by Laura Landon
She shook her head, then urged him to the large wing chair.
“Let’s hear this news, then. Whatever it is cannot overshadow the happiness I feel right now. Nothing can take away from how I feel to know I am free.”
Eve prayed that was true, but knew it was not.
When he was seated, she sat on the sofa opposite him, but this time she sat closer to her father. She knew before this was over, she’d need her father’s strength and support.
“I wish we only had good news for you, Gideon,” she said. “But we also have news that is not good. News you will find difficult to believe. But we have proof it is so.”
Eve lifted the portfolio she’d brought with her and removed the papers from it. Gideon’s mother’s journal was on top. She held it up for him to see. “This is your mother’s journal. I found it in Dr. Milton’s files.”
Gideon reached for it, but Eve kept it out of his grasp.
“Before I give it to you, I want you to carefully consider if you want to read it. You don’t have to. Your mother suffered a great deal. I can relate to you what it says so you don’t have to hear the details in her own words.”
“No, Eve. I need to know everything. If anyone can understand what she went through, I can.”
Eve found it more difficult to give him the journal than she imagined it would be. Finally, her father touched her hand.
“Give Lord Sheffield the journal, Eve. He needs to read for himself what his mother wrote.”
Eve rose, then stepped in front of him. She still had the journal pressed to her breast. She hadn’t thought it would be so difficult to hand it over to him. “You need to read this without an audience, but you will not be alone. Father and I will be outside. Call when you need us.”
“Are your words intended to frighten me, or warn me?” he asked rising to his feet.
“Neither. They are to prepare you. There is much in your mother’s journal that will give you insight into what a remarkable woman she was. There is also much you will regret knowing for the rest of your life.”
She placed the journal in his hands, but did not immediately release it. “I would spare you this if I could, my lord,” she said as she handed him the book. “But I can’t.”
More tears spilled down her cheeks as she released the journal into his hands.
Because she could not bear to see him open the book and read his mother’s first entry, she turned and left the room.
“We’ll be outside,” she heard her father say, then heard her father’s footsteps as he followed her.
And she left Gideon alone with the knowledge she knew would haunt him forever.
. . .
Gideon stared at the journal in his hands for several moments before he sat in the chair and opened the leather cover. He had so little to remember his mother by. Only a stuffed bear his father said she’d given him on his first birthday. But nothing that was written in her own hand, said in her own words.
He looked at the writing. Her script was neat, each letter perfect. Several embellished with a delicate scroll.
He placed his fingers over words that had been written more than twenty years ago, and closed his eyes. In his mind he pictured her features from the portrait his father still kept of her at Townsend Manor. She was smiling in the portrait. She was such a beautiful woman. She seemed so happy. That was how he wanted to remember her. But he knew that after he’d read her journal his memory of her would be changed forever. He’d know the torment she’d endured and how it had changed her. He’d suffered the same.
He started reading her first entry. It was dated June of 1832. He’d only been four years old. She’d been here, in this same cottage, for fifteen months, and she’d come here because she considered herself a threat to her son. She was afraid she would harm him.
He read of how much she missed him and his father. How much she loved them. How desperately she hoped for a cure so she could return home. He’d had those same thoughts. Had prayed for the same outcome.
Gnarled fingers of regret clenched at his heart. How different his life would have been if there had been a cure for her, like Eve had found for him.
Gideon pushed that thought aside and continued reading. He read how her dear friend Ernesta had come to stay with her. Had constantly visited her, bringing plates of gingerbread cookies, just as she continued to do, with such love and compassion, for Gideon.
He thought of his stepmother. How difficult it must be for her to see her best friend ravaged by a sickness that had no cure. How difficult it must have been for his stepmother to see the same illness repeated in him. How naturally she’d assumed the role of caring for him, just like she’d cared for his mother.
He had to stop several times while reading his mother’s entries. The sorrow he felt when she described the worsening of each attack, the fear at being alone, the terror of the unknown. Every terror she wrote about tore his heart from his chest. He’d experienced all of these horrors. He’d suffered from all of these nightmares. But for his mother, there had been no help. She didn’t have Eve Cornwell to help her like he did. But at least she’d had Ernesta with her.
He tried to smile. At least she’d had Ernesta.
He continued reading. The tone of his mother’s words turned darker. He noted the day she lost hope for a cure. The day she realized there was no possibility that she might get well enough to return to her home and her family. To her son. The day she lost her will to live.
He understood that feeling, too. How often hadn’t he nearly given up? If not for the loving support of his father, his brother and sisters, Dr. Cornwell, and Eve, he would have given up.
Oh, how he wished he could go back in time and be with his mother. How he wished he could hold her in his arms and tell her everything would be all right. But he couldn’t go back. And he couldn’t tell her everything would be all right. Because it wouldn’t. Not for her.
With a heavy heart, he continued. Her entries were dated July. He was nearly to the end. His mother would only live one more month and she would suffer an attack that would take her life. As well as the life of Dr. Milton.
