Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

" For her third task, Psyche was sent to fetch water from the River Styx, where no human could reach its treacherous source. "

Lucius Apuleius, Metamorphoses

M adeline could feel the blush of shame rising up her neck and over the shells of her ears when Molly and Simon returned. She hoped it was not evident on her face, but her cheeks were regrettably warm. She wanted to blurt out how she had violated Simon's inner sanctum, but she was determined to stick to the plan she and Molly had devised.

I am doing it to help him. When all this trouble is a distant memory, I will confess what I have done.

The reassurance did little to settle her discomfort.

"Molly will not be able to attend dinner, so you shall be my guest."

It took a second for Madeline to register that Simon was addressing her, but once the words filtered through the recesses of her mind, she felt a quiver of pleasure. It might all be contrived, but she had never been invited to dinner in the baron's home before. She wondered what Molly had said to explain her absence. Their initial attempts to think of an explanation had led to frustration until Molly had concluded it would be easier to think of an explanation on the spot than continue to anticipate it.

"That would be lovely," she responded. It would. At some point in the future, this murder would be resolved and they would be able to court. Tonight would be a hint of what was to come, and she would enjoy meeting him in public for the first time. Even if that just meant a family dinner.

"However, we must organize a chaperone."

Molly nodded. "Simon has pointed out that he cannot declare you as his guest without a proper companion to protect your reputation. Do you suppose Mrs. Bigsby or your sister can attend?"

Madeline clenched her teeth, her stomach growing agitated. How would she explain that? Mama was going to have outspoken reservations to entering this building with her. Madeline was still pinching herself that she had visited not once, but twice.

This is but a step on the path to happiness.

Pursuing one's dreams was never easy. Her mother could attest to that, so perhaps Eleanor Bigsby would be more amenable than Madeline presumed. Steeling her nerve, Madeline announced her reply with only a hint of shrillness to belie her confident tone.

"My mother would be the most appropriate. I suppose I must be on my way so I can join her at work, where I might make the arrangements."

"Of course." Simon stepped forward to offer his hand. Madeline accepted, a frisson of pleasure at his touch thrumming over the surface of her skin. She rose, peering up at him with a yearning in her heart as his blue eyes gazed down at her to reflect the affinity she knew she must be exhibiting.

She and Molly must conduct their searches as quickly as possible because her future beckoned her. This chapter of death must be closed to proceed.

"Do you … have plans for the day?" Madeline hesitated in letting go of him after she rose to her feet, wanting to prolong contact for just a second more. She had waited a lifetime to join her Eros. Now that they were approaching that day, her impatience knew no bounds.

He nodded his head toward the desk. "I must respond to our stewards. These past few days I have fallen behind … due to distractions."

Such as being accused of murder.

He did not say it aloud, but Madeline could sense the words quivering in the air between them. Simon's gaze never left hers, and he was clearly longing for some time alone with her. Perhaps he was thinking of their kiss? The first proper one they had shared?

As if to confirm this theory, his gaze dipped to her mouth for a second before he stepped back to release her. Madeline felt a rush of despair at the broken contact, wishing they could begin anew without the blasted Home Office threatening their destined union.

"You are quite aware of who they are, so I shall not formally introduce them." Simon's voice was firm. Mrs. Bigsby was accompanying her daughter to dinner this evening. They had been neighbors for decades, nodded to each other in the street when boarding their respective carriages, and his late father had feuded with Mrs. Bigsby through their solicitors before eventually giving up on obtaining sole ownership over the garden linking their properties.

His mother sniffed. "I fail to comprehend this attitude. It is how we conduct ourselves in polite society."

"You will condescend by taking full advantage of your rank to lord it over them, and I will not allow it. We shall greet each other as longtime acquaintances and proceed to dinner."

"Why are you so adamant about this?"

Because Madeline will be my wife if I can prove my innocence. And, Mrs. Bigsby will be my mother-in-law.

That would prompt an entirely different argument which Simon was not willing to begin at this late hour. Madeline and her mother would be arriving soon, so it was imperative he obtain agreement from his mother without provoking a war as they walked through the front door. "I value my friendship with the Bigsbys, and I do not wish to make them feel inferior."

John coughed into his fist, his face pale in the light of the oil lamps. "I concur with Simon. We shall greet them as longtime friends. Father took it too far with Mrs. Bigsby in the past, talking nonsense about her at his clubs in an attempt to get her dismissed from projects throughout the peerage. It was not his finest hour, and being amicable is the least we can do to extend an olive branch."

