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“At the time, I did not know who sent it. It merely stated that the sender knew something about my connection with a baron and asked me to meet. I thought it was some sort of mistake and paid it no mind, but now, I cannot locate it amongst my things. This Trafford fellow attended the meeting, and he claims someone followed him home and attempted to kill him. He was most put out when I stated I received the letter, but it has been misplaced somewhere amongst my things in the study.”

She considered this information, realizing she needed more information than the scraps she had heard from Simon and Henri if she were to provide any input of use. “My understanding is Lord Filminster is presumed to have been killed because he knew of your nephews living in Italy, who would be the rightful heirs if their existence came to light?”

“That seems to be their hypothesis.”

“And Lord Trafford sought to draw you out, to test whether you were the culprit, by sending you that anonymous letter, and now he claims an attempt was made to silence him.”

“Which is ridiculous! The silly fop was likely attacked by someone wishing to divest him of his valuables. It is obvious he is moneyed from his clothing.”

“What if someone in your household was aware of the Italian nephews?”

Simon frowned, glancing over at her with confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I imagine that these lords have investigated the murder quite thoroughly. Lord Filminster was almost arrested for patricide according to the news sheets, and the baron was killed two months ago. They have had ample time to consider every possible motive.”

“None of my family is capable of murder, Madeline!” His tone was stringent.

Madeline shifted away to the end of the bench, seeking distance so she might think without the distraction of his nearness—the warmth radiating from his body, the restrained power in his voice. Simon was consumed by his duty to the Scotts, as he had been since the night of Nicholas’s accident. His emotions were too close to the surface. In her view, he must ask some hard questions so he might defend himself appropriately. She decided that as his friend, she must speak the harsh truth, even if it upset him.

“I like John,” she began carefully, “but your brother is frail. Men who are ill can behave out of character, and he might be concerned with legacy as his mortality beckons. Nicholas overindulges in spirits, which tend to limit one’s morality, and might be worried about a stranger inheriting. He has two doting brothers who enable him in his habits, but who knows what your nephews might do? And your mother …”

Madeline faltered. She had not the faintest notion of what Lady Blackwood might think about the situation. According to Simon’s past anecdotes, the countess often repeated the opinions of her late husband with no emotion to indicate whether she agreed with the sentiments expressed or not.

“Might have … reasons … we are unaware of.”

Simon shook his head, tension tightening his frame. For a moment, she thought he would rise and storm away, yet he remained seated, his restraint a visible battle between temper and reason.

“This is ridiculous! John is too unwell to go about bludgeoning men to death. As you pointed out, Nicholas is too soused to talk his way into a stranger’s study at midnight. And my mother has her own money and resources, so the situation affects her barely at all. These lords have got this into their heads when there is an obvious explanation. I heard one of Filminster’s footmen was killed in August. Perhaps he did it because he was caught pilfering when the rusticating baron arrived and found things amiss at Ridley House.”

Madeline was silent for several seconds, thinking about his arguments. “Be that as it may, I am merely pointing out that you should attempt to find out more about the evidence they possess.”

“We allowed them to question our servants, so John hopes that will put an end to it.”

“Why did they wish to question your servants?”

“I … do not know. Trafford seems to think one of the servants attacked him.”

Turning over what she knew in her mind, Madeline reached a conclusion. Simon would not like it, but …

“You are a skilled negotiator, Simon. I believe you need to learn more about their investigation so you might help them to resolve their problem. The duke has an excellent reputation and is attempting to do right by his family. Approach him without resentment and offer to assist. If you do that, you may end this far sooner.”

Simon rose, ambling over to gaze up at one of the gods in the moonlight. It was Athena, holding her spear in hand and with a helmet on her head. The goddess of wisdom.

Madeline had always been a good friend, listening to his troubles and offering quiet words. Too often he had not heeded her advice, and he did not wish to continue as he had.

He supposed he might call on Halmesbury, where the duke might feel more at ease in his own home, and Simon could offer his help. Months of enduring Lord Boyle’s fickleness had taught him a measure of tolerance, one he could now apply to his own troubles. Somehow it was easier to execute his duty when he put his own wishes aside, but since the liberty to pursue his own goals was at hand, he acted like a vacillating simpleton.

Madeline was right. It was time to act. It was the final remaining obstacle to beginning a new life.

Simon reached a conclusion, Athena staring down at him in approval. “I shall speak with our solicitors and then approach Halmesbury. It must be a terrible experience to have a family member so brutally murdered. To think of someone to whom I am so intimately tied dying alone, with only a foe to witness his untimely exit from the world … it is chilling.”

Madeline smiled. “Excellent. The duke is a reasonable man. Once he perceives your sincerity, it will cast doubt upon their theory. Then, at last, you can pursue your own plans.”

“And what would those be?” Simon’s voice softened before he could restrain it, carrying a note of something more intimate than inquiry. His thoughts had shifted to the woman he had admired these many years. They had been practically children when they were forced apart by circumstances beyond his control, but since the obstacles had been removed one by one, his mind was never far from the fact that they were children no longer.

Madeline’s smile faltered. Her gaze dropped, not from shyness alone but from understanding. The silence between them deepened, tender and perilous. Simon’s heart beat hard enough to fill the quiet.

She rose slowly from the bench, her shawl slipping slightly as she faced him. Moonlight silvered her features, lending her the air of a vision, fragile and luminous. Simon felt warmth rise through him, unbidden.