Sweet Madness: A Veiled Seduction Novel (22 page)

Gabriel moved his towel over the horse’s back. “Yes. I think I know just where I’ll situate it. There’s a small waterfall that has a goodly portion of land around it. I may still decide to build with the steam engine in mind, as it does seem to be the way of the future. But the falls will give me options.

“Much depends on the cost, however, what with the need to build housing right away. I’m planning to start with cottages straight off, rather than barracks, as you did. Since I’ll be employing mainly women, many of whom will have children, I’d like to get families settled into real homes as quickly as I can. I’ll need to get a schoolhouse up, as well.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to manage that much expense up front?” Stratford asked over the back of his own horse.

“Possibly,” Gabriel answered. “The estate can support the initial phases. I’ve written to my solicitor, as well as to my man of business, to inquire about taking out loans for the rest.”

“Good.” Stratford nodded. “I think you have a solid strategy in place. When do you hope to break ground?”

Gabriel’s hand stilled midstroke, causing the horse to flick his tail irritably. That was the question, wasn’t it? It had been invigorating to make plans and explore possibilities, but the reality was that in order to bring them to fruition, he would have to leave the earl’s home and return to his own.

Without Penelope.

Just the thought made his heart clench. This time at Somerton Park with her had been sanctuary.
She
was the reason that he was on the road to recovery, he had no doubt. But once he stepped back into his life, he would be stepping back into it alone. He could not ask her to accompany him and live with him as an unmarried woman. Even for a widow, that would be beyond the pale.

But he had to have the courage to move forward and reclaim his life. “I’d like to get started this spring,” he said.

How was he going to manage without her?

Why should you have to?
a voice whispered in his head. After all, Stratford had told him more than once that he would have accomplished nothing without the love and support of his wife. He’d spoken honestly and frankly about his need for her to help him be the best man he could.

Gabriel needed Penelope, too.

But his needs were of a different sort than the earl’s. It would be unfair of him to ask Penelope to make them her own, even if she were the only woman he knew who could meet them.

Thunder crashed overhead.

Then came the loud splintering of wood and the scream of a horse. Gabriel dropped his towel and rushed out of the stall with Stratford on his heels.

A terrified stallion had kicked through his stall gate and reared up. Hooves flailed dangerously as grooms ducked and dodged to avoid being kicked.

Without thinking, Gabriel pushed one of the younger lads aside and stepped to the horse, grabbing the reins firmly. He’d had plenty of experience calming frightened animals on the battlefield. This was no trained war horse, but the stallion should respond to similar tactics. Gabriel pulled the horse’s head down to his own, talking softly as he soothed the animal.

When the stallion once again had all four hooves on the ground, he handed him off to the stable master.

“Well done, m’lord,” said a shaken groom.

“Indeed,” Stratford added, slapping Gabriel on the shoulder. “You moved so quickly, you were out of the stall before I’d even recovered from my start.”

Only then did Gabriel realize that the sudden crash of sound hadn’t bothered him. Only weeks ago, an unexpected noise like that might have thrown him into a fit of panicked breathing, trying to fight off the living memories of a battle fought long ago.

But aside from the normal acceleration of his heart from wrestling the powerful animal, he was unaffected.

He really was getting well.

Perhaps a marriage to him would not be such a burden to Penelope after all. He’d been able to help her in his own way—to slowly let go of her guilt, to discover the heights of her passion. Would it be enough to balance all he needed from her?

Only she could answer that question.

He was suddenly anxious to pose it to her.

He turned to Stratford. “Well, at least this storm gives us the afternoon to spend with the ladies, guilt free. Shall we?”

Stratford agreed with an eagerness that spoke of exactly how he planned to spend the afternoon with
his
wife.

As Gabriel dashed out into the rain to sprint for the back of the house, he decided that was exactly how he wanted to spend his afternoon with Penelope, as well. But first he’d ask her to marry him. Or even better, perhaps he would make love to her first and
then
ask her, while she was caught up in postlovemaking euphoria. Underhanded to ask her a question of such magnitude while she was in a moment of sated weakness, but he needed every advantage he could get.

Because despite the many hours they’d spent together, sharing intimacies both of body and soul, he still wasn’t sure how she felt for him. Not that he expected Penelope to love him as he did her, but what
did
he mean to her?

