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“I would appreciate it. You see, I cannot be at dinner this evening.”

What the living hell?

Simon almost cursed out loud. Up until now, Molly had appeared pragmatic, a trait that Simon had appreciated when compared to the characters living under this roof. It was clearly a clever deception. She was as eccentric as any member of the Scott household!

“I am sorry. You are saying you invited Madel—Miss Bigsby to dinner, but you shall not be attending?”

“That is correct.”

Simon gave up on proper behavior. If she was to make such odd demands, proper behavior be damned. He would be direct.

“Why?”

“I … am not feeling well. I have a tickle in my throat, and I think I should rest until it passes.”

“Then why, for the love of heaven, have you invited Madeline to dinner?” Simon could hear that he sounded irate, but this conversation made him feel like he was on a visit to Bedlam to speak with the lunatics. Molly, whom he had believed to be a sensible person, was proving to be an egregious disappointment as a pragmatist.

Molly turned her gaze to a gilt-framed painting over the fireplace, licking her lips. Simon had the impression she was seeking a reply, which made him narrow his eyes. Was she up to something? Why was Madeline involved?

“At the time I invited her … I was feeling well, but am no longer. I do not wish to retract the invitation, so perhaps she can come as your guest?”

Simon raked his hair and wondered if it was possible he was dreaming this entire conversation. “My guest?”

Molly gave a firm nod at this, but Simon sensed she was feigning bravado.

“Are you attempting to matchmake us?”

She blinked, her expression confused until settling into a hopeful smile. “Yes?”

“Are you asking me a question or answering mine?”

She squared her shoulders into a more confident stance. “Answering you. I think that … you and Madeline would make quite a pair.”

“Why is Madeline going along with this?”

“I … told her … that … I needed the company … so … she does not know I am attempting to matchmake?”

“Is that a statement or a question?”

His cousin bit her lip, hesitating for a fraction of a second. “A statement!”

“So you are requesting that I have an unwed woman over for dinner, and that I inform my brother and mother of it while you take a tray in your bedroom?” It sounded so absurd he could scarcely believe he had uttered such a sentence.

“I would appreciate it greatly.”

Simon repressed a groan. If only he understood her better, perhaps he could make sense of this madness. He could hardly rescind the invitation now. That would be a slight to Madeline, after all she had done for him in recent days despite his years of thoughtless neglect.

“What of the chaperon?”

“What chaperon?”

His nostrils flared with irritation. Was Molly woolgathering? She did seem distracted. “The one she needs to appease etiquette? If you are not to be at dinner? My mother will not be pleased as it is. I cannot deceive her into thinking Madeline is here at her request, and she is not the sort to volunteer for such a scheme. Announcing this will be complicated enough without explaining her lack of companion and, if I am to pretend I invited her, there must be a chaperon.”

“Oh. I suppose she might bring her mother or her sister.”

Sweet heaven! Eleanor Bigsby setting foot in Lord Blackwood’s home? He supposed he should be thankful his father lay in his grave or this dinner would have sent him there.