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“He tried to live without her, but every thought returned to her face, her voice, her touch—Eros found no peace away from Psyche.”

Lucius Apuleius, Metamorphoses

AUGUST 31, 1821

Simon entered the breakfast room to find the entire family gathered in the throes of aggravations.

“I am well, I tell you!” John was shouting, heaving as he struggled to breathe. “Give me my damn coffee!”

“You must stop the coffee, dear. It is not good for you. Roderick, bring Lord Blackwood a pot of tea.” Isla waved toward the baron with a voice that did not brook argument. This, however, did not deter Simon’s older brother. Simon could have foretold it. He had spent years attempting to persuade his family to pursue healthier habits, to no avail.

“I do not want tea! Duncan, bring me my coffee!”

The head footman froze, then threw a glance to Roderick, who was collecting the teapot. The second footman was frozen, too, as the two servants stared at each other in an impasse. Who were they to obey—his lordship or the dowager baroness?

Checkmate.

Simon folded his arms to watch in amusement. Which servant would dare move first?

“Roderick,” prompted his mother.

He had the teapot hovering just an inch above the sideboard. In response, he completed the motion, lifting it to spin on his heel and walk over to the table where he placed it in front of the baron.

John shot a glare at Duncan, whose expression was contrite but helpless. “My lord, your doctor …”

“Grow some backbone, Duncan! Are you not a Campbell?”

The footman’s chagrin was palpable. He was a good fellow. Loyal, steady, and far too gentle for the temper he served. Duncan Campbell had taken care of John for many years, even acting as the baron’s valet when his own man took ill. Which was far too frequent in Simon’s estimation. The valet was either a dreadful weakling, or he preferred to stay abed.

Molly offered to pour the tea, which earned her a bark from John, who was in a fine state, his skin mottled with fury.

Nicholas paid none of them mind, staring down into his own coffee as if he were nursing regret from a hard night of drinking. He must have been too weary to leave, despite the loud quarreling sure to be driving a knife through his inebriated brain. “Could you please lower your voices?”

“Why are you here?” barked John in a belligerent tone. “Should you not be out drinking with your friends?”

Simon grimaced. The morning had soured entirely before he had taken a single sip of his own breakfast. It was not unusual for tempers to flare in the household, though he rarely arrived early enough to witness the spark that set them off.

“Hungry,” was the singular answer from Nicholas, who must have just returned home. He continued in a plaintive voice, “Even an insignificant spare must eat.”

Bloody hell!

Simon stifled a sigh. His younger brother’s habit of self-pitying humor was as predictable as it was tiresome. When Nicholas had overindulged, he alternated between mockery and melancholy. Simon preferred the supercilious version over the self-pitying Nicholas who blamed all for his circumstances. He suspected his brother’s moods were a barometer of what particular spirits he had abused his body with in the past twenty-four hours. Wine brought out his humorous, if sarcastic, character, while brandy, the miserable defendant of terrible harms visited upon him.

It was a theory, at least.

Molly checked her timepiece, muttering something conciliatory he could not hear, and scraped her chair back to depart. Simon did not blame her. Tensions were rising, and soon, Nicholas would break into a dramatic tirade about the unfairness of it all, or John into a rousing speech about being respected in his own household, while Isla interjected her drugged benevolence with platitudes that exacerbated tempers. If he had to hear his little brother complain, it would renew his shame at what he had done to contribute to his injury.

Simon gestured to Duncan, who appeared relieved to stride over. The tall footman, with brawny shoulders and a handsome square face, doted on the baron and must have been feeling terrible to be the object of his disappointment. “I shall take my breakfast in the study.”

The servant nodded, turning to collect a tray together while Simon headed down the hall.

Madeline had found a new routine these past weeks, which suited her. She had rearranged her schedule to rise an hour earlier and breakfast in the walled garden. She would enjoy her meal and a book, which was how she had discovered a wonderful new friend.

Hearing the crunching of gravel as someone entered the secluded space, she lowered her book and grinned. “Molly!”

Befriending the pragmatic young lady from next door had been a happy consequence of changing her routine. She was an amusing and intelligent companion with whom to begin the day.