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Marco whistled through his teeth. “That much? Perhaps I am in the wrong line of work.”

“Heir to a baron? I think you can rival them for income, brother. It is I who needs to establish a pharmacy to make something of myself.”

Marco clenched his jaw, irritated by the reminder of his unsettled circumstances. Angelo had made his thoughts clear on the subject. He believed Marco should accept his new role as part of a grand new adventure, while Marco yearned for the simplicity of tutoring. If only their roles were reversed, his brother would happily step into the role of a future baron as an invigorating new chapter in the titles march through time. Angelo would consider it a grand adventure, but Marco was struggling to find such acceptance. Thus far, he had encountered an enticing and feminine reason to even consider it, but that was hardly a sufficient motive to alter the course of his existence, surely?

Molly entered Miss Dubois’s bedchamber with the burden of guilt weighing her down. She felt terrible about searching the servant’s room, but the baron had summoned Miss Dubois to his private sitting room, where he spent most of his days, to allow Molly to begin, so this was her chance to do the lamentable deed.

I will feel far worse if Marco is harmed.

That was a poignant thought, the distress so sharp it cut like a knife into her middle, and she drew in a steadying breath. Squaring her shoulders, she closed the door to contemplate the room.

She would begin with the bed. Crossing over, Molly dropped down to peer underneath but found nothing but a pair of soft leather slippers. Sitting back on her haunches, she lifted the mattress carefully, so she did not disturb the bedding, and ran a hand underneath, feeling for anything hidden out of sight. Encountering a purse tucked deep, she pulled it out to untie it and empty its contents onto the bed. Several rings and necklaces of gold and silver spilled out onto the quilted coverlet.

Picking one up, she inspected it closely to see if it was pinchbeck jewelry, but it appeared genuine rather than a cheap alloy. The color was a true gold, rather than the brighter brassy imitation, but it was not conclusive, because Molly was not an expert in such matters, and she had heard some pinchbeck pieces were so well rendered as to fool even an experienced eye.

Molly put them back in the purse and returned the purse to its place under the mattress. But it was an unusual find. They appeared to be too expensive for an unmarried servant on fixed wages. Claudette Dubois had a larger collection than Molly herself, though Molly wore little jewelry because her own tastes were simple. Could they have been gifted by the dead baroness?

Or, worse, promised in exchange for loyalty yet to be fulfilled?

She found nothing else in the bed, so she moved on to search the bedside table and then the chest of drawers. Again, she was startled by several fine stays and shifts that rivaled her own in quality. However, there was no journal amongst Miss Dubois’s belongings. Molly continued to the trunk at the end of the bed, wrought in a hardwood with brass fittings. Sitting back on her heels, she wondered at how Claudette could afford such nice things. It lent credence to Molly’s supposition that her companion might indeed be one of the servants embroiled in Lady Blackwood’s schemes. If the baroness had been her benefactress, these lavish items would make sense.

Checking her timepiece, Molly realized her time was running out. She finished searching through the trunk, which was mostly seasonal clothing folded away, before studying the room for any signs of her search. Satisfied, she exited the bedchamber. She should return to her own chamber to read, but being separated from her chaperon had created an unexpected freedom and with it the quiet impulse to seek out Marco, if only to restore some measure of ease between them after the disagreement in the library the prior evening.

Simon’s love for the barony and its people became unmistakably clear as Marco read his uncle’s notebook. It had been passed to him with almost casual simplicity on the day of Marco’s arrival. “I have written up a few notes to help familiarize you with the baron’s estates and tenants. Read it while I am gone, and pray write to me if you have any questions.”

Simon’s words had been a remarkable understatement, as Marco had quickly discovered when the baron had invited him to make use of the study earlier.

Simon had detailed each estate, along with careful mention of the long-standing tenants attached to each. His attention and knowledge proved far more extensive than Marco had realized, for his uncle had given the impression that the family spent most of their time in London. Marco had therefore assumed them to be somewhat removed landlords, with little sustained regard for the people under their influence.

But the notebook revealed that Simon had paid a conscientious annual visit to each of the estates over the past years, dating back to his father’s time, when Simon had taken on the responsibility of managing the Blackwood holdings in the late baron’s stead. It was stewardship undertaken not from obligation alone, but from a sense of duty to those who depended upon the title for order and care.

Tenant farmer Mr. Frank Jameson oversees a 400-acre plot, one of the larger farms on the estate. He is married to Wendy, the eldest daughter of a neighboring farmer, and they have one adult son, Caleb, and two younger children, Sandra and Mark. Mr. Jameson employs several laborers to assist with the cultivation of his extensive farm, and I have tasked the steward with overseeing the improvement of the drainage ditches along the west perimeter. These efforts are intended to boost Mr. Jameson’s crop yields and, consequently, his income. The enhancements should increase the fertility of the soil and prevent waterlogging, but I have yet to receive word on the progress. The work is to be completed by winter, and I expect a full report shortly.

It was not an isolated entry. Another that caught his attention was for a lessor tenant but with the same attention to detail.

Tenant farmer Mr. John Wright manages a 90-acre plot on the eastern side of the Elmstead estate. He and his wife, Mary, work diligently, and they have two young daughters, Emily and Ann. To help improve his yield, I have instructed the steward to supply Mr. Wright with additional seed for the next planting season and to repair the broken fencing that has allowed livestock to stray into his fields. These efforts should bolster his crop production and reduce unnecessary losses. Ensure the steward follows up regularly, as it is essential that all tenants, regardless of size, have the means to thrive for the good of all involved.

As Marco read through the notes, the complex issues of land management slowly claimed his attention, drawing him in as he realized that the estates were composed not merely of acreage and figures, but of living people who worked the lands. Each tenant represented a family with children and, in some cases, laborers, who in turn supported wives and children of their own. The baron’s holdings comprised entire communities who relied on the Blackwood title for good governance and leadership.

Despite his lack of experience in such affairs, Marco found himself unexpectedly absorbed by the writings, which gave shape and consequence to the lives affected from this desk with the stroke of a quill upon paper.

It was a far cry from tutoring spoiled and moneyed young men of the aristocracy who had just completed their time at university and were now idling their way through Italy while they finished their classical education. Some were serious about learning from the art and culture Florence had to offer, but others were so far removed from the realities of labor and responsibility that this notebook made Marco regret his uncle Simon had never had the opportunity to take his own Grand Tour. He would have been an excellent student, attentive to the humanity depicted by the old Masters. They would have shared the experience well, had circumstances allowed it.

It was daunting to discover that there was far more to the stewardship of the barony than he had imagined, and he now better understood the concerns Simon had expressed about the attendant responsibilities. His uncle worried not for himself, but for the people affected by the change in inheritance. This realization did nothing to lessen the strain of the past few days. In addition to guarding himself against attempts upon his life, Marco must now contend with the well-being of others whose fortunes were bound to this household.

“Maledizione,” he muttered, the oath having become something of a habit. Shutting the notebook, he decided that was enough for the moment. Perhaps he should return to the search, while Angelo continued working his way through the shelves behind the baron’s desk. “I thought these upper classes were idle.”

Angelo glanced over his shoulder, balanced on a small stepladder so he could reach the upper shelves. “The notes imply otherwise?”

“I suppose you will be gratified to hear that our uncle is a responsible and benevolent manager. He knows these estates intimately.”

“That is good, no? It means our family is contributing to the well-being of society.”

“Sometimes, brother, your positivity is appalling.”

Angelo chuckled. “You would rather I was pessimistic? I think Mamma would caution you that you should be wary of what you wish for.”

Marco grinned. “If you are going to bring Mamma into it, I suppose I would not have you any other way.”