Cast in Shadows Page 3

  “I don’t know. Maybe nothing. But it’s a place to start. To have a chance of discovering a cure for your attacks, we need to know the cause.”

  There was a brighter look in his eyes. “You sound as if you think there’s a chance we can find out why I have these attacks.”

  “I can’t promise anything, my lord, but you will discover I’m very determined. I refuse to give up until we’ve exhausted every possibility.”

  He answered her statement with a nod of his head. “I think I’m very glad you came to Shadowdown, Miss Cornwell.”

  She smiled. “I think I’m very glad I did, too.”

  Then she left him so she could write down everything he’d told her before she forgot one detail.

  . . .

  Gideon placed his pen on the notebook at the knock on the door, and rose when his father, the Duke of Townsend entered.

  “Your Grace,” he said on a bow.

  “Gideon. How are you?”

  “Well, thank you.” Gideon stepped around the desk and walked to the door.

  His father glanced at the papers on the desk. “What are you writing?”

  “I’ve been working with Dr. Cornwell’s daughter. She is following in her father’s footsteps, and wants me to keep a log of my daily activities.”

  His father’s eyebrows rose. “To what purpose?”

  “She’s interested in finding a cause to my attacks.”

  His father’s expression turned hopeful. “Does she think something you do on certain days triggers your attacks?”

  Gideon shrugged. “She thinks it’s possible, and I have nothing to lose by following her instructions. The doctors I’ve seen over the years have exhausted every other possibility. We’ve never tried this approach.” Gideon gestured to the door. “Would you care to sit outside?”

  His Grace nodded, and Gideon opened the door to let his father exit first.

  The modest twenty-room structure where Gideon lived at Shadowdown was small compared to Townsend Estate, but Gideon would never complain. He was the only resident of Shadowdown who had separate living quarters. The only person, other than the staff, who wasn’t required to live in the hospital.

  The ‘cottage’—although hardly a cottage—had been built for his mother when she’d been brought here. His father had insisted that Gideon live here, too. He’d always be grateful to his father for demanding that he had at least that much freedom.

  That didn’t mean he was free to come and go at will at all hours, however. Just like the residential hall, there were bars on the ground level windows, and the doors were locked each night an hour after the evening meal.

  When His Grace came to visit, Gideon wasn’t sure what bothered his father most, the close confines of Gideon’s living quarters, the bars on the windows, or being in such close contact with his son and afraid that he would suffer from one of his attacks. Whatever it was, he always came when the weather was good, so they could visit outside in one of the garden spots. Today was no different.

  His father turned to step outdoors, then stopped to hand Gideon a cloth-lined basket. “Cook sent these for you. She said you’d enjoy them.”

  Gideon took the basket from his father and lifted it to his nose. “Gingerbread,” he said with a smile. “I’ll save them for later.”

  Gideon put the basket on the nearest chair and followed his father outside. When they were seated on a long bench in the middle of the garden, his father turned to face him.

  “I have a request, Gideon,” he said, as if the favor he needed was nothing important. Yet, there was something about his tone that said it might be.

  Gideon and his father had always been close. Gideon had never doubted that his father loved him, or that he wouldn’t do anything in his power to cure his son from his seizures. So starting his visit this way took Gideon by surprise. “Is something wrong, Your Grace?”

  “No, not really. But something has been bothering me for some time. Something I feel needs to be remedied.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It has to do with estate matters.”

  “Is there a problem with the estates? Are we in financial difficulties?”

  His father laughed. “Heavens, no. Money will never be a problem for us.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “I’m not sure you’ve noticed, son, but I’m not getting any younger.”

  “You’re not that old—”, Gideon started to say, but his father lifted a hand to stop his words.

  “I’m already older than my father was when he died. Regardless, it’s time I made arrangements so your stepmother will always be cared for, as well as your brother and sisters, and that the estates will continue to prosper.”

  Gideon knew where this conversation was going. His half-brother, Benjamin, was five years his junior. He was at an age where he should be learning from their father so he was prepared to take care of what would be handed down to him. Except Ben wasn’t the heir. Gideon was. And his father was here to discuss what steps could be taken for his half-brother to assume the responsibilities that would pass down to the person who played the role of the next Duke of Townsend, even though Ben would never possess the title.

  Perhaps there were documents to sign. Perhaps legal stipulations to meet. Whatever needed to be done, Gideon would make this as easy for his father as possible. Even though handing everything over to someone else would be as painful as carving out a part of his heart, Gideon knew that because of his seizures, he couldn’t expect his father to want him to be the next Duke of Townsend.

  He rose to his feet and stepped a few feet from his father. “I know making this decision has been difficult for you, but I understand, Father. You can hardly hand over the Townsend dynasty to someone who teeters on the brink of insanity. If there are papers I need to sign giving Ben complete control, have your solicitors deliver them. I’ll gladly sign anything that needs a signature.”

  “Is that what you think?” His father rose to his feet and stood beside him. “That I intend to let Benjamin assume the position and the responsibilities that are yours?”

