Good Dukes Wear Black (9 page)

Manacles were surely not very comfortable.

The door opened then and they both turned to see a tall, thin man dressed in a finely tailored suit of black.

“Your grace, Miss Dauntry,” he said with a deep bow. “I am Dr. Charles Gideon. To what do we owe the honor of your visit?”

“We should like to pay a call on one of your patients, sir,” Ophelia said before Trent could speak up. “Mrs. George Grayson. She was taken up by two of your men at the behest of Dr. Archibald Hayes this morning. Against her will, I might add.”

At the mention of Maggie, she thought she saw a flash of alarm cross his countenance, but it just as quickly disappeared beneath a mask of cloying solicitude.

“My dear Miss Dauntry, I'm afraid that I cannot allow that at this early stage in your friend's treatment,” he said with a sympathetic grimace. “It is imperative that she be kept as calm as possible for her own health. You understand.”

“And a visit from a friend could cause her to become upset?” Trent asked, and to Ophelia's surprise, raising a quizzing glass to his eye in a display of ducal hauteur. “I should think seeing Miss Dauntry would have the opposite effect. Especially since Mrs. Grayson was not showing any obvious signs of lunacy at the time when she was apprehended. Were I taken away against my will by two strange men, I'd be quite upset indeed. A familiar face would be most welcome.”

Having never seen Trent in this mien, Ophelia watched in awe as Dr. Gideon's eyes widened.

It would not do to anger a duke.

Still, he did not relent. “You must let me be the judge of that, your grace,” Dr. Gideon said with an apologetic smile. “I am after all the man with years of medical training in the treatment of the lunatic. And Mrs. Grayson is a very ill lady.”

“If she is so ill,” Ophelia countered, “then why were there no signs of that illness in the weeks prior to her confinement this morning? I've spent nearly every day in her company and found nothing untoward about her behavior.”

“It is often thus,” Gideon said with a wave of dismissal, as if he'd no time for such nonsense. “There is often a period where only those who live in the same house with the lunatic are witness to the true madness. Mrs. Grayson's actions before her husband were enough to have him consult with Dr. Hayes about the matter, and that is sufficient to prove her illness.”

“But Dr. Hayes never even met with my friend before he ordered her to be taken up,” Ophelia argued. “How could he possibly know whether she is ill or not?”

“Miss Dauntry, I cannot explain to you the mind of Dr. Hayes,” said Gideon with a frown. “But I can assure you that I myself have examined your friend. She had to be sedated, naturally, considering how overset she was by this morning's exertions, but she will be well enough in a few weeks for you to see her and I'm sure—”

“A few weeks?” Ophelia demanded, shocked by his pronouncement. “That is unacceptable! I demand to see for myself that my friend is well. And I will not leave this place before I do.”

“Your grace,” Gideon said, appealing to Trent. “Surely you can reason with Miss Dauntry. Her concern for her friend is admirable, but in my medical opinion it would be highly detrimental to Mrs. Grayson's well-being. She cannot be upset at this critical time.”

“And yet,” Trent said, stepping up beside Ophelia, “I too cannot understand why you are so insistent upon preventing Miss Dauntry from assuring herself that Mrs. Grayson is safe, at least. It seems perfectly reasonable to me that if you fear Mrs. Grayson will be overset by seeing her friend, that it could be arranged for Miss Dauntry to simply peek in on her. She is, after all, sedated and I cannot imagine that whatever drug you administered is so weak that the mere presence of her friend in the room will cause a relapse.”

Gideon did not like being contradicted. That was certain from the way his mouth puckered at Trent's suggestion. “I have explained my position to you, your grace. I do not know how I can be clearer on the matter. Now, if you will excuse me, I have many patients to see before I can leave for the day.”

But before he could cross to the door, Trent stretched out a hand and clasped the physician by the shoulder.

Ophelia almost laughed at the doctor's audible gasp. He was quite willing for his own men to lay their hands on innocent women, but he didn't like being accosted himself. What a hypocrite, she thought.

“Not just yet, sir,” Trent said, turning the man bodily to face them again. “I would like to ask you a few more questions about your patient.”

