Madness (15 page)

Oh, she had never harboured any romantic designs upon Randall, even though he had been one of the most noted rakes in London and Paris after the war.

Michael certainly not, for he had been terrifying to her, the Grim Reaper, the epitome of the perfect soldier in the Peninsular War, hardly taking a day of leave from 1808 when he had gone over to Portugal with the first of the British forces in July of that year, until he had been badly wounded at Toulouse in April 1814. No, she had never wanted a war hero for a husband.

Yet, judging from the appalling scars all over Simon’s body, it would appear that she had might have got just that. Yet Michael and Simon were like night and day so far as she could tell.

Simon didn’t terrify her at all, except in the sense of wanting to be with him, but being painfully aware of her own shortcomings. Of course he would want and be interested in her. He had been locked away for a long time.

With her red hair and odd eyes which people said were like that of a sea-witch, she certainly didn’t think she was beautiful. Not compared with Lucinda, who was the English ideal, with blond hair, blue eyes and a delicate, slender beauty.

Gabrielle was thin and lithe as well, but her bosom had always been embarrassingly full, and her bottom too most definitely rounded and well-shaped, not suited to the straight hang of the gowns of the past few years at all.

But she also hated all the flounces and furbelows that seemed all the rage these days. Why on earth any woman wanted to look like a bell she had no idea. But at least the puffed out skirts distracted men from her bottom. Before those gowns had come into fashion, she had been pinched and subjected to even worse at the few balls she had been able to attend.

Well, now that she was for the most part poor, she didn’t have to worry about that any longer. Balls and soirees were in her past now, well and truly.

But that brought her to another practical matter. Did Simon have anything to call his own, even a change of shirt? Not that she cared, but if she was to help him, and possibly one day have a romantic future together, they were going to have to both work and effect a continuous household economy.

She made a modest competence at the clinic, and the little money she had left after her parents' and brother's death, and Lucinda's marriage, was invested well, she thought, her mind whirring down the blissful path of happily ever after as she applied some liniment to blackened eyes and bruised cheeks.

If she did her best to not touch the principal and let the interest accrue, the small sum would grow nicely. She could take in more work, sewing and so on, perhaps even be a governess….

She didn’t know what Simon had been trained for. She didn’t even know about his background, except that he had told her he had seen her in the past in Dorset.
 

He could not have been a friend of her brother, he was too old. Nor of her father. Too young.
 
A Rakehell, then, one of Randall and Michael's set from Eton?
 
Not close in age to Antony though, for they would have known each other, and Simon seemed older.

All of them had been to school together, were cultured, educated. Simon had the unmistakable bearing of a man of importance for all he had been humbled before her, naked, writhing in his illness and trembling from his lack of opium.

She wasn't sure if he had trained for any profession, or if he was monied, but he had to come from a family of some means for him to be so educated. Well, the main thing was to get him built back up, and above all, weaned from the opium. Once they did that, they could manage anything...

She drew herself up short there. That was
really
putting the cart before the horse. She wanted to help him, but was she the only one? He had to have a family, a home, people who cared about him, would be willing to help him. It really wasn't her responsibility. She would make inquiries and find—

“And this one needs to have—” Antony scowled down at his cousin. “I say, Gabrielle, do please pay attention.”

“I’m sorry. I've not had much sleep, and I’m worried about Lucinda. Can you go up and see her again just to be sure that the bleeding has stopped and all seems well to you?” she said, covering her embarrassment with the most convenient excuse she could invent. She blushed even more hotly with guilt over the little lie.

“I will in a moment. Just help me with this lady first.”

“Thank you. I was just contemplating what might have happened if—”

“Don’t think about it.”

She pressed her lips together and sighed, trying to refrain from voicing her fears aloud. In the end she couldn't help but say, “But the fact is that Simon came along when we needed him, and helped us when he could very easily—”

His face closed up again for the third time that day. “If this is another hint for me to try to find him, it’s a waste of time. We’re far too busy to—”

She put down the pot of ointment and dared to meet his eyes. “But you heard what he said. He needs opium. He might be tempted to eat the food and kill himself in error. Or on purpose," she added after a moment, recalling the incident the might before with the opium bottle whe he had begged he to let him die.

At that alarming thought, he nodded. “You're right. Of course. I shouldn't let a few obstacles stop me from pursuing the just course of action. He was clearly in despair last night, and you're right, he doesn't seem the least mad to me, simply ill. Just think about the madness of our late king, and how much could have been done for him with the right medicines.
 