  Gideon turned. When he looked at his father it was like looking into a mirror. He resembled his father more than any of his siblings did. He had his father’s dark hair, and towering height, and dark eyes. The children his father had with Gideon’s stepmother were not nearly so dark. They had light hair and fair complexions. “Of course,” Gideon answered. “Ben is your heir as much as I am. We simply had different mothers.”

  “Benjamin is not the heir to the Townsend dukedom, Gideon. You are. You were my firstborn. You will possess the title of the Duke of Townsend to your dying day.”

  “Yes, but—”

  His father’s hand lifted again. “I know what you are going to say, but your illness doesn’t exclude you from being the next Duke of Townsend. I love all of my children equally. But you are special because you were my first. And you are my heir. I loved your mother dearly, but she suffered from a sickness I didn’t understand. I didn’t expect to marry again when she died, but then I married Ernesta. I’d known her for years. She and your mother were the best of friends. She filled a void I thought would never be filled. And, she gave me three more children. Children that I love dearly.”

  His father paused, then locked his hands behind his back. There was a smile on his face. “But you are my heir. You are the one who will be responsible for caring for your stepmother, and your brother and sisters in the future. You will oversee the tenants and the land.”

  “What about Ben?”

  The grin on his father’s face broadened. “Benjamin is in London enjoying the Season. He enjoys being a part of the social scene nearly as much as your stepmother does. As you know, Her Grace and I just returned from spending several weeks there and I got a first-hand glimpse of just how much your brother is enjoying himself.”

  Gideon couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Thankfully, Her Grace doesn’t realize all her son is up to, but she gets
reports from her network of spies that Benjamin is cutting quite a swath through the ton. So far, however, he’s avoided being linked with any reprehensible characters, although he does seem to like certain ladies with questionable reputations far too much.”

  Gideon laughed again. If ever two brothers were opposite, he and Ben fit that description. Ben had never been serious about anything. Gideon was serious about everything. If anyone would enjoy London at the height of the Season, it would be Ben.

  Without a doubt, Ben took after his mother. The duchess lived and breathed to be a part of Society. She reveled in the lofty position marriage to the Duke of Townsend had provided her. No one took advantage of being a duchess like Her Grace.

  “That will change next year when your sisters have their come-out,” his father continued. “Her Grace will be in London the entire Season, and you can count on her to make sure Benjamin finds a perfect match, along with Winnie and Anne. Then your younger brother had better watch out. His carefree days of bachelorhood will come to an end.”

  “I’ll be sure to put him on notice,” Gideon said on a laugh.

  The Duke of Townsend smiled as they walked down the path that led around the grounds. Gideon walked beside him.

  “But we’ve gotten away from the reason I came,” His Grace said. “That is to inform you that it’s time you learned what all is involved in managing the estates.”

  Gideon stopped. “You want me to manage your estates?”

  “They will be yours someday. You need to become familiar with the running of them.”

  “Have you forgotten where I am, Father? How can I—?”

  “You know every inch of Townsend land. Until you came here, you accompanied me nearly every day when I visited our tenants. You sat in on most of the meetings I had with my land steward. I was training you then to take over. I intend to continue your training now.”

  “But that was nearly ten years ago.”

  “Nothing much has changed. The same tenants are there, or their relatives. Even the same land steward.”

  Gideon thought for several moments. He’d been trained to step into his father’s shoes from the day he’d been born. But when the seizures continued, he doubted his father would want him to take over. He had Ben, after all. But his father wanted him. He wanted his rightful heir to assume the responsibilities that went with the title. Gideon couldn’t explain the emotion that swelled within him.

  “How would you like me to begin?” he asked. His father’s form swam before him and he knew his father had to see the depth of his feelings.

  “I want you to look at the estate books. They cover transactions for the seven estates that are part of the Townsend holdings. I will send them in a day or two. Study them. Familiarize yourself with each of them. With the changes that have been made. With the improvements.”

  Gideon nodded.

  His father stepped close to him and clasped his fingers around Gideon’s upper arms. “You are my son. My heir. Never doubt it.”

  “Thank you, Father.”

  The Duke of Townsend ended their discussion, and bid Gideon farewell with a sharp nod of his head, then he turned and walked away.

  Gideon couldn’t explain the emotions that swirled inside him. The happiness. The pride. The satisfaction. The sense of worth.

  When a footman delivered the ledgers two days later, Gideon couldn’t wait to begin work on them. He spent the entire evening poring over the estate records. Only when the numbers swam before his eyes, did he lay down his pen.

  The moment he rose to his feet, he realized something was wrong. His heart pumped wildly in his chest. His body felt as if it was on fire, and an all-consuming heat suffocated him.

  An unbearable pain exploded inside his head and he clutched at his temples to keep his head from bursting.

  With a loud cry, he lashed out.

  Furniture overturned, the papers on his desk flew to the floor, and the glass of water from which he’d been drinking shattered against the wall.

  It had been nearly three weeks since his last attack, but the number of days between seizures didn’t matter. The severity did, and this one was worse than any of the ones before.

  Gideon threw himself to the floor when he could stand the pain no longer, and knew nothing more.