Monday, the 20th day of July, in the year 1833
Edward came to see me today. I cried on his shoulder and clung to him like a helpless child. I know he fears for me. I know he doubts my sanity. I can see it in his eyes. Feel it in the tightness of his hold. It’s as if he thinks if he holds me close enough, long enough, tightly enough, he can make my sickness go away. But he can’t. It is too late.
Ernesta came to see me, too. She has been gone to London for nearly a month. I did not have a seizure the entire time she was away. But she is back now and so desperate to assuage my panic, so intent upon pretending all is normal. I made a pig of myself again on her sweet gingerbread cookies. I refused to eat any at first, but she insisted. She said everything would be better after we shared tea and cookies together. But I knew it wouldn’t.
I finally gave in and ate some cookies. Ernesta did not, but then she has Cook make them for me and cannot abide them herself. My one true friend.
Why is it that she never eats any of the cookies?
The oddness that flickered across her eyes when I broke a cookie in half and tried to tempt her to join me was…unsettling.
I chastise myself for a fleeting suspicion of my dearest friend. How dare I fear that she is trying to harm me.
Gideon paused. His heart raced inside his chest. A disturbing heaviness settled around him. Was her sanity slipping? Or…
He took in a ragged breath, then continued reading. Slower now. As if to absorb every word.
Tuesday, the 21st day of July, in the year 1833
I suffered another seizure last night. The worst one yet. I want to tell Dr. Milton what I believe, but I can’t. I’m afraid he will doubt my sanity for certain. But my fears will not go away. Every hour I am more afraid. I know this cannot be, but I am convinced Ernesta is poisoning me.
Gideon stopped reading. His mind was spinnin
g out of control. His first thought was one of skepticism, disbelief. Then a sudden rage engulfed him and he considered the possibility that his mother could have been right.
He reread the entries, starting from her first post.
My dear friend Ernesta has arrived with a plate of my favorite cookies
I suffered another seizure last night.
Ernesta came in the afternoon. …she left a plate of my favorite gingerbread cookies.
I suffered another seizure last night.
Ernesta has been gone to London for nearly a month. I did not have a seizure the entire time she was away. But she is back now and she brought another plate of gingerbread cookies.
Ernesta came again today. She brought…cookies…Gingerbread. My favorite.
I suffered another seizure last night.
The words swam before him, bumping, stretching, spilling their truth.
Ernesta has been gone to London for nearly a month. I did not have a seizure the entire time she was away. But she is back now and she brought another plate of gingerbread cookies.
Ernesta came…another plate of gingerbread cookies.
I suffered another seizure last night.
Gideon stared at his mother’s journal. He was consumed by a rage he couldn’t control. His breathing halted, then came out in a rush. No! This couldn’t be!
He rose to his feet, then doubled over at the waist with a pain as great as any pain he’d endured during one of his seizures.
“No!!”
CHAPTER 22
Eve heard Gideon’s anguished cry and jumped to her feet. She and her father ran from the garden into the cottage. She knew what Gideon had discovered. Knew he’d finished his mother’s entries and had come to the same conclusion as she and her father had. Knew his mother’s words had shattered his world.
She raced to the study where they’d left him and stopped in the open doorway.
He had collapsed into the large wing chair, shoulders slumped, his hands dangling between his knees, a look of defeat emanating from every inch of his body. His face was devoid of color. His eyes stared blankly at something, but she doubted he focused on anything. His mother’s journal lay at his feet.
“Gideon.” She kept her voice soft.
He didn’t react.
She walked toward him and stopped when she reached the chair where he sat. But she didn’t reach out to him. She was afraid to touch him. Afraid he might shatter like brittle glass dropped onto a marble floor.
When he didn’t move, she stepped back and sat on the sofa opposite him. And waited.
Her father walked to the sidebar and half-filled a glass with whiskey. Gideon took it when her father placed it in his hand, but he didn’t lift it to his mouth for several long moments. When he did, he threw the entire contents to the back of his throat.
He didn’t acknowledge them for several long moments, then slowly lifted his head.
Eve ached for him. She suffered for what he’d just learned, for the grief that consumed him. For the loss of the mother he’d just learned had been murdered.
He stared at her. His eyes contained a haunted look. His gaze slowly hardened until the rage she saw frightened her.
“She killed her?” he said, the words coming out as a low growl. Then he repeated the words. This time his words were no longer a question, but an accusation. “She killed her!”
He directed the words at Eve for confirmation, but she couldn’t find the courage to answer him. Instead, she nodded.
“She killed her!” he repeated again, only this time louder. “She killed my mother!”
“Yes,” Eve answered as tears rolled down her cheeks.
Gideon rose to his feet and refilled his glass. He staggered as if he were already drunk, but Eve knew he wasn’t. She knew the shock of discovering that his stepmother was responsible for his mother’s death had stolen his strength.
