chapter Nine
“Are you mad?”
Gabriel glanced incredulously between the normally sensible Penelope—who looked worse for the wear after their flight through the forest, with sticklers dotting her cloak and skirts and a stray twig sticking from her falling coiffure—and an old black carriage waiting at the side of the road. Did she think to kidnap him? That must be what was happening here. “Christ, Pen. One week at Vickering Place and you are crazier than I am.”
“Neither one of us is crazy,” she said, “but, Gabriel, we must leave here now.”
He felt three steps behind in the conversation. Indeed, he was still looking back and forth between her and the terribly small conveyance. Its driver was perched on the box with a bored look on his face, as if it was an everyday occurrence to pick up passengers on a back road who’d just burst out of the woods behind a sanatorium.
“Mr. Allen intends to toss me out. Today, if he has his way.”
“What?” He fixed his gaze on her solely now.
“He knows we spent the night in your bedchamber together, and he assumed the worst. He made horrible accusations when I confronted him the other day about how he’s been thwarting us. I tried to explain, but he’s been threatening me ever since.”
Shock gave way swiftly to outrage. “The blackguard—”
“The only reason he didn’t lock me out then was because I have the blessing of your family. But he’s written to your brother. I can only imagine the awful things he said, and if your family sides with him against me, I won’t be allowed to see you again.”
Anger fisted in his sternum. How dare Allen upset Penelope so much that she was willing to do something this foolhardy?
And yet would it be such a bad thing if Allen did banish her from Vickering Place? It would solve the problem he’d been struggling with. Surely Pen wouldn’t be able to blame herself for anything that happened to him then, if she didn’t have a choice about staying.
He took one look at the fiercely determined set of her chin and realized he was fooling himself if he thought that. She would worry, she would plot—she wouldn’t let it go.
Still . . . “Then I will write my brother myself and explain the truth. You’d be allowed back after a few days.”
“Maybe, but I’m not willing to take that chance. All it would take would be for Mr. Allen to convince him that I am a danger to you, or even simply incompetent, and it would be easy for your brother to justify the wisdom of staying with the status quo.”
A quiver of unease slipped down his spine. He hated to even think it of Edward, but last time Mother had visited, she’d groused that he and particularly his wife, Amelia, had become very accustomed to spending the family’s money in Gabriel’s absence. She’d gone so far as to say that if he didn’t get himself well and take back the reins of the family posthaste, they would all end up in the workhouse by year’s end.
Money, and the power it provided, could be terribly addictive. It mightn’t take much justification for Edward to decide Gabriel should stay at Vickering Place indefinitely.
And he’d become convinced he would never get better here.
He’d been thunderstruck the other day when Penelope was trying to explain her ideas about rogue associations. Her words had rung so true somewhere deep inside of him. Perhaps simply because he wanted to believe so badly that he was not mad, but it didn’t feel that way.
Months he’d been here, willingly subjecting himself to whatever treatments Allen and the visiting doctors tried. Nothing had worked. If anything, the gray cloud of melancholia hung heavier over his head—not to mention that the mania had gotten worse. But if Penelope was to be believed, if there was true hope for him to reclaim his life . . .
“We must hurry,” she said, interrupting his internal debate. She glanced worriedly at the tree line. “Carter is bound to have noticed our absence by now. There is no going back, not for me. So you’ve got to choose, Gabriel.”
Christ. What a choice. He no longer trusted that Allen had his best interests at heart. He didn’t know if he could trust that his brother and sister-in-law wouldn’t use this opportunity to lock him away for good. And he damned sure didn’t trust himself.
But he trusted Penelope. Not that she would be his savior, but that she would try her hardest.
Heaven help her. He was choosing her. “Let us go, then.”
Penelope’s shoulders slumped with relief. Had she really thought he could deny her anything? He was a fool when it came to her, though not as big a fool as she was, apparently.
She nodded and turned for the carriage. The driver, seeing they were finally ready to embark, hopped down from the box.
Hell. He’d been so caught up in the situation of leaving Vickering Place that he hadn’t much considered the method of accomplishing it before agreeing. He stared at the tiny conveyance, his throat tightening up. The damned black box looked like a hearse. No, he decided. A hearse would be bigger. This was a coffin.
He stared at the carriage door through which Penelope had just disappeared. The interior was dark, and with Pen’s dress being black as night, it was as if the carriage had swallowed her whole.
As it will me. The irrational thought shook him. He took a deep breath. He had no love of close spaces, hadn’t had since Waterloo. But the traveling coach had just enough room for one on the driver’s box, and a small man at that. The bench on back barely held another wiry man. If Gabriel was going with Penelope, inside it would be.