Simon shot his older brother a look of gratitude. It was a flash of the man John had been before his health had begun to suffer, and he could not be more grateful for John's timing in revealing his true character. He had become so belligerent of late, which Simon assumed was due to his declining health.

"Your father would be most displeased," Isla retorted.

Simon's brother gave a dry laugh. "To be fair, Isla, Father spent a great deal of his time being displeased."

"It was his primary calling in this life," announced Nicholas with a sour tone.

Simon shot a fierce glance at his little brother, who was in an apathetic sprawl on the settee near the window. "Please assure me you are not here this evening to stoke tensions in a bid to amuse yourself?"

Nicholas shook his head, his expression foul. "I am here because we agreed I should be. I cannot help it if refraining from drink is making my head thrum like a toneless harp."

"Quiet it, then. I need you to display courtesy and respect for our guests."

Nicholas rolled his eyes before shutting them with an agonized expression. "Aye."

"Mother, we have lived next door to the Bigsbys for thirty years. We have greeted them in the street, and I have grown up alongside Madeline and Henrietta in the garden. I insist we treat them as old acquaintances."

Isla exhaled with a slight parting of the lips, the only sign she was appeased. "Very well. I suppose we can do away with the formalities in lieu of the time you spent together as children. But what if they are confused by the lack of introductions? Eleanor Bigsby knows well that we have never been formally introduced."

Simon had considered this, but he planned to welcome them as old friends. "MacNaby will announce dinner within minutes of their arrival, and then we shall engage in delightful conversation to make it clear what our attitude is."

That was the flaw in his plan. Isla tended to pick at her food while barely speaking and, of late, John grew grumpier as his bedtime drew closer. Nicholas had grown dour since they had learned of their nephews who were to inherit in Simon's stead, and ever more sullen since embarking on sobriety in the past day or so.

That his family had not known about their guests did not help, or John might have slept in this morning to improve his stamina. This dinner was so unexpected. Nevertheless, Simon was invested in its success. Once he settled this quarrel with the duke and his relations, it would be time to pursue his own path, and Madeline was the companion he wished to have at his side when that day arrived, so Mrs. Bigsby must be treated as an honored guest. He would carry the entire conversation himself, if he must.

MacNaby spoke from behind, interrupting his thoughts. "Mrs. and Miss Bigsby."

Simon spun on his heels, rushing forward to bow over the hand of Mrs. Bigsby and then Madeline's. "Welcome to our home. We are, indeed, honored to have you."

Rising back up, Simon sought his composure as Madeline winked at him with mischief in her eyes. "Thank you for having us, Mr. Scott. We have long wished to enjoy the company within your home."

Mrs. Bigsby smiled politely in agreement, her amber eyes wary as she turned her gaze to the other occupants of the drawing room.

Simon flashed a grin, composing his face to turn back to his family. "Lord Blackwood, Lady Blackwood, Mr. Scott, are we not honored to host Mrs. Bigsby and her daughter?"

John had risen from his armchair, appearing heavy as he lumbered forward. "Welcome, Mrs. Bigsby. It is our honor to host you this evening."

"My lord." Mrs. Bigsby sank into a curtsy, displaying an unexpected grace for a woman of her stature. Being nearly the same height as Simon, it was one of the qualities that had fascinated him as a boy; he had imagined her as a warrior from an epic tale, striding into battle to strike fear in the hearts of her competitors. "It is a pleasure to visit your home. The art is splendid, and I notice several works by Thomas Lawrence—a true privilege to behold."

She pointed to the opposite wall where several large portraits of Scott ancestors stared at the inhabitants of the room.

"You know Lawrence's work?"

"Of course. We study all renowned artists in our quest for inspiration. Our manufactory takes pride in producing the finest works that will withstand the test of time."

Simon's tension eased as John and Madeline's mother moved to view the paintings. Dinner might prove a success despite his reservations.

Madeline took her seat at the elegant dining table, an original Chippendale if she were to guess, with tapered legs and intricate carving. It was bedecked with fine crystal, shiny silver, and exquisite china. Hothouse blooms were artfully arranged in porcelain pots, beeswax candles flickered from silver candelabras, and gilt-framed mirrors around the room strategically reflected the light to chase the shadows from the room. Footmen in fine livery were lined behind their chairs to attend them.

It was precisely what she had expected it to look like, and she was ecstatic to be invited, albeit under spurious circumstances.

"Where is Miss Carter?" Lady Blackwood sat at the end of the table, opposite to the baron. Her emotionless eyes cast about, evidently noting for the first time that Molly was not present. Madeline bit her lip, anxiety coiling in her stomach.

"Miss Carter is not well this evening, so she is taking a dinner tray in her bedchamber," replied Simon from near the head of the table where he was seated diagonal to the baron.