His darkest fear reared its ugly head. Was he just her penance—her way of making up for where she felt she’d failed Michael? Not that she would intentionally view him that way. He knew Pen cared for him.

But did she love him?

He took a deep breath. He supposed he’d find out soon enough.

Partway across the stable yard, he was forced to stop as a carriage came around the corner, headed for the carriage house at the end of the stable block.

Unease crept up his neck as he recognized the equipage as one of his own. As soon as the carriage rolled past him, he sped for the house, knowing the passengers would have debarked at the front of the manor and would already be inside.

It seemed his family had finally run him to ground. But who had come looking for him, and what was it that they wanted?

“—O
ut with my husband, I’m afraid.”

Gabriel heard Liliana’s voice as he neared the formal parlor where guests of Somerton Park were received.

“May I offer you a spot of tea whilst we wait for their return?” the countess offered graciously.

“That will not be necessary. We will be staying only long enough to retrieve my brother.”

Edward, then, Gabriel thought, still half a room away from the parlor’s entrance, but the openness of the rooms allowed voices to carry easily.

“And just where are you planning to take him?” Penelope’s question came next in that clipped, formal tone that brooked no nonsense. He’d heard her use it on Allen several times, and he imagined his brother was being subjected to the haughty stare that usually accompanied it. Edward would shrink beneath it. His brother didn’t typically fare well with strong women, and Penelope could be every bit the marquess’s daughter when she wanted to be. He smiled. She’d make an excellent marquess’s wife, as well.

“Why, back to the sanatorium, of course.” This from Amelia. Christ, what the hell was she doing here? “Where he belongs.”

Gabriel’s smile fell, turning to irritation in a flash.

Penelope sounded equally outraged. “I hardly think—”

“Good afternoon,” he interrupted as he stepped through the doorway. Four sets of eyes turned toward him at once: Edward’s, Gabriel was surprised to see, were not swollen and reddened with drink—as he’d become accustomed to seeing him—and oddly resolute. Amelia’s were shrewd and calculating. Liliana’s were merely curious. And Pen’s were both worried and clouded with anger.

It was Amelia who recovered first. “Gabriel,” she said sweetly. “Don’t you look . . . well.” Her eyes scanned him up and down as her tone and the purse of her lips said otherwise. A touch of heat reached his cheeks. He was dressed more like a laborer than a gentleman today—he and Stratford both, actually—since they’d been helping men in the village to erect the schoolhouse. Being caught in the deluge hadn’t helped his appearance any, he was sure. From the way Amelia stared at him, he’d wager he looked a bit wild.

Stratford entered the parlor behind him and went straight to his wife. After awkward introductions, Lord and Lady Stratford excused themselves.

Edward and Amelia looked pointedly at Penelope, but she held her ground, refusing to leave him. Gabriel was glad of it. He needed her near him as the outside world unexpectedly intruded upon his sanctuary.

“Edward.” He finally nodded. “Amelia. What brings you all the way to Shropshire?”

No one said anything for a moment; then Amelia cleared her throat in Edward’s direction.

His brother straightened his shoulders. “We were quite distressed when we received Allen’s missive that you’d been
taken
from Vickering Place.” Edward shot Penelope a hard glance, again surprising Gabriel. It seemed his brother showed more backbone when sober. Edward’s eyes returned to him, and Gabriel glimpsed the worry in them.

“I am sorry to have concerned you, Edward, but surely my own correspondence on the heels of his relieved your mind.”

His brother’s lips pressed into a hard line. “We were, of course, glad to know that you were safe. However, Vickering Place is where you belong. You know that. And we’ve come to deliver you back there.”

Penelope bristled beside him, but Gabriel put a stilling hand on her arm. “I have no wish to return. In fact, I intend to—”

“Whether you wish it or not,” Amelia interrupted, “that is where you are going.”

Gabriel sucked in a breath as Edward flushed at his wife’s rudeness. “What Amelia is trying to say is that we feel it is in your best interests to return. Allen says—”

“Mr. Allen doesn’t know the first thing about what is best for Gabriel,” Pen argued from beside him.

Edward lowered his chin and looked down his nose at her. “Allen is the respected director of one of England’s finest sanatoriums—one I might remind you, brother,” he said, cutting his eyes to Gabriel, “that you picked out yourself.

