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“I will have you know the servants were interviewed by both the Duke of Halmesbury and the Earl of Saunton, and neither were able to learn much by doing so.”

“Was that before or after the truth came to light?”

The baron rubbed his chin, contemplating the events of the previous month. “Before,” he replied at last.

“Then I should have interviewed the servants with the knowledge of facts His Grace and his lordship did not possess at the time.”

The baron tilted his head, studying Marco with renewed interest. “That is an astute observation. Perhaps you will prove a competent lord in Simon’s stead when the time comes.”

Marco rolled his shoulders at the remark. “I am uncertain that I desire the role.”

“Ah,” the baron said mildly, “but the role may yet desire you.”

Marco took his leave with politeness intact, but once in the corridor, he paused to grit his teeth. He would not have England and its title forced upon him without his consent. His new family behaved as though it were a fait accompli, yet he remained a free man, capable of exercising his own will. If he wished to reside in Italy and appoint a man of business to oversee the baronial affairs, he might yet do so. The decision was his to make.

Continuing on to the next door, he knocked and received a gruff reply, which he took as permission to enter.

The chamber was large but lacked a sitting room, though there was space for a seating area beside the fireplace. The cross-as-crabs Nicholas reclined upon a chaise lounge, his injured leg propped on pillows. A stack of journals rested beside him, and he appeared to be rereading them with grim concentration.

“What do you want?” Nicholas demanded. His tone was belligerent, but after their recent confrontation, Marco suspected it had more to do with the reading before him, and the relentless pressures of life in the Scott household, than with Marco himself.

“We have found a journal. I believe it is the missing one you mentioned.”

Nicholas frowned, swinging his legs down to the floor. “What? Does that mean you know who is behind this?”

“I do not yet know the particulars, but Molly found it in the butler’s pantry.”

“MacNaby!”

“We are searching for him now.”

“I decided to go through these again after what happened last night, but I have found nothing new,” Nicholas said, gesturing toward the stack.

“Now you have three more years to examine.”

“Give it to me.”

Nicholas took the journal at once, opening it to scan the first entry. He flipped to the final pages to inspect the last notation, then nodded once. “This is the three-year volume.”

Marco winced at the spider’s scrawl he glimpsed and at the grim subject matter implied within. His uncle possessed more fortitude than Marco had credited him for, to volunteer for such a task. Marco would dread reading his own mother’s journals, and Bianca Romano Scott Rossi had been a woman of sound mind, not a deranged murderess. “Good luck,” he said quietly. “I do not envy you the labor.”

Nicholas pulled a wry face. “Perhaps it will prove cathartic, after all that has transpired. Truth is often uncomfortable, but … necessary, I suppose. When these dark days are behind us, perhaps these journals will answer enough questions to allow us to close those chapters and seek something better. One can only hope.”

Marco smiled in commiseration, his own poor behavior with Molly that morning providing him with some insight into Nicholas’s belligerence. Not to mention … Marco glanced at the injured leg. It must be difficult.

Nicholas noticed the direction of his gaze and grimaced. “Lady Trafford has informed me she has found someone to assist me. Something to do with Chinese treatments and massage. She would have visited today, but I sent Lord Trafford a note the day Simon left for Scotland to inform him I could not attest to their safety. We shall have to make new arrangements once this muddle is resolved.”

“I am sorry your treatment is delayed. Perhaps, in the meantime, you should speak with Angelo. He may have liniments to ease both stiffness and pain. He is a gifted pharmacist.” Marco rubbed at his bruised ribs. “It was most uncomfortable after the carriage overturned, but Angelo has made it tolerable.”

His young uncle gave a noncommittal nod, and with him settled, Marco continued along the corridor, checking rooms, completing the west side before returning to the main staircase to inspect the front chambers facing the street. When he had finished, he descended the stairs and returned to the breakfast room, where he found Molly and Miss Dubois taking their meal.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Dubois.” He bowed slightly. “I have news to impart to Molly. Would you mind if she joined me in the hall for a moment?”

The chaperon frowned, then quickly smoothed her expression as if recollecting herself, unable to refuse the heir to a baron. “S’il vous plaît, remain in sight of ze door, Meester Scott, so I may keep watch.”

Molly rose and followed him into the hall, asking in a low voice about the butler. Marco noted she did not meet his gaze, folding her arms as though guarding herself from his earlier, unwarranted scolding.

“I sent everyone to search for him, and Duncan has been instructed to summon him, but I do not yet know whether he remains in the house.”