  CHAPTER 3

  Eve raced across the grounds of Shadowdown. Even though it was after midnight, she’d told the staff that if—when Lord Sheffield suffered another attack, she wanted to be informed immediately. Word came long after she and her father had retired for the evening.

  “You didn’t have to come with me,” she told her father as they hurried down the path that took them to the private cottage where Lord Sheffield lived.

  “If you think I’d let you near Sheffield during one of his attacks without me being there too, you don’t know me very well at all.”

  “I’m sure the staff has him confined by now.”

  “That doesn’t matter. He’s still dangerous when he suffers one of his seizures.”

  “Have you ever been with him when one of the attacks starts? At the very beginning?”

  “Once,” her father answered. “It wasn’t pleasant. For me. Or for him.”

  They’d reached the cottage and stepped through the open door.

  Eve’s chest tightened. It was one thing to see and talk with the young and vibrant Lord Sheffield. Another altogether to see that same intelligent man not in control of himself as he struggled against the straps that confined him to the bed.

  Both Thomas and Matthew were in the cottage with Lord Sheffield. Thomas stood on the right side of the bed and Matthew on the left. Both had their weight pressed against his lordship in an effort to keep him from hurting them or himself.

  “Were you here when his attack began?” she asked the two men. Both shook their heads.

  “I was on my way to the asylum when I heard a crash from inside the cottage,” Matthew said. “I knew it would take the both of us to hold Lord Sheffield down so I called for Thomas and we came as fast as we could.”

  Eve removed her cloak and gloves, then rushed to the bedside and dampened a cloth in the cool water. “What time is it, Papa?”

  Dr. Cornwell pulled his watch from his pocket. “Forty minutes past the midnight hour.”

  She knelt beside the bed and placed the cloth on his forehead.

  “Keep clear of him, Eve,” her father said, but there were several things she wanted to find out. And she couldn’t determine any of them from across the room. One was if the Marquess of Sheffield was cognizant enough to be talked into calming down.

  “Papa, there’s a notebook here somewhere. Find it and write down any reaction you see while I talk to him.” She focused on her patient. “Lord Sheffield, can you hear me?”

  His struggles weren’t affected by her words. Or by her voice.

  “It’s all right, my lord. We’re with you. We won’t let anything happen to you.”

  His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides and she wanted to place her hand in his and hold him, reassure him that she was there. But the power of his grasp warned her that in his state he might crush her fingers. Instead, she placed her palm against his cheek and spoke softly in his ear.

  He fought her contact, fought any attempt she or Thomas or Matthew made to calm him. It was as if he were under the power of something more powerful than anything his mind or body could fight.

  She lifted one eyelid and studied his gaze. “Unfocused,” she said, knowing her father would take down her descriptions. “Pupils dilated, blank stare.” She placed her hand on his forehead. “No apparent fever.”

  When she’d listed all the physical descriptions she thought might be important, she placed her fingertips against the vein in his wrist and tried to count his heartbeats. “Oh, my God,” she whispered. “Stay with us, my lord. Breathe deeply. Slow. Steady. Calm.”

  Over and over she repeated the words. Hoping the tone of her voice would calm him. But for more than an hour he s
truggled to escape the hands and bindings holding him. “Lord Sheffield, can you hear me? I’m here with you. Dr. Cornwell is here, too. Try to remain calm. This will be over soon.”

  Gradually he weakened, and his attempts to free himself grew less frantic, as if the tentacles of whatever poison possessed him was letting loose.

  Eve continued to console him, continued to place cool, damp cloths on his face. Continued to wipe the perspiration from his brow.

  When he finally gave up his fight against the demons that seized him, he fell into a deep slumber. Only then did Eve rise from beside the bed.

  She rolled her stiff shoulders, then rubbed her aching knees. “What time is it?”

  “Nearly four in the morning,” her father answered.

  “More than three hours,” she said. “I’ve never seen a seizure last so long, have you?”

  Her father shook his head.

  Eve turned to the two weary men who’d held the marquess down all this time. “You may leave now,” she said.

  “Are you sure, miss?” Thomas asked.

  “Yes, Thomas. The worst is over. He’ll sleep now.”

  “Thank you, miss,” they said making their way to the door.

  “Don’t come in early,” she added.

  Smiles lit their faces. “Thank you, miss,” they answered, then left Lord Sheffield’s cottage.

  “What do you think, Father?” she asked when they were alone. She took a seat beside her father on the comfortable sofa and rubbed her eyes.

  Her father handed her the notepad with the notes he’d jotted down. “I believe I just witnessed the most painful exhibit of torture I’ve ever seen. The staff who has observed his seizures said how severe the episodes were, but mostly in terms of the fear they felt for their own safety. Their descriptions didn’t come close to accurately describing what Lord Sheffield went through.”

  “How long do you think he can survive such violence?”

  Her father shook his head. “I don’t know. The episodes have to be taking a toll on his body.”

  Eve sank back against the cushions. “I pressed my hand against his chest,” she said on a soft whisper. “I didn’t know it was possible for a human’s heart to beat so fast. Or pound so hard.”