"I should see to her." Lady Blackwood made to rise, sending Madeline into panic. If Isla Scott returned to the family wing, it would be a disaster. It was Madeline's role to ensure such a thing did not happen.

I must stop her!

"Oh, Lady Blackwood! I am so disappointed! I have so anticipated speaking with you tonight." Mama narrowed her eyes from across the table, dubious at Madeline's words as she struggled to find an excuse to keep Lady Blackwood from leaving the dining room. "You are the envy of the entire neighborhood. I was hoping to convince you to reveal the identity of your modiste!"

Creases appeared between Mama's brows as her questions mounted. Her mother's disbelief was palpable as all gazes rested upon Madeline. It was true that Lady Blackwood was always attired in exquisite gowns, but the idea that Madeline would want such garments would be difficult to comprehend. The Bigsbys favored attractive but practical dresses, which allowed them to go about their work. In their world, expensive silk was only worn for formal dinners such as this.

Lady Blackwood settled back into her seat with her usual lack of expression, but Madeline sensed she was pleased to have her vanity pandered to. Perhaps she would forget Molly's absence if Madeline could distract her for sufficient time. The dowager baroness might be difficult to read, but her choice to never display emotions upon her face revealed at least one character trait for a businesswoman such as herself to utilize to her advantage—vanity.

"I confess, I am reticent on the subject. Nothing ruins a good modiste more than being overwhelmed with more orders than she can manage."

Madeline blinked at the selfishness of the statement, though she supposed she should not be surprised by such arrogance from a prig of the privileged class.

Simon interjected from down the table. "Would you not want to elevate the proprietress in question? Bring her new clientele as a sign of appreciation for work well done?"

"Do not be na?ve, dear boy. Your father always maintained that the lower classes are constantly seeking an opportunity to take advantage of their betters, and it is one's role to uphold the separation of the peerage from the common folk."

Nicholas sputtered out soup in startled mirth, dropping the spoon onto the table as he struggled to keep a straight face. Simon's jaw firmed in anger, Madeline able to perceive the hardening of his expression even from afar, and she wished to reassure him they were not offended. He opened his mouth to speak?—

Lord Blackwood burst out laughing, ending on a cough into a lace-edged handkerchief that the footman, Duncan, raced forward to place in his hand. "Please forgive Lady Blackwood, Miss Bigsby. Her wit can be rather biting at times. My father certainly had specific ideas about classes, but we are more enlightened than he, or we would not be enjoying dinner with such admirable company."

It was obvious that the baron's interruption was intended to deflect any affront Isla Scott had inadvertently caused. Madeline noted Simon relax, and she guessed he was grateful that John had interceded. Not for the first time, she wondered if Lady Blackwood was a bit of an idiot. It would account for her vacuous expression and lack of original thoughts, along with the repetition of the late baron's abrasive philosophies.

Duncan stepped forward to wipe the tablecloth beside Nicholas's plate, placing a clean soup spoon and retreating back to his position.

Simon shot Madeline a glance of apology, introducing a discussion on a recent opera, and soon the topic was being discussed with enthusiasm, Nicholas returning to moping into his soup bowl. While Isla complained about the shabby costumes of the performers, Madeline's thoughts wandered to the young woman upstairs who was searching the rooms in the family wing while they dined two floors beneath her feet. She hoped that by the end of the night, Molly and she would have answered the question as to whether a murderer resided in this home.

No further incidents occurred, other than a strange moment when Isla knocked into a wineglass, but a footman shot forward to catch it before even a drop was spilled. The baroness's eyes flickered in gratitude to the servant. Roderick, if memory served Madeline correctly.

The baroness gifted a rare smile to the table in general. "How terribly clumsy of me! I suppose tensions have been a little high these past days with the news sheets casting such dreadful allegations against the family."

Madeline experienced a twinge of sympathy, realizing it must be difficult for the baroness to have her oldest son accused of violent crimes. "It is terrible how irresponsible journalists can be. They have no compunctions about questioning a gentleman's reputation despite the lack of evidence."

"Thank you, Miss Bigsby. Few understand the troubles associated with being in the public eye."

A couple hours later, Madeline and her mother departed with an unspecific promise to return for another lovely evening, and Madeline thanked her mother for her patience as they walked home through the garden.

Eleanor Bigsby chuckled without humor. "You refer to Lady Blackwood's remark about classes? Or how young Nicholas behaves like a spoilt little arse? Simon is a gentleman, so I shall prevail through occasional dinners with the dimwitted Lady Blackwood and arrogant lordling, if I must."