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The footman hesitated, likely weighing the gravity of the offer, but Marco noticed a glint of excitement in his blue eyes. The promotion would be a significant increase in status, responsibilities, and wages, and Marco gave him the courtesy of reflection, allowing the servant time to consider the ramifications of accepting the post.

“Yes. I would greatly appreciate the opportunity, Mr. Scott.”

Marco nodded. “The role is yours. I shall prepare a note to summon our man of business to finalize the particulars.”

Duncan rose to his feet. “Thank you, Mr. Scott. You will not regret this.” He dropped a bow and left the room, but despite his usual reserve, Marco caught the unmistakable hint of a smile playing about his lips as he exited into the hall.

Sipping his coffee, Marco located a page and quill in the drawer of the walnut desk and wrote a brief summons to the agent who handled the family’s business affairs, as Simon had outlined in the notebooks. It was high time he made the man’s acquaintance, and he requested a meeting for the following morning before folding the note and ringing for a footman to deliver it.

With that matter settled, Marco felt a quiet swell of confidence, the steady assurance of a man who had at last accepted the role placed before him and begun to shape it as his own. He would fill the boots of his uncle Simon. And now there remained another matter to set right. Simon had erred in one respect, an error Marco had long recognized, and he intended to correct it, to offer redress to the wronged party. With purpose in his stride, he ascended to the second floor.

As he approached the door to Molly’s chambers, he paused at the sound of a plaintive French voice raised in complaint. Pressing closer, he listened without compunction, sensing that he had arrived at precisely the right moment.

“You could ’ave got me in very great trouble, disappearing like zat! It could affect my chances to secure a respectable position in ze future.”

As Marco had suspected, Miss Dubois’s distress stemmed not from concern for Molly’s safety, but from anxiety over her own prospects. His irritation sharpened. The chaperon’s priorities were plain enough.

“I assure you, I never intended to cause you inconvenience.” Molly’s voice was cool and impeccably polite, her English composure firmly in place. It made Marco smile despite himself. He suspected she longed to answer more sharply, but her circumstances, and her innate courtesy, kept her restrained. How awkward it must be to quarrel with one’s appointed shadow. Molly might have defeated a pistol-waving madman with a convincing argument, but she had yet a dragon to slay. And it would be he who slayed this particular dragon on behalf of the woman he … shutting his lids for a moment, Marco finally confessed the truth to himself … the woman he loved. The admission was unexpectedly freeing.

“Very selfish of you, truly! So inconsidérate!”

Reaching the limits of his patience, Marco knocked. Silence fell at once. After a moment, the handle turned, and Miss Dubois’s pretty but sharp features appeared through the opening.

“Meester Scott? May I be of azzistance?”

His mouth curved into a courteous smile. “I wish to speak with you … and with Miss Carter. If you would step into the hall?”

The chaperon looked perplexed but opened the door fully, revealing Molly, dressed though her hair remained unpinned. Her expression brightened with unmistakable hope, and for the first time, Marco accepted her admiration without hesitation or reserve.

They had not yet completed her morning preparations, but Marco gestured for them to step out into the passage. As Molly passed him, he offered her a quiet, reassuring glance, one meant only for her.

They entered the corridor, and Marco’s gaze followed the graceful fall of her hair down her back before he deliberately reined in his thoughts, anchoring himself once more in purpose and restraint.

“Miss Dubois, I am delighted to inform you that your services as a paid companion are no longer required. Miss Carter has graciously accepted the role of the future Lady Blackwood, so her need for chaperoning has diminished. You shall return to your duties as lady’s maid, and you may speak with Mr. Campbell about moving your things back into your former room.”

Molly and Miss Dubois both dropped their jaws at the same time.

“Mees Carter ees to marry ze baron? An’ please forgive me, who ees zis Meester Campbell?”

Marco smiled, extending his arm with deliberate composure, and Molly accepted it, her delight impossible to conceal, her eyes incandescent with joy. “That is incorrect. Miss Carter is to marry me. I think she will do the Blackwood title proud in the years to come.”

Miss Dubois blinked in astonishment, her dismay plain as she likely considered the implications of the many sharp words she had spoken when she believed Molly to be inconsequential. Marco noted that Molly pressed her lips together, clearly struggling to maintain her composure.

“And Duncan Campbell, the head footman, has been promoted to the position of butler this morning. He now oversees all servants in this household, hence his new address as Mr. Campbell.”

“Yes, sir.” The chaperon dropped a curtsy.

“Miss Carter, will you join me in the formal drawing room?”

Molly nodded, and he led her down the hall before becoming aware of light footsteps behind them. Miss Dubois was following. Coming to a stop, he glanced back. “It is a private meeting.”

Miss Dubois’s face fell. “You conduct ze meeting alone, sir?”

“I believe that when two people are formally betrothed, the stricter proprieties are somewhat relaxed. Is this not the custom of British society?”

“I … eh … it depends upon ze family, sir.”

“Then I relieve you of your duties in this matter, and his lordship will confirm my decision. We may, of course, call upon you for public occasions should propriety require it, though I believe that unlikely.”