by Laura Landon
“What conclusions have you come to?” her father asked.
“I’m interested in studying your observations before I venture a guess.”
“Come now, daughter,” he said with a tired smile. “I can see you have a thought eating away at you.”
Eve worried her bottom lip. “You are going to think me reaching for straws, Father.”
“But?” he asked.
“I don’t think the cause of his seizures has their root in a mental disorder.”
“Then what?”
Eve hesitates. “Could Lord Sheffield be ingesting something that we don’t know about?”
“Like what?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. A drug of some kind? A substance that triggers what we just witnessed?”
Her father countered her accusation. “As you know, all of our residents are closely monitored, Eve. It’s not my policy to use drugs of any kind here at Shadowdown. None are kept on the premises. Laudanum is the only opiate I use, and that to only a handful of our people, and only sparingly. Sheffield, of course, happens to be one of those patients. For the pain.”
Eve had already dismissed laudanum as a possibility. As well as any of the opiates. “Laudanum wouldn’t have such a violent effect.” She rose from the settee and walked to the bed. She looked down at the sleeping Lord Sheffield and took note of how deeply he slept. “What I saw wasn’t the normal reaction of someone suffering from a seizure.” She turned to her father. “You’ve seen many more incidents of people in the throes of a seizure. Did what you see match the seizures you’ve witnessed in other patients?”
Dr. Cornwell rose. “For the most part, yes. Except, of course, there were a few differences.”
Eve reached for the notepad. “What were they?”
Her father thought for several moments. “The pain,” he finally answered. “Seizure patients lose control the same as Lord Sheffield, but seldom do they suffer from such intense pain.”
“What do you think that means?”
Her father hesitated. “I know you don’t want to consider this, dear, as this is exactly what you are trying to disprove. But we can’t dismiss that Lord Sheffield may suffer from a disease of the mind. All the evidence we have points to that probability.”
“What evidence?”
“According to his family, Lord Sheffield suffered his first attack when he was only eight years old. That in itself eliminates the possibility of our patient being under the influence of a foreign substance.”
Eve breathed a heavy sigh. “You’re right, Father. But I have a hard time coming to terms with the fact that someone perfect in so many ways could be so terribly flawed.”
A frown deepened across her father’s forehead. “Be careful, Eve. One of the first rules of medicine is to never become personally involved with your patients.”
“That is the last thing I would allow, Papa. You know how long I’ve worked to make a place for myself alongside you. I would never risk jeopardizing that progress. Females have a place in understanding a mind’s sickness, just as men do. My goal is to prove to the medical world that women are just as viable as men. That we are capable of more than keeping a home and having babies.”
Her father smiled at her. “You already have me convinced, my dear.”
“I know I do,” she said, leaning toward him and kissing his cheek. “Now, go home. Morning will be here before you know it.”
“I certainly don’t intend to allow you to stay here alone. I’ll stay with you.”
“And I won’t allow you to remain here. You wouldn’t think twice about allowing a male doctor to remain unsupervised. Nor would you feel that you had to stay with Thomas. Or Matthew.”
“That’s different,” her father started to argue, but Eve held up her hand to stop him.
“Look at Lord Sheffield,” she said, pointing to the man on the bed. “How much harm do you think he can do strapped down, unable to move?”
Her father considered her argument.
“How can I expect the medical field to respect me as an equal if my own father refuses to consider me an equal?”
“You’re right, my dear,” her father answered, slipping on his coat and gloves. “Call out if you need help. The night guard patrolling the grounds will hear you.”
“I’ll be fine, Father. Lord Sheffield will no doubt sleep until at least noon tomorrow. According to the records, that’s his usual habit after one of his attacks.”
Her father nodded, then bid her goodnight and left. When he was gone, Eve rinsed the cloth in cool water and placed the cloth against Lord Sheffield’s face. The lines made by the pain he’d suffered earlier were still there.
She placed her fingers at the pulse on his neck and tried to count the beats of his heart. But his heart still raced so fast she had a hard time. Then she placed her hand flat atop his chest. She could feel the rapid beating of his heart beneath her palm.
After she wrote her observations in the notepad, she pulled a chair next to his bed and sat. She watched his agitated movements and her heart ached for the torture he’d endured. She tried to think there had to be a cause for such violent episodes but feared there wasn’t. What if there wasn’t a cure for his seizures? What if he was doomed to live this hell for the rest of his life?
She reached out and held his hand in hers, praying that if there was something she could do to heal him, she would discover it—and soon. The Marquess of Sheffield’s heart wouldn’t survive many more of these episodes.
. . .
Gideon opened his eyes and looked around the room without moving. Bloody hell, but his head hurt. His episode last night must have been one of the worst, which proved what he’d feared for the last several months: The attacks were getting worse. Eventually, they would become so bad that he wouldn’t survive them.
He closed his eyes and tried to move but he wasn’t able. His arms and legs were still strapped to the bed.
Being tied down didn’t panic him like it had when he was younger. As he got older, and stronger, there weren’t enough able-bodied men to keep him from hurting himself—or someone else. Restraining him was the only way they could control him. The only way they could protect the residents of Shadowdown.