Best not to think about it too long. The carriage dipped as Gabriel levered himself up and in. The old coach had certainly seen better days. Though the sun still shone outside, the aged interior of the conveyance was unfashionably dark and boasted no windows. A pair of lamps cast feeble sputters of light over the black walls and worn cushions.
He settled himself across from Penelope, doing his best not to step on her skirts.
He tried desperately not to think of small, dark spaces. His chest tightened anyway. He widened his nostrils and tried to breathe more deeply, but the air was heavy and musty and did little to relieve him.
He looked over at Penelope, hoping his distress was not obvious. Thankfully, she was occupied arranging her skirts. Gabriel’s knees brushed against the black wool and she looked up, offering him a smile. He returned a tight one of his own, but shifted uncomfortably in the seat, pressing his shoulders against the thinly padded squab as he surreptitiously tried to stretch out a little. Christ, he could touch either side if he extended his elbows.
Pen’s lips twisted into an apologetic line, understanding. “I’m afraid this was the best I could manage on such short notice. I had to leave my personal conveyance prominently displayed at Vickering Place, so as not to raise any suspicions. My man has instructions to return to London after we are discovered missing. If anyone takes it in their mind to follow him, hoping he will lead them to us, he’ll be going the opposite of our destination.”
The carriage dipped once more as the driver gained his seat and again as the other hopped on back. A small jerk and they were under way.
“Headed north, are we?” Gabriel strove for a light tone, pushing the words through his closing throat. “I suppose it is too much to hope that we are for Gretna Green.”
Pen opened her mouth and then snapped it shut, a becoming blush of pink staining her cheeks, just visible in the flickering of the carriage lamp. “I’m afraid so,” she replied, pursing her lips on a smile.
“That is a shame,” he murmured as the carriage picked up speed. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “I’d always imagined if I ever made a mad dash north, it would be for happier reasons.” As opposed to stark raving mad ones. What was he thinking, escaping Vickering Place with Penelope? And did he really think he would be able to make it, enclosed like this, to wherever it was they were going?
“I believe this will end happily, Gabriel,” she said, leaning forward to place her gloved hand over his fisted one, which rested upon his knee.
He cracked one eye open, taking in her concerned look. Perhaps he had not done as good of a job hiding his distress as he’d thought. He vowed to do better, opening his other eye and pasting an easy, if not wholly genuine, smile on his face. “Then I will have faith in your faith on the matter.”
She smiled as well before letting go of his hand. He focused on that smile, ignoring the darkness that threatened at the periphery of his vision, fighting off his growing panic as the carriage rolled farther from Vickering Place.
It helped, looking at Pen. It always did. Her heart-shaped face was as smooth as alabaster. She had a delicate but stubborn chin, with just the hint of a dimple creasing it. What was that old saying . . . dimple in the chin, the devil within? Yes, well, Pen had certainly shown a strength of will he’d not known she possessed before. And a recklessness he’d not expected.
“How long have you been planning this mad scheme of yours?” he asked. Perhaps talking would take his mind off of the pressing fear.
She flushed. “Since Mr. Allen threatened me three days ago. I knew then I would have to resort to drastic measures. So when I went back to the inn that night, I made my plans and hired the carriage to wait for us there until we could make our escape.”
Gabriel widened his eyes. “These poor men have been sitting out in the elements, waiting for us to show?”
She gave him a wry grin. “Only during the days, while I was with you at Vickering Place. Just in case the weather broke long enough for us to justify a walk. But don’t worry. They haven’t complained a bit. And they’ve been well compensated.”
They must have been, not only to wait those many idle hours, but to be willing to liberate a lunatic from an asylum and ferry him to parts unknown. He wondered what Penelope had told them about him, what reassurances she must have given. Then another thought occurred. “What would you have done if Carter had followed us?”
Penelope’s face pulled into a slight wince. “I must admit, I’d counted on his laziness to aid us. I’d hoped he would wait on that fallen stump again. But had he not . . .” She gave a little shrug. “The coachmen were prepared to subdue him until we made our escape.”
Gabriel gaped at her.
“That part would have cost extra, of course,” she added.
“Of course,” he agreed automatically. He raised a brow at her. “I never would have taken you for the bloodthirsty sort, Pen.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I doubt it would have come to that. Carter doesn’t strike me as the sort to sacrifice himself for principle’s sake. I imagine he would have meekly allowed himself to be tied to a tree until someone came looking for us.”