“What?” Gideon demanded, not bothering to address Trent properly.

But Trent's next question caught even Ophelia off guard.

“What color is Mrs. Grayson's hair?” he asked casually, almost as if he were wondering about the time.

To Ophelia's surprise, the doctor's eyes widened in shock. It was an odd question, but surely didn't warrant the alarmed response.

“I…” Gideon's mouth opened and closed like a fish coming to the surface of a lake. “What kind of question is that?”

“An easy enough one to answer for a man who has spent the day treating Mrs. Grayson, I should think,” said Trent grimly.

“It was … that is to say, I didn't…” Gideon struggled to find the right words, but Ophelia could tell from his discomfort that he clearly had no notion of the correct response.

“Perhaps she was wearing a mobcap?” Trent asked. “So you could not see her hair? Is that it?”

Grasping at the lifeline, Gideon nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed repeatedly. “Yes,” he choked out. “That's it. A mobcap.”

But any relief he felt was quickly dispelled when Trent grabbed him by the neck cloth and raised him a few inches from the floor. “No, that's not it,” he growled. “Because you haven't seen Mrs. Grayson today, have you?”

Ophelia gasped. Of course! No wonder the man didn't want to let Ophelia see Maggie. He couldn't because she wasn't even here.

“Where is she?” she asked, stepping up beside Trent to stare into the doctor's terrified gaze. “What have you done with her?”

Clearly no longer able to keep up the pretense of being in control, Gideon shook his head. “I don't know. Honestly, I don't know where she is. I received a note from Dr. Hayes saying that if anyone came asking for her I was to tell them she was unable to have visitors. That's it. I don't know anything else.”

“Surely he told you more than that,” Ophelia said, scowling. “You're partners in this endeavor, aren't you?”

But Gideon shook his head vigorously. “No, I'm just the physician in residence here. I come every day and look after things. Dr. Hayes is the man in charge. He owns the clinic. He oversees all of the treatment. I just do what he asks. I promise.”

Realizing that the man was telling the truth, Trent set him back down. While Gideon rubbed at his neck where Trent's hand had been, Ophelia asked, “When did you receive this note you spoke of?”

“Around ten?” he said, frowning. “He said to expect someone today or tomorrow. And that I was under no circumstances to reveal that Mrs. Grayson wasn't here.”

“She was taken up at nine-thirty this morning,” Ophelia told Trent grimly. “Hayes was setting the stage for what would happen after she was taken up.”

“Where might he have taken her?” Trent asked, glaring at the doctor. “Does he have another place where he keeps difficult patients? Or some other institution where he might have taken her?”

“I don't know,” Gideon declared. “Truly. I only know what he tells me and that isn't a great deal. He pays me well to keep my mouth shut.”

“And so will I,” Trent said, reaching into his pocket to retrieve his purse. Quickly, he shook out a handful of guineas into the man's outstretched hand. “Tell your master that we came here today, but not that you divulged the fact that Mrs. Grayson isn't here. Will you do that?”

“Yes, your grace,” the doctor said, pocketing the coins. “I give you my word.”

“If I hear you've divulged the truth to Hayes there will be the devil to pay,” Trent said, his tone as sharp as glass.

When Ophelia took one last look back at Gideon as they left the room, she saw him collapse onto the overstuffed sofa, looking miserable.

*   *   *

“Where is she?” she asked under her breath after she and Trent were seated in the curricle.

“I wish I knew, Miss Dauntry,” he replied, signaling for the horses to move. “I truly wish I knew.”

“Perhaps we should search out Dr. Hayes in his Harley Street offices?”

Ophelia knew that she had imposed upon Trent's goodwill for the better part of the day, but she was desperate to find Maggie. And like it or not, his status opened doors that she as a mere lady could not.

But his silence following her question told her more than a response would have.

“Very well, then,” she said stiffly. “I will go myself if you will just drop me back at the offices of the
Ladies' Gazette
so that I can solicit the assistance of the editor.”