“Whereas
you
”—he turned his stare on Penelope again—“are not qualified in the least. I don’t know why my mother ever asked you to get involved.”

“Because I help soldiers suffering from battle fatigue—”

“Yes,” Amelia chimed in nastily. “Allen has told us exactly how you go about helping them.”

Penelope gasped as Gabriel saw red.

“That is quite enough!” he roared, startling them all. “I will
not
allow you to insult Penelope.” Edward and Amelia looked at him with wide eyes, and he sighed. “And I will not be returning to Vickering Place.”

“But, Gabriel, your episodes . . . ,” his brother protested with a frown, but the concern in his eyes seemed genuine.

“I haven’t had one in nearly six weeks,” he said. “The longest I’ve
ever
gone between bouts since they started was a fortnight. The treatment I’ve been receiving from Penelope is helping, Edward.”

His brother’s eyes widened and his mouth eased slightly, but then his frown resurfaced. “But Allen informs me that lucid moments are perfectly normal. That doesn’t mean the madness won’t come back unexpectedly.”

“Your brother is not mad,” Penelope said. “He’s simply suffering from battle fatigue. The horrors many of our soldiers experienced manifest themselves as wounds of the mind as well as the body. I’ll admit, Gabriel’s episodes were frightening.
Were
. But as he said, he’s gone weeks without one, and in that time, we’ve treated his other symptoms and will continue to. I have no reason to believe that he’ll ever have another.”

“He’s not mad, you say?” Edward asked.

“He is not,” Penelope said firmly.

“
I
would say that is up for the Court of Chancery to decide,” Amelia interjected. She snapped her fingers. Edward winced, but dutifully pulled a sealed parchment from his waistcoat and handed it to Gabriel.

What was this? From the triumphant gleam in Amelia’s cold eyes, it could not be good. With numb fingers, he snapped the wafer, opened the missive and started to read.

By virtue of a commission, in nature of a writ de
lunicato inquirendo
, under the great seal of Great Britain, we require you to produce before us the said, Gabriel Devereaux, to inquire whether he be a lunatic or not before twenty-four honest and lawful men of the city of London on the 27th day of March next, by ten of the clock in the forenoon, at the public house situated on the street of Piccadilly, commonly called or known by the name or sign of the Gun Tavern. Fail not at your peril.

Gabriel couldn’t seem to draw a breath. That was less than a fortnight from now. “When did you file this?” he asked, hating the scratchy whisper that passed for his voice.

“Nearly six weeks ago,” his brother answered.

“But your mother told me she would make sure no writ was filed until I’d had the opportunity to try my treatment,” Penelope cried.

Edward’s face went carefully blank. “My mother does not rule me, Lady Manton.”

Gabriel’s eyes went from his brother to Amelia, whose lips had turned up in a satisfied smirk.
No, your wife does,
he thought grimly. Amelia hoped to wrest control of the marquessate’s coffers. Once Edward had full power over the estate, she could spend indiscriminately. Edward wouldn’t stop her. Maybe he even thought his wife would remain faithful if she had enough incentive.

Oh, Christ.

“Edward, this was filed before you knew that I had recovered,” he said. God, he sounded like he was pleading, but he couldn’t help it. The very real possibility of being locked away in Vickering Place again after having just tasted his freedom—he’d rather die. “You must rescind your affidavit.”

But his brother shook his head sadly. “No. While I
am
glad that your episodes plague you less often these days, I do not think you are in your right mind. I was willing to let you rusticate here in hopes that you were recovering. But our solicitor now informs me that you have inquired about taking out
loans
against the estate. He says you intend to plow over fertile farmland and build some sort of
mill
. On Devereaux land?” He snorted in disbelief. “No, I must protect the family from your crazy schemes.”

A cold rage swirled through him. “It is not a crazy scheme,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, but he could see that his explanations would be for naught. Nor would any argument. Because regardless of what Edward or Amelia believed of him, it would make no difference. Amelia saw an opportunity. While she would not actually be able to call herself marchioness while Gabriel lived, she could certainly live and spend like one once he was declared
non compos
. And Edward . . . while his brother might have his doubts, he could justify his actions behind “protecting the family” and, at the same time, make his wife happy.

And even though his plans for the mill were perfectly sound, none of it would matter. Once the lunacy commission heard from Allen and the staff of Vickering Place, they would find him insane.