He imagined she was right. He also imagined from the determined glint in her eye that if it hadn’t happened that way, they would still be in this tiny old carriage hurtling north.
He glanced down at Penelope’s gloved hands, which were clasped tightly in her lap. She wasn’t as calm about this course of action as she was pretending to be.
Damn. Carter might not be one to sacrifice himself, but Penelope was. Had she thought through the possible consequences of their actions? Gabriel shook his head as the reality of what they were doing settled on his shoulders, pressing in on him as much or more than the tightness of the space did. “Pen,” he said seriously, “Carter is probably still sitting there on that stump, grousing to himself, or more likely, snoring away. Despite what you said, we could go back—”
Her eyes snapped to his, and she huffed. “No, Gabriel, I know what I am doing.” But a creak of leather belied her confidence as her gloved hands squeezed more tightly together.
“What are we doing?” he pressed. “Or rather, where are we going? I assume you have a plan.” They certainly couldn’t go to his country estate—it had been taken over by Edward and his brood when Gabriel had been sent to Vickering Place. And as far as he knew, Penelope’s only residence was her town house in London.
“To Somerton Park.”
Her answer surprised him. “The Earl of Stratford’s seat?” Stratford was married to Penelope’s cousin, he knew. He also knew the cousins to be close.
“Yes, it is the perfect solution for our needs.”
He looked away, focusing on the wall that separated them from the driver. The only good thing about that idea was that Shropshire wasn’t so very far away. He’d be cooped up in this carriage a matter of hours, rather than days.
At least Stratford and his wife wouldn’t be at their country home. He knew the earl to be heavily involved in politics, and Parliament had convened early this year because of the Peterloo massacre last fall. That must be why Penelope had chosen the place. Still . . . “Stratford doesn’t mind us making use of his home whilst they are away?”
“Oh, Geoffrey and Liliana are in residence, though Geoffrey does come and go regularly, what with Parliament in session. But Liliana is due to deliver their second child in a matter of weeks, so they decided against going up to Town this Season.”
Gabriel sat up straight, banging the top of his head against the carriage ceiling. Damn it all. He leaned forward and rapped his fist against the wall, brushing Penelope’s shoulder in the process. “Stop this carriage at once,” he bellowed.
The carriage rocked to a halt, causing both him and Pen to sway into each other.
She grabbed on to him to keep from being pitched to the floor. “Gabriel! What are you—”
“You are mad,” he accused. “How could you even think of putting your family in danger?”
Her expression of surprise rearranged itself into an offended frown as she released his arm. “You’re not dangerous, Gabriel. You’ve not hurt anyone. Both your mother and Mr. Allen have told me as much.”
“Yet,” he said darkly. “Bloody hell, Pen.” He ran his hand through his hair, knocking his elbow against the wall with the movement. “It’s bad enough that you insist on being with me and all my unpredictability, but I refuse to put a gentlewoman and her children at risk. Think of somewhere else to go.”
She narrowed her eyes on him, her mouth tightening in a stubborn line. “We can take whatever safety measures you want. We’ll utilize extra footmen or even hire minders, if that makes you happy. But we are going to Somerton Park.”
The carriage bounced as the driver hopped down from the box.
“Listen, Gabriel,” she said fiercely, her pale eyes flashing green sparks. “I didn’t just choose Somerton Park because it is a lovely destination. We need Geoffrey’s protection. You may still be considered compos in the eyes of the law, but that offers very little protection to a man who witnesses would claim suffers from lunacy. You know as well as I do that your family can have you taken back to Vickering Place by force. Who knows what they are thinking after receiving Mr. Allen’s report? And once they learn we have left . . . All they would have to do is overtake you physically, and I would not be able to stop them. But Geoffrey can,” Pen insisted. “They wouldn’t dare come onto his property and try such a thing.”
He’d been free of Vickering Place for only minutes, but it seemed an eternity in his mind. Just the thought of going back, of being locked away again—no matter how gilded the cage—only intensified the trapped feeling he was already fighting. “How do you know Stratford will offer me sanctuary?”
“Because I already asked it of him and he agreed. They are expecting us any day. Both he and Liliana are well acquainted with the challenges men who’ve come back from war face,” she said. Her voice was probably meant to be reassuring, but in reality, it scraped him raw. “You couldn’t ask for more sympathetic hosts.”
Shame burned in his chest, mingling with his unreasonable fear. It crept up his neck, making even his ears hot. “I don’t want sympathy, Pen,” he bit out. “I want—”
The door to the carriage opened with a groan, and the driver poked his head through the opening. “Beg pardon, m’lord, m’lady. Is there summat amiss?”
