Page 46

And would Mrs. Bigsby testify that Madeline did visit with him in the garden on a regular basis? Even Henri, perhaps, if he was betrothed to Madeline?

The notion of putting Madeline or her family’s business at risk was not something he wished to contemplate. Surely, there was another resolution to be found?

He was caught in a nightmare. So close to the life he had always dreamed of, only to be thwarted at the final hour. Had he done something to anger their Creator so that he would be the butt of some cosmic jest?

The barrister cannot arrive soon enough!

John entered, his appearance bleary and his posture stooped as he walked over to take a seat in Simon’s chair. Simon offered coffee around, but the men refused, so he prepared a cup of tea for his brother and passed it to John, who twisted his face when he saw what it was, but accepted it to take a sip.

Halmesbury cleared his throat, straightening from the window. “We regret to inform you that the movements of two of the servants could not be confirmed.”

Simon bit his retort back, remaining silent so John could take the lead as the senior man on their side of this dispute.

John coughed into his handkerchief before responding. “Which two?”

The duke glanced to Gideon standing in the corner with his hat and gloves still on, before addressing the baron. “Duncan Campbell and Roderick MacGregor. As you know, Duncan was upstairs, but no one saw him the entire morning. We traced the route to Covent Garden and spoke with the flower seller who could not recollect whether he sold violets to the footman, Roderick, that morning. We also calculated the time, and it should not have taken him more than one to two hours to make the purchase, but he was absent for a minimum of three to four hours.”

“What are you saying? That Roderick tried to kill Lord Trafford? That our second footman is willing to commit murder on behalf of Simon?” John sounded weak, taking another sip of tea, and Simon realized his brother was attempting to fortify himself. Shame washed over him to somehow have caused this blight on the Scott household while his brother was ill. Was it not enough that John must face the fact that people he did not know were to inherit the family title, while dealing with questions of his own mortality? A surge of anger that these men be so callous of his brother’s health followed, as he clenched his fists to glare at the duke.

“Runners have been employed to observe your home and servants. We deem this necessary for the safety of our families. They will be stationed in the street outside. The Home Office has been apprised of the information we have gathered, and a new coroner is being appointed to the case. It is expected that an inquest will be called, and Simon shall be named a suspect. We felt it proper to inform you directly, as a courtesy.”

Silence followed, John placing his teacup down on the saucer with a clink while Simon attempted to digest the news that he was to be publicly accused of murder. Seconds later, he noticed that their visitors had riveted their attention to his brother with varying degrees of alarm, and turning about, he found John was panting with a hand to his chest—over his heart!

In a panic, Simon burst forward to catch his brother as he tumbled from the chair, when a band of steel wrapped around his own abdomen to hold him back. The towering duke of nearly seven feet had caught him in an uncompromising embrace while the youth, Gideon, raced forward to kneel by John’s side.

“What is this?” His shout broke the eerie silence of the study, but the duke held him back still despite his struggle to break free. The man was a monster! Simon was a large man himself, but no one could fight off such a giant!

The fop followed Gideon over, standing aside as the youth began to examine the baron. “Calm yourself, Scott. Gideon is a skilled physician. We brought him in the event of a medical incident.”

Relief swept over him as Gideon undid John’s cravat to pull it loose, before unfastening the buttons of his waistcoat to pull it open. It was hard to believe that such a young lad could be a doctor, but he relaxed, the duke slowly releasing him until he was standing free.

“I need assistance lifting him.” The sound of a woman’s voice had Simon tensing up again, racing forward to kneel at John’s side as, before his eyes, Gideon pulled off his gloves and tossed his hat aside. Time slowed down as Simon watched a heavy coil of plaited blonde hair unravel down his—her—back!

“What the living hell?”

Trafford cleared his throat. “I may have misspoken. I mean to say … Lady Trafford is a skilled physician.”

“This is … your wife?”

“No time for this. I need to lift him.” The pragmatic tone of the viscountess brought Simon’s reeling senses back to the present priority. John was an alarming shade of gray mottled with red that spoke to the urgency of the moment as he wheezed in pained hysteria. Simon slid an arm under his brother’s back to lift him to a half-sitting position. Lady Trafford quickly pulled the coat and waistcoat off in sections with Simon adjusting his hold. Finally, she grabbed hold of John’s linen shirt and lifted it off in two stages as Simon moved his arm.

“Lower him.”

Simon complied, following her gaze to see she was noting large purple and dark brown splotches that marred John’s torso. He frowned at the discolorations, which appeared to be chronic. “What is it?”

The viscountess failed to respond, leaning down to sniff at John’s skin. “Lord Blackwood, it is rather early in the day. Did you consume garlic at breakfast?”

John’s eyes displayed his terror as he continued to wheeze, but he shook his head.

She turned her silver gaze to Simon. “Was dinner heavily seasoned with garlic?”

“No. John does not much care for it, so Cook only applies light quantities to our meals. What is it?”

She leaned down to peer into John’s eyes. “My lord, what medicines do you take?”

“Some … laudanum … Nothing …else.”

“Any skin creams?”