He clenched his jaw tight, fear and betrayal snaking over his skin, leaving him even colder. But he would not beg, particularly not when he knew it would do no good. “Very well. Until the twenty-seventh, then.”

He waited to move until his family departed the room. Then he headed straight for the sideboard to pour a drink. He sloshed two fingers of brandy into the snifter, then added a third for good measure. Yes, it was barely past noon, but if there had ever been a cause for imbibing before dinner, this was it.

He closed his eyes as the warm liquor burned its way down his throat, savoring it. Once he was locked away in Vickering Place again, he would never taste fine liquor again.

Just as he would never again taste Penelope.

Gabriel’s knees began to shake. He moved three steps and slumped upon a settee.

Without making a sound, Penelope appeared before him. She dropped to her knees between his spread legs and gently took the half-finished glass from his hands. She set it off to the side, then fitted herself against his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist in a bid to comfort him.

He squeezed her around her shoulders, dropping his head into her hair, breathing her in. He wouldn’t forget her smell—this blend of mandarin and vanilla and something wholly Penelope—for as long as he lived.

“’Twill be all right,” she murmured against his chest, just as she had their first dance, just as she had in Vickering Place. God, he wanted to believe her now as he had then, but he knew it would not.

“You have to know that isn’t true, Pen.” He knew what was to come.

She pulled back and fixed him with a fierce glare. “It will. I will testify that—”

“You will
not
,” he growled, taking in her beautiful face. She looked so young, so fresh and lovely today in a plum gown. Strangely, the color made her eyes appear greener than ever. They shone bright in her face. He let the vision burn into his memory, knowing he would gaze upon her often in his dreams. Hell, even in his waking hours, when he closed his eyes. She would always be his talisman, but she would now also be the way he coped with a life locked away without her.

“I don’t want you on that stand, Pen. If you testify, you know Allen will make the same insinuations that Amelia did today. You would be opening yourself to that line of questioning. And then what? Are you going to lie under oath that we are not lovers?”

A troubled frown kissed her brow, there and gone again, but he saw it. Reputation was important to a woman in good society, and she knew it. And yet her lips took on that stubborn tilt he’d come to love. Damn it.

“You know these trials are held in a public tavern,” he added. “It will be packed to the gills with strangers off the street, all trying to get a look at the lunatic, just for the spectacle of it. It will be even more a circus when they learn I’m a member of the peerage. Every bit of testimony will be twisted and turned as salaciously as it can be, all in the name of good entertainment. Printed up in the
Times
for all of your friends to read. Do you really want them calling you the Mad Marquess’s Widow Whore?”

Penelope flinched at his harsh words, but her eyes narrowed and her shoulders straightened. “I don’t care, Gabriel. I refuse to let this stand. Not when we can mount a very credible defense. I have detailed records of men I’ve treated. Dozens of success stories. I can get a few of them to testify, I am certain.

“And Geoffrey is an influential and respected peer. He will stand character witness. After all, you’ve been in his home for six weeks, with his
pregnant
wife in residence. No one will believe he would allow that if he thought you truly mad. He can also refute that your plans for the mill are a crazy scheme.”

Her earnest words broke through some of the chill that had settled in his chest.

“I have sat in on some of these commissions,” she said, “and yes, all of what you say is true. However,
you
get to take the stand in your own defense. If you come across completely sane and rational . . . well, that along with my and Geoffrey’s testimony should give us at least even odds. Don’t forget, the commission is made up of men like you. Men of the peerage—along with a few lawyers and respected members of the church. None of them truly want to declare one of their own insane if there is reasonable doubt. It would set a precedent that would make it easier to lock one of them away someday.”

He cupped her face in his hands, brushing his thumb over her soft, soft cheek. “And if I refuse to let you testify?” he asked, knowing from the determined glint in her eye how she would answer.

“I’ll do it anyway. I do not need your permission.”

“I could refuse to take the stand in my own defense and negate the need altogether,” he threatened.

She blanched. “You wouldn’t,” she said, but she didn’t sound sure. “Please say you wouldn’t.”

He pulled her lips to his, desperate to taste her. Beautiful, stubborn girl. She was willing to have herself branded a whore on the chance that they might succeed. For him. He kept up the kiss until they were both panting for breath, then eased back from her. This isn’t how he’d meant to ask her, but it was how it would have to be.