All right, I’ll see what I can do.”

She flashed him a rellieved smile. “Thank you, Antony. Here, take these pies, and—”

“I know, I know. Fresh water and some opium if he's desperate.”

He went on his way with a brisk air of determination, but came back a half an hour later with a full basket and an apologetic look.

“Everyone tells me there is no such person. I don’t understand. I saw him, spoke with him. He was as real as you or me.”

Her brows knit. “Why would they pretend he didn’t exist?”

“I have no idea. I mean, it’s not as if you can hide him easily. He's rather large and distinctive looking.”

"Aye, too distinctive."

He raised his brows. "What do you mean?"

She thought for a moment before replying, "Doesn't he seem, well, familiar to you somehow?"

"Hmm, a bit, now that you mention it, but—" Then he shrugged one shoulder. "No, can't place him now. But he does remind me of someone…."

She didn't want to reveal all that Simon had said to her, so shook her head. “But even if he weren't a possible acquaintance, I just hate thinking of him suffering somewhere because of the opium and us being unable to reach him. Alone, cold, frightened, and worst of all, thinking—” She halted abruptly and blushed.

“Thinking what?” Antony asked softly.

“That we were repelled by him, or changed our minds about him or that he was at fault in some way.”

“But Gabrielle, he has to be in here for a reason. Why do you insist upon making him into some sort of, I don’t know, a kind of romantic hero?” he asked as he began to sort through his medicine bottles once more.

“I just feel, um, connected to him in some way.”

“He tiddled you when I was asleep, didn’t he?”

Gabrielle’s blush gave him all the answer he needed.

He looked appalled. “I can’t believe he would force—”

She shook her head quickly. “There was no force. I tiddled him just as much if not more.”

Antony thumped his head with the heel of his hand. “I can’t believe this! Gabrielle, what were you thinking? If I didn’t know better I would say his madness was contageous. What on earth—”

“I’m old enough to know my own mind and body,” she said, squaring her shoulders.

“But he isn’t!" he rasped, shaking her lightly by the elbow. "He's an opium addict. And he's been committed. Even if he isn't really mad, it makes no difference.
 
Don’t you understand? There’s no future for you! He had no legal rights, can’t vote or marry. Can’t sign himself out of Bedlam. Only his family can do that. He’s trapped in here for as long as they and the authorities see fit to keep him. He has less future than a man in prison, for God's sake.
 
Even they have a fixed sentence and a chance for parole.”

His words chilled her, but Gabrielle argued hotly, “He may have been unwell once, but is it not possible that he was only in here because of the epilepsy? Or the addiction, which he says was not his fault? You’ve seen plenty of women and babies at the clinic who take a tonic thinking it's going to help, and end up addicted to opium or alcohol! Don’t attribute it to some sort of character defect in him. It would be the height of hypocrisy!”

“Now I never said—”

“So if we can get his strange fits under some sort of control and wean him off the drug, why can’t he come out?”

“And how can you control his epilepsy?” he demanded in exasperation.

“He did say he gets warnings of the fits. We can make sure that he rests, does not get agitated—”

“You want to tie yourself down to an invalid and former addict? When your sister, is ill, and when there are thousands of other men who would give their right arm for—”

“I can’t explain it,” she argued vehemently. “All I know is he needs me.”

Antony shook his head. “If I were you I would concentrate on rescuing my own sister. If you have all the answers, then help Lucinda so she can get out of here before that child is born.

"And now, if you will forgive me, I am going to go tend to that man over there. I really don’t want to listen to any more of this nonsense. I have work to do.”

He strode away without a backward glance, leaving Gabrielle staring at him, wondering what had got into her normally placid cousin.

And what had got into herself for ever dreaming of a future with a madman she had just met in an asylum…

Antony was stunned at the force of his emotions, and finally had to admit to himself what they were. He felt more ragingly jealous than he ever had in his life.

He could not believe his lovely auburn-haired cousin was so smitten by a mad stranger that she would have allowed him to take liberties and was now speaking of him as if...

As if he was her intended.

Well, he would soon see about that.

When he was sure most of the injured inmates had been tended to, he told Gabrielle to tidy up their supplies while he went to see
 
Lucinda.

Instead he went to the hospital authorities. He stared at the attendant behind the desk, for he was short and portly, nothing like the man who had appeared to be in charge earlier that morning when they had been rescued from the bathroom.