“Do not be foolish, Miss Dauntry,” he responded gruffly, as he turned to give her a brief glance before returning his attention to the horses. “I did not say I would not accompany you. But I do think it might be best to stop our search for now. It is growing late and I daresay Dr. Hayes has left his office for the day. Why do we not resume our quest in the morning?”

“I am not being foolish, your grace,” she snapped. “I do not wish Maggie to be forced to spend the night in whatever place Dr. Hayes has confined her. She must be terrified. And if there is some way that I can relieve that and find her, then I will.”

Trent muttered a curse, and pulled the horses to a stop. “Miss Dauntry,” he began, “Ophelia. I do not wish to discourage you, but there is something havey-cavey about this business. If it were as simple as your friend being put in an asylum, I would agree with you that all it would need is a visit to Dr. Hayes to see her freed. But if, as I suspect, there is more to it than that, it might serve us better to have a bit of strategy in place before we confront the good doctor.”

Ophelia scanned his face, looking for any small sign that might reveal him to be lying. But all she could read there was sincerity and perhaps a bit of frustration at her mistrust. Well, it wasn't as if they were the best of friends, she thought with equal frustration. Before today she'd never spent any time alone with him at all.

Still, Leonora seemed to trust him, and so did Hermione. And she trusted them.

With a sound of frustration, she looked away and said, “All right. You may have a point.” And as much as she loathed to admit it, it was getting late, and since they didn't know where Maggie was at this point, they would likely need to do a bit of investigation to discover her whereabouts. “My mother is likely wondering where I've got to by now as well.”

She looked down at her gloved hands clasped together in her lap. And to her shame, they blurred as her eyes filled with unshed tears.

Trent touched her lightly on the arm, then reached down to cover her clasped hands in his own large one.

“We will find her, Miss Dauntry,” he said quietly, his voice strong and clear, and she wondered if this was the sort of confidence he'd instilled in his troops. Because as soon as he said the words, she believed them. Believed that he would do everything in his power to make them true. “It might take a day or two,” he continued, “but we will find her and bring her to safety. I give you my word.”

Unable to keep her gaze away, she looked up then and was surprised to see something that looked remarkably like tenderness in his gaze. But just as quickly as she glimpsed it, the emotion was gone, replaced with friendly, distant concern.

“Why would you agree to it?” she asked, unable to keep her curiosity at bay any longer. “You do not know Maggie. And we don't really know each other beyond a slight acquaintance thanks to the marriages of our mutual friends. That is no reason for you to risk your name and reputation, and indeed, your own friendship with George Grayson.”

“You must have a very poor opinion of what it means to be a gentleman if you think one would simply go on about his business after learning that a lady had been taken away against her will,” Trent said wryly. “Not to mention saw another lady of closer acquaintance brought low from a blow from those same captors.”

“But you might have simply summoned the runners and washed your hands of the thing,” Ophelia persisted. “But you did not.”

He sighed. “You are persistent, I will give you that.”

They were both silent. And she thought for a moment that he would not continue at all.

But finally, he turned back to her. “My reasons are multifold. But the most pressing now is that while I haven't known him for long, George Grayson did not strike me as the sort of man who would sign away his wife's freedom and then go about his business as if nothing had happened. And I dislike being wrong.

“And then,” he continued, thrusting a hand through his short, dark hair, “there is this.”

And to her surprise, he looked her boldly in the eye before raising his hand to cup her cheek, and kissing her softly, sweetly on the mouth. When she opened her mouth in a gasp, he took it a bit deeper and she felt her world tilt as he lightly sucked her lower lip. Then, almost as quickly as it had begun, he pulled away.

A hand pressed against her bosom in a ridiculous pantomime of every surprised young lady ever, Ophelia knew her eyes were wide and her cheeks were flushed as she stared at him.

For his part, Trent looked both smug and rather boyish.

“Oh,” she said, blinking up at him.

“Yes,” he said wryly. “Oh.”

“I supposed that's a…” she stammered, searching for just the right word, “a reason.”

“Indeed,” Trent said before he turned his attention back to the horses. “So, be assured that I have my
reasons
for assisting you in the search for your friend. And for the time being, let's leave it at that.”