He mounted the stairs in quick steps and rushed to the hallway just outside Emmaline’s bedroom where two very different medical men were bickering in front of a grim-faced Kimberly and a greenish-looking Chris. The one dressed in the finest attire—Dr. Morton—shook his head with a grave countenance even as he bowed to Max.
“My lord, sad news, I’m afraid. Very sad indeed.”
Max waited, his entire body tightening as he glared at the man.
“Stop it, Max.” Kimberly huffed. “It does no good to seek advice only to intimidate him into silence.”
A fair point. He did his best to moderate his expression, but the truth was that nothing this day left him feeling particularly charitable toward anyone. Except Yihui, of course, who was the biggest victim in all of this.
“Kimberly, summarize it for me please. You have the best medical understanding of all of us.”
His English fiancée winced. “Taking care of dogs is not the same—”
“But it is better than anything I’ve ever done.” He looked at the woman he’d known since he was four years old. “Please, Kim.”
She nodded. “The doctor believes amputation of both her feet is the only option.”
The doctor nodded. “There is infection, my lord. And that will kill her for certain.”
Lady Kimberly continued. “Mr. Torres… He’s the surgeon. He agrees but feels that life without feet will be very bad for her. Very, very bad. He has seen several patients recover without amputation. The odds are slim, but survival is possible.”
So it was exactly as he had guessed. Miss Wong wasn’t expected to survive. He glanced into the darkened room. She appeared to be sleeping comfortably, but perhaps that was an illusion.
“How much laudanum did you give her?”
“None,” the doctor said. “She refused it. I fear the fever has addled her wits.”
“She said she’d had enough of that,” Kim corrected, her tone curt. “Her English is awkward, but the meaning was clear.”
“Just as well,” Mr. Torres said. “She needs her strength to fight the infection. There’s a balance to be found between pain and strength.”
There was no balance in any of this and everyone was looking to him to make a decision. He looked at Chris who was, as usual, listening to everything but saying very little. “Chris—” he began, but the man held up his hands as if warding off an evil spell.
“Do not look to me for answers. I’m here in case the duchess peeks her head out of her bedroom. At this point, I’m the only one who can keep her calm.”
That was true. His mother had a soft spot for Christopher, likely because he reminded her of her brother James. But that wasn’t helpful right now.
“This is a gamble either way, yes?” he asked the four of them.
They each nodded, though the surgeon looked thoughtful.
“Yes?” he pressed. Mr. Torres was a little shabby, but there was intelligence in his eyes and not one whit of obsequious pandering, unlike Dr. Morton.
“We can wait through the night, I think,” the surgeon said. “The morning will tell the tale.”
“Unacceptable!” snapped Dr. Morton. “To put his lordship, not to mention the duchess, through a night of caring for a foreign woman—”
“I can care for a sick woman,” Max snapped.
The doctor shook his head. “You do not know the kind of illness we are discussing, my lord. You have been shielded from the worst kinds of—”
Kim waved her hand. “I can stay.”
“My lady! This is not something you should subject yourself to. It’s very unpleasant, very—”
“I think,” Max interrupted, “that my mother could use your attention, Dr. Morton. Something to calm her overwrought nerves.”
“Yes, my lord, but—”