Gabriel looked at the man, who glanced warily between the two of them. This was his last chance. If he went on with Pen, he would not only be involving her in this mess, but now her cousin and that woman’s husband. Did he have that right?
He could demand they turn around. And if that didn’t work, he could push past the driver and walk back to Vickering Place. His eyes strayed to the open door. It would be so easy. It was already all he could do to stay inside the coffinlike carriage anyway.
And yet Pen must truly believe he had a chance to be cured if she was willing to call in such favors. Could he turn his back on her and her family’s generosity?
It galled him to have to accept the charity of others, and his nerves burned with the desperate need to escape these close confines. But neither torment was strong enough to quash the damnable hope that Penelope’s faith in him gave him.
Gabriel gave a slight shake of his head. “No. My apologies, driver. Carry on.”
The coachman sniffed against the cold as he turned around, mumbling something as he shut the door. The carriage rocked as the man resumed his seat, then jerked back into motion.
“It is the best choice,” Pen said. “You will see.”
He closed his eyes, praying she was right.
As she watched Gabriel’s eyes flutter closed, Penelope offered up her thanks that he hadn’t balked. She’d seen the panic on his face. Had known he was considering going back, even if he had to leap from the carriage. She would have hated to order the coachmen to tackle and truss him up for the ride to Somerton Park, but she would have done it.
“There are other reasons, aside from Geoffrey’s protection, you know,” she said, determined to set his mind at ease. “First, no matter what else we may be dealing with, I know you agree that at least a part of it is battle fatigue, yes?”
He grunted his assent but did not open his eyes.
“Isolation only makes it worse. You need to be around other people, people who can offer social and intellectual stimulation and appeal to your rational self. Not only will Geoffrey and Liliana be at Somerton Park, but they employ several ex-soldiers on the estate.”
But Gabriel wasn’t listening to her. His face had gone eerily pale and his chest rose and fell entirely too fast.
Her gaze dropped to his hands, which gripped the seat of the carriage so hard they trembled. Penelope’s heart leapt into her throat. “Gabriel, what is the matter?”
His eyes flew open and beads of sweat popped out onto his forehead, glistening in the feeble light of the carriage lamps. He shook his head at her, as if to deny anything was wrong. But then he seemed to think better of it. “Can’t”—he sucked in air—“breathe,” he said, tugging at his cravat.
His fingers fumbled at the task. Penelope scrambled to help him, her own breath catching in her throat. She had to partially straddle him to reach him. She bent awkwardly over him, bracing herself with one hand on the squab beside his head. She used her other hand to pull at the knot until it gave way. White linen slid over her black gloves as she loosened the neck cloth. “Is that better?”
He nodded, taking in great gulps of air. His body quivered, tense as a bowstring against her. “Not even . . . a half hour away from Vickering Place . . . and I’m already descending into . . . madness.”
He tried for a self-deprecating smile, but his breathing was still too rapid for Penelope’s comfort, and seemed to be getting faster.
She’d seen this before. Many men suffering from battle fatigue experienced sudden attacks of nerves. Oftentimes it was brought on by a sudden noise, or a flash of memory, or being forced into a situation that reminded them of the trauma they’d experienced, whether they were aware of it or not. She had no idea what might have caused his. It could simply be the stress of the situation. Or the fact that he was leaving the perceived safety of the sanatorium.
Or . . . Gabriel had been acting strangely since the moment he stepped into the carriage. She glanced around at the tight, dark interior. Could it be he had a fear of enclosed spaces?
She framed his face with her hands and turned it up to hers. “No, you are not,” she assured him. If he truly worried that an episode was imminent, he would never calm down. Already, his heart pounded, his pulse visible in the hollow of his throat. “You have no warning before your episodes, remember? This is simply an attack of nerves, and it will pass. Just keep looking into my eyes.”
His gaze latched on to hers, panic glinting in his golden brown eyes. She reached down and found his hand, placing it palm down upon her chest. Then she returned her hand to his cheek. “Try to match your breathing to mine, Gabriel,” she said, taking slow, deep breaths through her nose and blowing them from her mouth. “Feel the rise and fall and focus on meeting the rhythm. In through your nose . . .”
He nodded jerkily and gave it his best effort, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled. But he couldn’t seem to get enough air and opened his mouth to take in more. His panic was intensifying, she knew.
She had to find a way to calm him, had to jar him out of this before he spiraled out of control.
She could slap him across the face. No. No, she couldn’t bring herself to do that.
So she did the next best thing.
She kissed him.