Epilogue

EPILOGUE

" Take care, Psyche, for the road ahead is filled with more dangers than you can foresee. "

Lucius Apuleius, Metamorphoses

NOVEMBER 29, 1821

S imon was working in his brother's study, reviewing correspondence from the estates. He looked forward to turning this all over, having suggested hiring a private secretary for John. He hoped that Marco Scott would make a competent replacement to whom he could turn these duties over, but an assistant would be of help no matter Marco's managerial talents.

He checked his timepiece. Earlier this morning, they had received word that the ship his nephews were sailing on had arrived in port, and Simon had dispatched two carriages to collect them and their two companions who had journeyed to England with them. The first carriage was for them, and the second for their trunks. The friends were to be houseguests, he supposed. It was fortunate he had vacated his bedroom to make room for such a large party, who would each require their own chamber.

But the carriages had departed hours earlier, and Simon was surprised by how long it was taking for them to return. Perhaps many ships had sailed into port this morning, causing traffic on the wharfs?

He returned to his work, sharpening his quill to scribble his responses.

When he raised his head again, the sun had moved low into the sky. Simon frowned, checking the time to discover another two hours had passed. He rose to ring the bell, wondering if he had missed their arrival.

Soon, one of their lower footmen arrived.

"Is there word of Mr. Scott's arrival?"

"I do not know, sir, but I was informed that the second carriage has returned. The luggage has been brought in, but we were not certain which trunks belong to whom, so we have been waiting for the gentlemen to arrive so we can sort it out."

Simon frowned again. How could the luggage have arrived before their guests?

"Have a carriage brought around for me." He had yet to make arrangements for his own cattle and vehicle, so he was still making use of John's. "I shall go down to the port to find out what the delay is."

He needed to see to their arrival so he could return home. Madeline would be expecting him for dinner, and he was looking forward to spending the evening with her. They had agreed they would host a feast for St. Andrew's Day with his nephews the next day, allowing them to rest after their long journey from Italy. It was his duty as a Scottish laird to mark the occasion, and his northern brethren belowstairs had proved to be excited about the festivities which his mother had been remiss in celebrating.

Twenty minutes later, Simon approached the front door just as Duncan appeared in the hall. The head footman looked worse for wear, his green and blue livery dirtied, and he had a scratch on his broad cheek.

"Duncan? What is this?"

The manservant was flushed as he responded, "I came to find you as soon as I could, milord. There has been an accident. A wheel came off the carriage, and the gentlemen were injured."

"What?"

Duncan swallowed hard, clearly unhappy about being a messenger of ill tidings. "They are well, just scuffed up. A doctor is attending them. I am to send a carriage to collect them, and a wagon so we might collect the damaged vehicle."

"What in tarnation happened?"

The weather was clear, and Simon could think of no reason why their fine and well-maintained vehicles should malfunction.

"Milord … there was a suggestion of foul play. The coachman wishes me to inform you that he believes the wheel was tampered with."

Simon groaned, raking his hair back in anguish. Weaving his fingers together to clasp the back of his head, his mind whirled at the terrible possibilities.

His mother—what had she said when she had slipped into the oblivion of infinite slumber? Simon cast his thoughts back, trying to recollect the dreadful scene by her bed which he had tried his best not to think about these past weeks.

"My journals are … my confession … to clear your name."

Simon approached the bed, still trying to make up his mind what to do. "Why, Mother?"

"You will be baron … the greatest Campbell … Papa would … be so proud."

Simon frowned, attempting to unravel the words. "You mean my father?"

His mother's face creased into a euphoric smile. "Lord Campbell … My papa … I disappointed him so … but … not anymore. My son … will be Baron … of Blackwood."

"Mother, there are other heirs."

Her eyes drifted closed. "I … have … taken care of …" With that, his mother slipped into unconsciousness.

He and Trafford had dismissed it as delusions of a dying woman, but … Could his mother have left behind an accomplice?

It was too grotesque to consider. There had been nothing in her journals to suggest another person was involved. Surely the coachman must be mistaken, and the accident was merely a coincidence. His mother could not have arranged for someone to kill his nephews. It was madness to even contemplate it.

Even so, Simon would consult Trafford about hiring some of his guards for Madeline. Her safety was paramount. And he faced an unenviable task of rereading his mother's journals to make certain there was no hint of a third conspirator in her web of death and mayhem.

Discover if Lady Blackwood left someone to complete her evil deeds in Lord of Intrigue when Molly Carter meets the mysterious heir from Italy.