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Molly sat upright, perceiving she was about to learn the ugly truth of that day, rather than the carefully edited version.

“Which was when my mother took an overdose of laudanum. Despite the coroner’s finding that it was an accident, and I must implore confidentiality with this information, Lady Blackwood took her own life.”

It was as Molly had suspected.

Marco slumped back in his seat with shock while his brother sprang to his feet with a horrified expression. The tension in Simon he had sensed upon their arrival now made sense, and he was at a loss for words.

“Mi dispiace tanto … I am profoundly sorry.”

The words hung suspended in the air, and the room went quiet. Miss Carter shifted her gaze to the window, and he realized she was ensuring that the paid companion had not overheard anything. He followed her look to see that the dainty little creature who served in the role was still in her position outside the window, but showed no signs of having heard the appalling announcement.

Angelo slowly lowered himself back into his chair, blinking with thoughts that must have been spinning as fast as his own. He could not imagine the horror of such an event. It was terrible enough that his father had died when he was so young, before Angelo had even been born, but how much worse would it have been to lose a loved one to suicide?

Yet, considering she had committed murder, where would she be placed within the circles of hell? Phlegethon, the boiling river of blood, was reserved for those who committed violence. But suicides became part of the Wood of the Suicides, being transformed into gnarled trees in a barren forest. It was quite the philosophical puzzle to consider which was worse, the violence committed against others or the violence against oneself.

“I am so sorry,” he repeated to Simon, then turned to his other uncle, the belligerent young man who had lost his temper at Angelo. Nicholas Scott was glum, fixated on his boots. “My …” Marco sought for the word. “… sincere condolences.”

Angelo turned, noticing to whom Marco was speaking. “I am sorry, too.”

Nicholas jerked his head away, rejecting their sympathies, but his discomfort was obvious.

Eventually, once Marco had time to grasp the tale of the Scotts’ woes, he frowned in confusion. “Why are you concerned about the accident if the baroness is dead?”

Simon swallowed. “Because she had an accomplice, possibly two. One of the footmen had assisted her, but he jumped to his death when he heard about her untimely departure.”

“And the other?” This question came from his left, in a thready voice with perfect English enunciation. Miss Carter was a woman of mettle to keep her wits about her. He could barely comprehend such events, yet she had lived through them.

“I was with my mother when she said her final words. I pointed out that despite her Machiavellian methods, the heir had been found and I would not inherit. She … her last words … She implied that she had taken steps to prevent that.”

Miss Carter leaned forward into Marco’s peripheral vision, her pretty face worried. “You mean that she might have had someone else coerced into assisting her?” Her hazel eyes flickered to the window, her expression bemused as she stared at her companion outside, who was clasping herself in a tight embrace in an effort to retain her body heat.

The baron cleared his throat, taking some time before speaking. “We had hoped it was over, but the incident with the carriage suggests we must take precautions. In the event that Isla, Lady Blackwood, had another accomplice to ensure that Marco, or Angelo who is next in line, should never live to inherit.”

“You are suggesting that someone tried to kill us this morning?”

“Yes, and another attempt might be made. It is why we apprised you of the facts. We nearly lost Madeline because of our lack of caution, and we will not allow any further misadventure. It could be an accident, or it could be …”

The towering duke exhaled heavily, then declared what they were all thinking. “An attempt upon your lives.” He shook his head. “I could have lost my brother without even knowing he had returned home. It seems fantastical that someone would risk killing four people, along with the coachman and footmen, merely to target two in the vehicle. Surely, it must have been an accident?”

Simon shook his head. “We must assume the worst. It is the safest course. Which is why I intend to remove my bride to Scotland in the morning. We shall visit my new estates to ensure she is out of harm’s way. My mother was quite obsessed with severing my connection with Madeline, and after nearly losing her, I will not risk it. I am afraid I cannot assist in sorting this out. We were to share dinner here this evening, but she cannot set foot in this house if there is even a possibility of harm befalling her.”

Struggling to his feet, the baron patted his brother on the back. “Agreed. Considering Isla’s obsession with bloodlines, Simon must see to Madeline’s safety, and we shall put our heads together to resolve this matter.”

Marco rose to his feet, walking back to the other side of the room with a subtle motion for Angelo to join him.

“What the hell have we stepped into here?” he muttered under his breath.

Angelo rubbed his face, his expression solemn as he sought an answer. “It could be no more than an accident. After such events … perhaps they are seeing shadows where there are none. What reason would an accomplice have to continue this madwoman’s quest after she is gone? I understand their … attenzione?”

Marco struggled to think of the English word, his thoughts swirling in his head. They had known that something odd had happened, and that the dowager baroness was dead, but this was a hornet’s nest. “Caution.”

Angelo nodded. “I understand their caution, but perhaps it is nothing.”

“Will this delay my return to Florence?”

His brother shook his head in good-natured rebuke, his usual spirits restored in an instant. “We have only just arrived. Give England a chance. I wish to see more of it. Discover if a pharmacy is needed here. How are your ribs?”

Marco chuckled, his mood lightened as he rubbed his aching chest. “They are much better. You are determined to bring Florentine medicine to the world.”