“This is an altogether intriguing situation.” She set the papers before Amelia. “Sign here as your brother’s proxy. You are agreeing that should he survive his injury to a state of health enabling him to marry, he will agree to marry a bride of my choosing.”
“And if he doesn’t? What will you want?”
The widow looked in Graham’s direction. “Perhaps I’ll take Mr. Blakewood’s agreement in his place.”
“No,” Amelia barked. Several heads turned toward them, and she shrank in her chair. “I mean, he is already betrothed to me.”
“But I may need a replacement. And you said you’d do anything, according to Mr. Chase.”
Amelia’s heart pounded. She put both hands on the table and leaned forward. “But not him. He’s mine.”
She sighed. “I need proper compensation. And if you don’t think you can convince your brother to uphold the agreement, I have no need for you as his proxy.”
“My cousin Nelson is available. He would inherit after my brother.”
She couldn’t see it, but Amelia thought she might have curled her lip.
“No.”
“Please. There must be something else that is in my power to give if my brother refuses the arrangement.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon was silent for a moment. The world seemed to pause as the Widow reconsidered. But it was too late now. The doctor was here. Amelia would hold him at gunpoint if she had to.
“Very well, you will be the guarantee.”
“But—”
“Not for marriage. Something else. Something more... interesting.”
She said it with a coy edge to her voice, but Amelia would agree anyway. She only needed her brother and Graham. Everything else in her life was negotiable.
“Yes.”
“Quill and ink?”
Amelia retrieved them from Sam’s writing desk by the window. Maids were bringing in extra towels and sheets. A cast-iron pot was hung over the fire as it was built up to the doctor’s specifications.
Amelia signed the contract committing to Sam’s marriage to a woman who was hopefully not terrible. Or, barring that, agreeing to some unknown future favor from herself.
The Widow stood, handing the document to Mr. Chambers, and Amelia escorted them both to the door.
“Thank you,” Amelia said. “No matter the outcome, thank you.”
The Widow nodded and left.
Dr. Bradley arrived on the heels of Dr. Sloan’s acquaintance, Dr. Avery Hanslik. After that, only the most essential people were permitted to remain in the room: Graham, still at Sam’s side, the doctors, one footman, who had experience in gory situations Amelia didn’t care to speculate on, and a maid whose father was a butcher. Everyone else was ordered away. The doctors conferred with each other, or more precisely, arguedover Sam while Graham waited to be told to leave or stay. Amelia waited by the door.
“This is a radical misuse of medicine,” Dr. Bradley was protesting. “To experiment on a peer is reprehensible.”
“I’m sure you’d prefer I practice on a ruffian from the streets whose life you deem less valuable,” Dr. Sloan countered.
Dr. Bradley blustered angrily. “I would never suggest such a thing.”
“You said you weren’t qualified to help Lord Alston,” Graham reminded Dr. Bradley. “Listen to these men and help, or get out.”
“I... I want to remain. If there is anything to be learned, I want to know it.”
Dr. Avery nodded in understanding. “This situation is far from ideal, but given the patient’s state, I doubt there is an ideal situation to be had.” He was an older man than Dr. Sloan, with streaks of gray at his temples, thinning brown hair across the top of his head, and spectacles. Dr. Sloan was young and might be considered handsome with his dark hair and dark eyes. He was tall, with a slim, blade-like frame. But there was something about him that felt cold and calculating to Amelia.