That, of course, had always been his greatest fear: that he would injure someone else while under the influence of his seizures. Lettie had been his main concern when he was still at Townsend Manor. Now it was anyone who was near him when he had a seizure.
He lay quietly for several moments, then slowly turned his head. That’s when he saw her. Eve Cornwell sat curled in his wing chair with a quilt tucked beneath her chin. She still slept, but her eyes fluttered as if she was on the verge of awakening.
Her long, blonde hair hung in a thick braid over her shoulder. It was obvious she’d been called out during the night and had rushed to him before she’d had time to pin her hair in its usual style.
Her long lashes rested on flushed cheeks. They were darker than her wheat-colored hair, but not dark enough to be called brown. Her lips were full and lush, and her well-defined cheekbones added strength to her features. For the first time he noticed the slight upturn of her pert little nose and the charming dimples on either side of her mouth.
He watched her for several long seconds in appreciative wonder before her eyes opened and she looked at him.
“You’re awake,” she said in a voice heavy from sleep.
“Yes, I believe I am. But I’m not sure yet.”
“Would you like something for the pain?”
“Yes,” he sighed. “I feel as if my head might explode.”
She rose from her chair and poured a little wine into a glass, then added a small amount of liquid from a dark-colored bottle.
“Laudanum?” he asked.
“Yes, but just enough to ease your pain. Is that what they usually give you?”
“Yes.”
She walked to the bed. “Let me loosen the straps from your arms and legs.”
&
nbsp; “You aren’t afraid?”
She shook her head. “I’m sure the danger is over.”
When he was free, she lifted his head and helped him drink. Gideon didn’t want to drink so greedily, but he knew laudanum was the only remedy that would lessen the pain, and if he didn’t get relief soon, he was afraid he might go mad.
“Just lie still and try not to move. The pain will ease soon.”
“Lying still won’t be difficult. I’m not sure I could move if I had to.”
She straightened the covers around him, then sat back in the chair.
“How long have you been here?” he asked with closed eyes.
“Since a little after midnight.”
“How did you know?”
“I told the staff that if you suffered an attack when I wasn’t here that they were to come for me.”
He tried to smile. “You wanted to watch one from beginning to end.”
“Yes.”
“Was it anything like what you thought it would be?”
She hesitated, then breathed a deep sigh. “It was worse.”
Gideon closed his eyes. Thank heaven the pain was lessening. “They are getting worse. The pain is more intense. They last longer than they used to. And I don’t recover as quickly.” He opened his eyes and turned his head to the window. “From the angle of the sun, I’d guess it’s after twelve noon.”
She pulled out a watch from her pocket and looked at it. “Nearly one o’clock.”
“That means from the time the attack started until I woke was more than twelve hours.”
“When did you notice that it took you longer to recover?”
“Over the past year. The attacks used to last three to four hours.”
“Have you kept the log I asked you to?”
“Yes. It’s on the desk.” Gideon moved his gaze to the writing desk beneath the window. She rose and brought the notepad back with her.
“I see your father came to visit three days ago. How was your visit?”
“Very good,” Gideon answered. “I’d offer you one of the gingerbread cookies he brought, but I finished the last one last night.”
She smiled and the dimples in her cheeks deepened. “Are gingerbread cookies your favorite?”
“Yes. I’ve always had a fondness for them. Cook at Townsend Manor bakes them for me quite often.”
“It must be nice to be thought of so fondly.”
“Are you hinting that I’m overindulged?”
“Far be it from me to suggest any such thing.”
The smile on Lord Sheffield’s face indicated an easing of his pain. “Did you and your father discuss anything in particular?”
“Are you asking if we had a disagreement that might have upset me?”
“Yes. Did you?”
“No, just the opposite. We discussed estate business. There’s nothing I enjoy more. In fact, he sent the accounting ledgers for me to work on. They’re on the table behind you.”
Gideon sank deeper against the mattress. He felt as if there was a heavy weight on his chest. He was so very tired.
“You’re tired,” she said. “It’s time I left.” She rose from her chair. “I’ll send Thomas in to remove your bindings. Will you be all right until he comes?”
He nodded.
“I’ll be back later this afternoon. We need to take down notes of everything you can remember from yesterday. Everything you did. Everything you ate.”
Gideon couldn’t help but smile. “Still the eternal optimist, I see. Even after what you witnessed last night?”
“Of course,” she answered, “and I expect you to be, too.” She paused and looked down at him. “I’ll send Thomas right in.”
“Thank you, Miss Cornwell,” he said before she left. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do for me.”
She frowned. “But?”
Gideon was consumed by a feeling of hopelessness. And fear. “I wish I could be as confident as you. But I’m afraid I can’t. My mother suffered from the same sickness. There was nothing they could do for her.”
“Well, I refuse to let there be nothing we can do for you, Lord Sheffield. You are not allowed to give up hope until I give you permission.”
She emphasized her order with a sharp nod of her head, then closed the door behind her.
