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A full hour later than the time she and Molly had agreed to, Madeline stood up to return inside. Paying a call on Lady Blackwood would at least reveal if the Scotts were amid a worsening crisis. She might even steal a minute of conversation with Simon to ensure he was well.

Simon and the men stood in the hall, the sound of retching from John’s bedchamber producing a somber air as they waited. Lady Trafford, her husband, and Molly were inside assisting his brother to empty his stomach after the mixture and a tub had been brought up, along with clothing from Trafford’s carriage so his wife could change. Evidently, they did not wish the servants to observe that Lady Trafford had been dressed as a gentleman.

He winced in sympathy when he heard John cast up his accounts yet again. The young baron, Filminster, gazed at the closed door with a pained expression, while the duke had walked away to gaze out the window at the end of the corridor.

The Earl of Saunton, however, stood leaning against a wall with a nonchalance that seemed oddly out of place. As the sound of vomiting receded, Simon frowned at the earl, irate at the nobleman’s composure while he tried to come to terms with the knowledge that someone had been attempting to murder his brother for a year or more.

Horror and impatience merged, and he could no longer withhold a rebuke. “You seem unnaturally calm under the circumstances.”

“I have some experience with the ill, and I have recently dealt with death, Mr. Scott. I am more prepared than most for such a moment.”

Simon gritted his teeth. “Fair enough.”

The earl studied him with emerald-green eyes that glowed in the half-light shining in from the window. “You understand that this will result in further investigation?”

Simon cursed, dropping his chin despite the crisp edges of his collar digging in. Did they suspect him of this, too? It was damning that the man who held the title that Simon was suspected of killing for was now proven to be the victim of foul play, too.

From down the hall, the duke’s baritone interrupted his torment. “Your anguish for Lord Blackwood appears sincere, Scott. I had to use all my strength to hold you back when you panicked at his collapse.”

Simon let out a dry, humorless chuckle. “Huzza! You do wonders for my self-esteem with such a declaration. I was naught but a feeble milksop struggling to fend you off.”

“Not at all. I had the advantage of gripping you from behind. My apologies, but I did not know your intentions, and Lady Trafford needed freedom to act.”

“And now? Do you think me capable of engaging in violent crime?”

The duke turned to gaze at him with a solemn expression, filling the window with his large form. “Your distress for his health appears genuine, but it does result in questions given the cause of his illness.”

“Who would want to poison John, you mean?”

“Indeed. It also implies that we were correct in our theory that my father-in-law was murdered by someone in this household. If not you, then who?”

“Poisoning is an act of premeditation. Your father-in-law was killed in an act of passion. Would that not point to two different perpetrators?”

“Nay, Mr. Scott. You describe the problem from the wrong angle. Poison is the weapon of patience, while clubbing someone to death in a fit of rage suggests that the killer had run out of time. The late baron was persistent … and annoying. If the killer believed he had to act in haste, he might choose a vastly different method than his nature dictates.”

Simon shook his head in disbelief. “I cannot say who may have done it. There has been no indication of violence from members of this household. Perhaps Lady Trafford is incorrect about the cause?”

“Perhaps, but Lady Trafford searched through your brother’s things while she was waiting to begin the treatment. She could not find anything that contained arsenic to explain his symptoms. You should think about how he could have received it … and who might have given it to him.”

Memories of Nicholas and Duncan flashed through his mind. Duncan spent a significant amount of his time committed to John’s well-being, but the head footman had also assisted with Nicholas after his accident. They had become friendly, as close to friends as a servant and child of the nobility might become under such circumstances. But the servant had always seemed intelligent and practical to Simon. The thought that Duncan might be coerced into murder by his younger brother seemed incongruent with his affable character.

Simon shook his head. “I cannot believe anyone in this household could be a cold-blooded killer.”

The duke shrugged. “Unfortunately, your belief, or lack thereof, does not signify. If not you, then who?”

It was a rhetorical question, the duke shifting his gaze back to the window as Simon’s thoughts scattered in every direction as so many leaves in a strong wind.