I am not sure I could have done so if I were placed in a similar position. ”
Nicholas shrugged, his lean face exhibiting his usual belligerence. “It was the right thing to do. Simon wished to keep the less relevant contents private out of respect.”
“Nevertheless, it took fortitude. Thank you for shedding light on the past few days.”
“I am yet curious,” interjected the baron. “What exactly is MacNaby up to?”