Gideon wished he had as much confidence as she had. But his mother was younger than Gideon when she died. And there was nothing anyone had been able to do for her.
CHAPTER 4
Eve walked beside Lord Sheffield as they made their way across the fenced-in confines of Shadowdown. They were on their way to visit Lord Sheffield’s nurse, Lettie. Today, Matthew followed them.
“Have you recovered from yesterday’s attack?” she asked. She noticed he’d rubbed his fingers against his temple twice already.
“For the most part, yes. Except for a dull ache.”
“Would you like a small dose of laudanum to ease the pain?”
“Perhaps when we return. I don’t want to become dependent on the opiate. I have enough problems without adding addiction to my seizures.”
She was relieved to hear him admit that. Even though it would alleviate the pain, Lord Sheffield admitted he didn’t want to become dependent on an opiate. That eliminated his use of any other substance.
As they walked, Eve scanned the area. “I’ve never been to this part of Shadowdown.” The grass was lush and green, the clumps of trees positioned to form perfect shady areas. And small beds of flowers dotted the landscape.
“Father spent a great deal of time and expense designing the area so Mother would love living here.”
“Do you remember her?”
He shook his head. “I was only three when Father took her from Townsend Manor. I remember coming to visit. At first I looked forward to seeing her, but later…toward the end, Father refused to bring me.” He turned his head and his gaze met hers. “If her attacks were anything like mine, I know why Father didn’t want me near her.”
“How long was she here?”
“She died when I was five. She was only twenty-six.”
Eve heard the pain in his voice. The regret in his words. “And Lettie was her nurse, too?”
“Yes. Lettie came with Mother when she and Father married.”
There was a warmth when he spoke about his mother. She was beginning to know and understand Gideon Wayland more every day, and the more she got to know him, the more she admired and respected him.
He had a disease that would have thrown most men she knew into a deep depression, that would have had them wallowing in self-pity. But Lord Sheffield rose above those feelings. He rose every day with a renewed determination to accomplish as much as he could. Whether it was chopping wood to make sure every room in Shadowdown had enough firewood to keep warm through the winter, or working on the ledgers his father had sent, or keeping meticulous record of every step he took, every person with whom he spoke, or every bite of food he put in his mouth. He was that determined to discover the cause for his seizures. That determined to find a cure.
If there was one.
“Lettie lives in that cottage over there,” he said, pointing to a small, well-kept structure beyond the fence. “It used to be the gamekeeper’s cottage. When I came to Shadowdown, I asked that Lettie be given this place because it was nearest to Shadowdown. I knew she’d want to visit often, and I didn’t want her to have a long distance to travel. Especially in the winter.”
“You’re very fond of her, aren’t you?”
He smiled, and when his gaze met hers, she was engulfed by a sensation more powerful than any she’d ever experienced. The strangely welcome feeling started in her chest and reached to the tips of her toes.
“Wait until you meet her,” he answered. “You will be, too.”
They reached the fence and Matthew walked ahead of them to unlock the gate. They stepped through the opening, and Matthew relocked the gate. Security at Shadowdown was very important.
; When they walked a little farther down the lane, Gideon pointed to his right. “There she is. She’s working in her garden. That’s where you’ll find her most often. She has a natural gift for making anything grow.”
They took the path that led to the cottage, and when they were almost there, the woman Lord Sheffield had only called Lettie looked up from her herb garden. A smile brightened her face and she came toward them with a lively step.
Eve wasn’t sure what she thought Lord Sheffield’s Lettie would be like, but the lady rushing toward them wasn’t at all how she’d pictured her. For one thing, she wasn’t as old as Eve expected. This Lettie couldn’t be more than in her mid-sixties. She wasn’t very tall, and had a pleasingly plump figure. A body Eve could imagine a terrified little boy would take comfort in having hold him.
Her hair was still dark, with only a few strands of gray starting to show, and she wore it pulled into a bun that rested on the back of her head.
The closer she came, the more Eve saw of her. A few wrinkles lined her eyes and her mouth, but there was life in her eyes, and a twinkle that brightened more as it focused on Lord Sheffield.
“My lord,” she said, holding out her short plump arms when they were close enough that Gideon could walk into her embrace. The Marquess of Sheffield was a tall man and he had to bend nearly to his waist to reach her. He wrapped his arms around the small woman and gave her a hug.
“My lord. How wonderful to see you.”
When the marquess stood, Lettie lifted her hand and patted his cheek.
“Lettie, I’ve brought someone to meet you.” He turned her so she faced Eve. “Lettie, this is Miss Cornwell. She is Doctor Cornwell’s daughter and she has been working with him at Shadowdown.”
“How do you do, Miss Lettie,” Eve said, extending her hand to shake Lettie’s.
“I’m glad to make your acquaintance,” Lettie said. “Are you a doctor?” she asked.
Eve smiled. “No, the medical profession hasn’t progressed enough to allow females into their midst. Miss Nightingale has just given credence to women in the nursing profession. I fear it will be a long time before we are encouraged to be doctors. Thankfully, I have a father who doesn’t feel that women should be confined to the home, and he has allowed me to learn from him.”
