She picked up the tool and gave it to him, then helped hold open the wound for better access. Florian slid the locator in, probing for the lead ball and other foreign matter lodged beneath the patient’s skin. She’d seen the procedure performed a dozen times before.
“He’s my brother,” Florian suddenly said, answering her question. He knit his brow and closed his eyes, allowing his sense of touch to guide him. “There! It’s not too deep, thank God, but there might be some fabric as well. Let me have the forceps.”
Viola handed the tool over and sponged the wound clean once more. She wasn’t too surprised to discover that the man lying outstretched on the operating table was Henry Lowell. His reputation as a notorious rake was such that even a nonsocial woman like herself could not avoid hearing of some of his exploits, like the affair the Earl of Elmwood had accused him of having with his wife..
“Please check this against his shirt,” Florian said. He dropped a piece of bloodied linen into a small empty bowl.
Grabbing the garment, Viola stretched the front of it out on a nearby counter and tried to match the piece of fabric to the part of the shirt that was missing. “I think there might be a little bit more,” she told Florian.
He bowed his head again and probed deeper. Seconds ticked by with infernal slowness until, with a long exhale, he pulled the tiniest fabric piece free. Getting the lead ball out after that was fairly simple, after which the only remaining task was to trim the dead skin around the wound with a scalpel and suture it.
“I’m sorry he got shot,” Viola said, not because she had much sympathy for a renowned libertine, but because it was clear to her that Florian was upset. She threaded a needle with waxed silk and handed it to him as soon as he’d finished using the scalpel.
He snorted and proceeded to stitch up the wound. “He’s a wonderful brother and I love him dearly, but he can also be a bloody idiot at times. In this case, he chose to offer a young dandy advice on his clothing.”
Viola pressed her lips together to refrain from smiling. This was, after all, a serious matter. She was fairly sure Florian wouldn’t approve of her being amused by it. She cleared her throat and began preparing a compress. “Which poultice do you prefer to use?”
“I’ll have the one with the crushed onion and honey.”
Spreading the mixture out on a thin piece of linen, Viola placed it carefully over the wound while Florian went to clean his hands. She then added a thicker wad of clean linen on top and asked Emily to help her secure it with a bandage.
It wasn’t until she was finished that she allowed herself to consider Mr. Lowell’s appearance. Until now, she’d been methodical in her work and professionally detached. With her task completed, however, she became aware of Mr. Lowell’s size and, more to the point, his stunning physique.
This was not a man of leisure but one who exercised frequently. His belly was flat, his abdomen tight and his arms well-defined by muscles. As far as she could tell, he was broader than Florian, but this was not the only thing that set the brothers apart. While Florian’s hair was vibrant with varying shades of copper, Lowell’s was raven black. His jaw was also more angular and his lower lip slightly fuller. Staring down at him, Viola fleetingly wondered about the color of his eyes, now hidden from view beneath a pair of lids that were fringed with thick, dark lashes.
“It’s surprising no one ever suspected us of being only half brothers,” Florian murmured, startling Viola from her quiet perusal.
“People often believe what they’re told as long as the story’s convincing enough. In your case there was no reason for anyone to think you weren’t Armswell’s son.”
Not even Florian’s brother had known until Florian had told him last year that their fathers weren’t one and the same. While Mr. Lowell shared Armswell’s blood, Florian had been sired by Bartholomew, one of England’s most infamous criminals. The scandal when the news had broken had almost destroyed Florian’s career.
“I suppose so,” Florian said. He touched his knuckles briefly to his brother’s arm before saying, “We should get him upstairs so this room can be cleaned.”
“Of course.” Viola turned for the door with the intention of calling a couple of orderlies to assist. She paused and glanced back at Florian. “How come you’re here, by the way, and not on your way to Paris with Juliette?”
Florian shrugged. “Henry came to see me last night, told me about the duel and asked if I might be able to delay my trip.” He glanced at his brother. “I’m glad I did.”
“Of course. It was the right decision to make.” She considered his weary expression for a second before saying, “He’ll be all right now and there’s a team of well-trained staff to help with his recuperation. So if you want to catch the next ship, I see no reason why you shouldn’t. You and Juliette deserve your adventure. Once the baby arrives, there’ll be no time.”
Wincing, Florian removed his surgical apron, tossed it in a basked for laundering and rolled down his shirtsleeves. “There’s not enough time as it is. My work is demanding, Viola, which is why we weren’t able to get away sooner.”
“Then for heaven’s sake go on your trip with Juliette while you still can and entrust me with your brother’s care.”
“You’re taking on a lot of tasks, Viola. Between running the hospital, readying the rejuvenation center for its grand opening and now this... I really ought to be staying.”
“We’ve discussed this, Florian. Running the hospital is second nature to me now and the rejuvenation center is coming along splendidly.” Intended to offer the rich a spa-like experience without going to Bath, the center would provide the hospital with additional funds. For although St. Agatha’s still ran smoothly thanks to donations, it could not continue to do so for long. Due to the free care it provided to the poor, its popularity continued to increase, which meant it would soon require expanding. For this to be possible, Viola would need to ensure a steady income, and her plan was to use the center’s profits to do so. “Last I checked, the artists were about to get started on the murals, and that was already a few days ago. Besides, we both know I’m more likely to draw a crowd for the grand opening than you are. It won’t matter what Society thinks of me, Florian. People will come for the sole purpose of sating their curiosity if I send out the invitations. They’ll want to catch a glimpse of the woman who snagged a duke one day and inherited his fortune the next.”
Because of her brief marriage and her lack of interest in mingling with a social class to which she did not feel she belonged, she’d kept a low profile by moving into a modest house after her husband’s death, focusing on her work and maintaining what would probably be described as an unremarkable appearance.
“As for your brother,” she added, “he’ll undoubtedly sleep most of the time, I should think.”
Florian hesitated. “He will wake up eventually, and when he does, he’ll want to be entertained. He doesn’t like being bored.”
“I don’t think anyone does. Do they?”
Florian watched her with his typically inscrutable expression. But Viola knew him well enough by now to know he was carefully weighing the options she’d laid out before him. “My servants can help with the grand opening. You’ll need someone there to welcome the guests and to offer them drinks and some sort of food.”
“I’ll meet with your manservant and cook to make the necessary arrangements.”
