Sweet Deception (45 page)

How Penelope wished her cousin was here with her now, but she was far into her second confinement and hadn’t been able to travel. Pen chewed her lip, trying to imagine how Liliana would have handled Mr. Allen. She took a deep breath through her nose and stiffened her spine. Well, she didn’t know exactly what Liliana would have done, but Penelope knew how her own mother would have handled the man if this were a domestic situation. And since it involved her family, she supposed it was.

She adopted her best “lady of the house” tone, all clipped and commanding. “
However
, it is my understanding that Vickering Place is a
private
sanatorium. Your guests are here voluntarily, at the behest of their families, are they not?” She raised both brows now, staring Allen down. “At their very
expensive
behest.”

At his stiff nod, Penelope could almost taste her victory. She reached into her greatcoat, efficiently pulling out a packet of letters from her husband’s family, detailing their wishes. Her hand trembled a bit as she leaned forward and handed them across the desk. “Then I expect to see my—his lordship immediately. In whatever condition he may be in.”

It was Allen’s turn to purse his lips, which thinned to the point of almost disappearing as he skimmed the letters. Disapproval lined his features but all he said was, “Very well.”

Penelope gave the director a curt nod and rose to her feet. She exited the office on her own, not waiting to see if he followed. He did, of course. Couldn’t risk the little lady wandering about the sanatorium on her own, could he?

“This way, my lady.” Allen rattled a heavy set of keys, plucking the head of one between his fingers as the others settled with a jangling clank on the ring.

And that was when the illusion that Vickering Place was still a country mansion fell completely away. Certainly the flocked wall paper of gold damask, the plaster molding and expensive artwork that lined the hallway spoke of its aristocratic history, but Penelope knew that Vickering Place had been sold by its owner and converted to a private sanatorium for lunatics. A place where the wealthy sent their sons and daughters, or their mothers and fathers, for treatment, or simply to hide them away from society.

As Michael’s family had done to poor Gabriel.

Another howl rent the air, this time a man’s, Penelope thought, though not Gabriel’s. The cry was accompanied by a harsh, rhythmic clanking, as if the poor soul banged something against the metal bars she knew had been installed in the doorways.

An ache pierced her chest. She couldn’t imagine Michael’s
cousin in a place such as this. Though she hadn’t known Gabriel well, she’d sensed he was cut from similar cloth as Geoffrey, Liliana’s husband, and many other brave ex-soldiers she’d known. Gabriel had a commanding air, an independent and self-reliant streak that must have chafed against confinement. It had to be driving him mad to be locked up so.

No, madness is what brought him here.

Penelope shivered. She’d have never believed such a thing about Gabriel two and a half years ago, but he
was
blood related to Michael, and if Penelope knew anything, she knew now that Michael had been mad.

The affliction had driven her husband to take his own life barely six months after they’d been married.

Penelope’s steps faltered. Oh Lord. What made her think she could be of any help to Gabriel Devereaux? She’d been worthless to Michael when he’d needed her. Worthless.

Mr. Allen halted, as if noticing his footfalls were now the only ones ringing on the marble floors. He turned to look over his shoulder. “Have you changed your mind, then, Lady Manton?”

Yes.

Penelope’s chest tightened, her breaths coming with great difficulty as the horror of another frosty winter morning invaded her mind.

He’s not breathing! Michael!

Penelope shook her head, as much to dislodge the memories as to reply to the director. “No. No, of course not.” Yet her voice was much more assured than her feet. Pen had to force them to get moving again.

Allen fixed her with a doubtful look before turning back to lead the way once more.

She was not that naive young society wife anymore, Pen reminded herself. For the past two years, with Liliana’s encouragement, she’d thrown herself into studying
the inner workings and maladies of the mind. At first, it had been a way to distract her from her grief, but then she’d realized she had a gift.

People of all classes had often told her she was easy to talk to, so when Liliana had suggested she spend time talking to the ex-soldiers served by the private clinic that Stratford had built, it had been easy to say yes. And that one yes had turned into a calling, one that had met with some success.

Which was why Edward Devereaux had visited her in London and begged her to visit Gabriel. Well, that, and that the Devereauxs knew she would keep their shame private. She’d married into their family, after all, and they counted on that loyalty for her silence.

Mr. Allen stopped before a massive wooden door, its brass knob polished to a high shine. The director pulled the door open easily, revealing the heavy iron bars that barricaded the entrance to the suite of rooms that had become the Marquess of Bromwich’s home.

He slid the key into the lock, twisting it with an efficient click. The bars swung open noiselessly, too new yet to creak with rust.

Penelope schooled her features, trying to prepare herself for anything. She smoothed a nervous hand over her widow’s weeds, her mood now as somber and dark as the colors she always wore.

What kind of Gabriel would she encounter beyond that threshold? If his affliction was similar to Michael’s, he could be flying high, gregarious and grandiose, awake for days with no end in sight. Or he could be a man in the depths of despair, wallowing in a dark place where no one could reach him, least of all her.

Was she ready to be faced with the stuff of her nightmares?

Penelope swallowed, hard. Yes. Because Gabriel was still alive, still able to be saved. Whatever she must do,
she would do it, if only as penance for what she
hadn’t
been able to do for Michael.

Penelope stepped into the room, at least as far as she could before shock stilled her feet.

“Oh…my…God,” she whispered. She could have never prepared herself for this. “Oh, Gabriel. What’s become of you?”