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This was neither here nor there. Simon needed to prepare for a changing of the guard, but John was not one to confront the troubles facing them. He preferred to put them off to another day, which never arrived. It would take persistence to reach an agreement about dealing with the rightful heir’s insertion into their lives.

“Be that as it may, we must discuss the future.”

If only I had not signed the marriage contract.

Simon pushed the thought away. “If only” was the journey into the depths of despair. He had signed the contract, and he must bear his responsibilities like a gentleman.

John lumbered to his feet, stalking over to the window to stare down upon the gardens. “I do not know how to say this, little brother, but this investigation of murder is not settled yet.”

Straightening up, Simon cocked his head to peer over at his brother. “Do you believe I need to be concerned?”

“You have been accused of killing a peer, albeit unofficially. Once word gets out … At this moment, the unknown heir is not the most pressing issue.”

Licking lips that had suddenly gone dry, Simon contemplated this announcement. He had been so preoccupied with ensuring his duties were attended to that he had not considered their contingent of visitors might be unconvinced by his alibi and, at this very moment, seeking to disprove Isla’s assertions of their moonlit conversation on the night of the murder. “Should I find an alternative defense?”

John glanced back at him. “Where were you that night? You were not with Isla.”

Embarrassed, Simon dropped his head down to examine his fingernails with studious intent. “I was … in the garden.”

“With the chit next door?”

“With the young lady from next door.”

His brother harrumphed in response. “You are protecting Miss Bigsby’s reputation, but it is a matter of time until Isla’s true whereabouts are discovered because she was out that night. If they find someone who puts her in a different location than the garden …”

John left the sentence hanging until Simon was compelled to complete it. “The men will be back to question me.”

“It is all nonsense, of course. Filminster was an obnoxious little prat. One of his own servants probably clubbed him in a fit of pique. Or perhaps some riffraff who wished to rob his home. The duke and his relations have contrived a murder plot in their heads, but they presented no evidence. The temerity! Accusing a Scott of such a heinous act. Father would turn in his grave over such disrespect.”

“This is not going to go away.” It was not a question. Their visitors from yesterday were related to the deceased and would not let this rest. Simon had not thought about it much, knowing he was innocent of the crime, but if John was concerned, it cast a new light on the priorities he had set himself. He must be prepared to prove his innocence, and with a marriage contract in place with Olivia Boyle, he could not reveal he was alone with Madeline. If he had been free to wed her, perhaps. But, even then, the scandal would be intense for a woman in her situation.

Nay, Simon must resolve this debacle without dragging her into it.

Madeline hurried through her breakfast, anxious to leave for work on time. She had slept little, turning restlessly as her mind circled Simon’s predicament. It was not her burden to bear, yet her concern for him refused to be set aside.

Simon had worked so hard on behalf of his family since the night Nicholas had fallen from the window, and his distress might be contained deep within his soul, but she had seen the signs of his struggle during their conversation. Molly had done the right thing by fetching her to provide him with some encouragement. It was going to be a long road to discover his new life because Simon was not the sort to enjoy idling away on his allowance, with no purpose to his days.

She was just forking the last of her eggs when Henri entered.

“There you are!”

Madeline flinched in surprise at the shrillness of her sister’s voice, impatience skittering through her mind. Based on the tone, Henri was to launch into some sort of lecture about Madeline’s choices.

“Good morning. I was not aware you were here.”

“I returned late last night from Uncle Reggie’s. Have you heard the news about Simon Scott?”

Madeline stared down at her last bite, which was hovering between the plate and her mouth, her appetite deserting her.

She and her sister did not see eye to eye on the subject of the gentleman living next door. Henri disdained his abandonment of her twin, while Madeline did not like what had happened, but she had understood it.

Simon had battled with the heavy burden of guilt, blaming himself for the accident. It had taken weeks for Nicholas to return from his unconscious state, and Simon had suffered each second of his brother’s coma.

Madeline remembered how pale and hollow-eyed he had been when, months later, he appeared in the garden to tell her that his plans for the future had changed. He had looked like a man who had spent weeks in the valley of shadow, praying for a miracle

“There are heirs to the Blackwood title who have been found in Italy.” Madeline put her fork down and prepared to rise.

“Well, yes, but I meant the other news.”