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“I do not know,” Simon whispered, “but I should have.”

“Father was a terrible bigot. He harassed Mrs. Bigsby to an extent that was far beyond the pale. Am I to be blamed for that?”

“I do not think his dreadful behavior had anything to do with you. And Mrs. Bigsby does not seem to hold it against us.”

John lifted a hand, palm up. “There it is. In the best of all worlds, you or I would have noticed something was wrong. But she was your mother, and I do not think it a good idea to dissect your conscience over it. Learn from it, but move on. You are a good man, and I regret that I have not shown more appreciation for the work you have done in my stead. I suppose you are a Scottish viscount now?”

Simon raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “Can you believe it? I thought my mother would live a hundred years. She could have been mistaken for my sister. It never struck me that I would ever become Lord Campbell. I never wished for a title, but now I possess four or five. I still have to find our Debrett’s to see which ones. The irony is, I have never been to Scotland.”

John chuckled before coughing into a handkerchief. “What will you do?”

“I do not know. I do not wish the titles to define me. I wish to follow my own path, but this has become complicated. Again.”

“I can attest that a close brush with death has made me rethink my priorities. Even more so when I discovered my ill health has been part of a vindictive plan. See to the people and responsibilities attached to the titles, and then, perhaps you can find a way forward that allows you some liberties.”

“I hope so.”

Next, Simon visited Nicholas in his bedchamber, his brother still contending with the physical miseries of casting aside drink, to inform him of what had transpired since they had spoken earlier. His younger brother was morose, having heard the news that their mother was dead.

“I am not sure how to feel about it,” Nicholas admitted in a dull voice. “We were not close, and I did not know her well. I think she did not have much time for me as the youngest and most imperfect.” Nicholas gestured at his injured leg.

“That might be the case, but I do not think Mother was close to anyone. John and I have just spoken about how we each had a poor sense of who she was. She, in the most literal sense, wore a mask to hide not just her emotions but her thoughts.”

“I suppose we are safer without her.”

It was a sad truth that they were.

Simon departed soon after to return to Madeline’s side, with the infamous journals tucked under his arm. He had promised Madeline they would remain together, and he planned to do just that as long as he could.