He lifted his glass to his mouth, but this time when he drank, he only took one swallow. He returned to his chair and placed his glass on the table in front of him.
“I know this is a shock, my lord,” her father said. “Both Eve and I read your mother’s entries several times hoping we’d misunderstood what she was saying.”
Gideon lifted his gaze. “How could you misunderstand? She spelled it out plainly enough.”
Her father nodded. “And Dr. Milton’s files suggest the same thing. His last entry indicates that he discovered that your stepmother was poisoning your mother. He was going to take her away to protect her. That notation was dated the day on which he was killed.”
Eve opened the folder where she’d kept Dr. Milton’s notes and handed it to Gideon.
She watched him read the words and saw his expression turn even blacker. His eyes narrowed. His jaw clenched tight while the muscles on either side of his mouth knotted. When he lifted his head, there was a fury in his gaze that frightened her.
“Everyone thinks my mother killed Dr. Milton during one of her seizures, but she didn’t, did she?”
“It’s impossible to know for sure,” her father answered. “But it’s possible that she didn’t. It’s possible that your stepmother killed Dr. Milton and made it appear as though your mother committed the crime.”
Her father turned his head and looked at her. Eve knew he wanted her to tell Gideon her suspicions.
Eve cleared her throat. “Dr. Milton was killed with a knife,” she said. “You know yourself that knives are not allowed here. If Lettie needs a knife to cut any of her pastries, she has to bring one with her, then take it when she leaves. The staff checks regularly to make sure there isn’t anything that our residents could use to hurt themselves. I’m sure it was the same when your mother was here.”
“That means my stepmother brought the knife with her when she came. She arrived intending to kill Dr. Milton.”
Eve nodded. “Or your mother,” she said more softly. “Do you know why she would want to kill your mother?”
Gideon raked a hand over his face. “There could be several reasons: To become Duchess of Townsend. To gain status in Society. To marry my father and have a son who would be the next Duke of Townsend. Nothing has ever been more important to Ernesta than her place in Society.”
Gideon rose from his chair and paced to the other side of the room. His steps were long and angry and covered the length of the room as if eating up the space in incensed bites. When he reached the massive oak desk, he braced his palms atop the shiny surface. He dropped his head between his outstretched arms and remained there with shoulders slumped in defeat. The man who’d always appeared so strong and determined, so courageous and self-reliant, now appeared alone and defeated.
Eve rose from the sofa and walked to him. When she reached him, she leaned her head against his shoulder. The muscles in his arms were hard and tight, but she wrapped her arms around him to show him that she was there for him.
In a move filled with desperation, he turned, then pulled her against him.
He wound his arms around her and buried his face into the crook of her neck.
They stood locked in each other’s embrace for several long moments. He needed her. Although he’d told her often that he did, today she felt as if she was truly an essential part of his life. As if he couldn’t survive this without her.
“What are you going to do?” she whispered when his grip loosened.
He didn’t answer her at first, then he shook his head. “I don’t know.”
She stayed in his arms until he slowly released her, and she stepped back.
Her father rose to his feet. “I need to return to Shadowdown. Will you be all right, my lord?”
Gideon nodded.
“Please feel free to send for me if you need anything at all,” her father added.
Gideon stepped toward her father and extended his hand. “Thank you, Dr. Cornwell. Although it may not appear so right now, I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me.”
Her father shook the Marquess of Shef
field’s hand. “I only wish we had better news.”
Gideon nodded.
Before her father left, he cast a glance in her direction. She followed him to the front entrance, then stepped outside with him.
“I know you don’t want to leave him, Eve. But be careful.”
She was surprised by her father’s warning. Did he think Lord Sheffield would harm her?
“Are you telling me I should be afraid of his lordship?”
“Not physically,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s not your body I worry over. It’s your heart.”
Eve tried to smile but knew she failed. “Your concern comes too late, Papa. I’ve already given him my heart knowing full well that his heart will never belong to me.”
Her father hugged her closely. “I wish I could have protected you better,” he said, then released her.
She watched him go, knowing there was nothing either of them could have done to change this moment.
When her father was no longer in sight, she went back inside. Gideon stood in front of the window, looking out onto the flower garden. The blossoms burst with lush color, seeming to captivate him.
“My mother planted these,” he said, somehow knowing she’d returned. “Lettie told me how much she loved flowers. When she came here to live, Father employed a gardener to take care of the grounds. Lettie said she spent hours out of doors helping him.”
Eve stepped close to him and he wrapped his arms around her shoulder. He pulled her close to him. She went willingly.
“She loved Father so much. And she loved me. And I never got to show her how much I loved her. My stepmother stole my mother’s love from me.”
His arm tightened around her shoulder and she turned into him. She buried her face against his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist.
“How could she have done that, Eve? How could she have watched my mother suffer like that? How can she live with herself knowing how much suffering she caused my mother?”