“I imagine the same should be said of you, Mr. Berkly.”
Marcus’s lips quirked. “Indeed. Which is why I intend to retire now.”
“Then I shall heed your advice and do the same.”
When Marcus arrived in his room after bidding Lady Louise and the Winterlys good night, he removed his jacket, then untied his cravat and tossed it aside. Scrubbing one hand across his jaw, he crossed to the window and stared out into the night where the nearly full moon illuminated a series of shredded clouds.
Tomorrow he’d take a lancet to Lady Louise’s eyes. His heart beat firmly against his chest. A deep inhalation followed by the slow release of breath eased the tension he always felt before a surgery. A patient’s sight was in his hands. One wrong move and he could render her blind in one eye forever, exactly like he’d done to Mrs. Weaver.
A shudder raked through him. It was one of the primary arguments those opposed to cataract surgery liked to make. Couching posed less of a risk. It could be performed by even the most unskilled physician. But it was without doubt an inferior solution.
Stepping back from the window, Marcus drew the curtain and continued readying himself for bed. He’d done this eighty-one times without issue and would do it again tomorrow with equal success. But he still said a prayer before going to sleep, aware that with every perfect procedure he carried out, the chance of the next one going wrong only increased.
When Louise woke the next morning, she experienced trepidation and excitement in equal measure. Even though the path to recovery would be long and she’d have no real sense of how well the operation had worked for at least a month, she was ready to embark on this journey. Her mind was made up. She’d accepted the pain Mr. Berkly said she’d experience, and was ready to defend her decision to her father once he showed up, as she knew he eventually would.
A knock at her door announced her maid’s arrival. She helped Louise dress, then escorted her to the dining room where the appetizing smell of eggs and bacon suggested breakfast was already underway.
“Good morning,” Louise said as her maid guided her to a seat at the table.
Only Mr. and Mrs. Winterly responded.
“Mr. Berkly is making preparations in one of the vacant guestrooms,” Mrs. Winterly said, explaining the surgeon’s absence.
“I’ll escort you there once you’ve eaten,” Mr. Winterly said.
Louise thanked them both and allowed her maid to serve her. As she’d grown accustomed to whenever her sight failed her, the food was divided up in sections and cut into pieces she could manage alone.
Raising both hands, she located the edge of the table and found her plate. A little more fumbling about helped her locate her fork. With the spatial awareness honed from extensive practice, she leaned forward and stabbed at the spot where she knew her maid would have placed the eggs.
Louise took a bite and was happy to learn she was right. She ate some bacon next.
“Mr. Berkly tells us you will have to remain in bed after the surgery,” Mrs. Winterly said.
“My grandmother had to do the same,” Mr. Winterly reminded his wife.
There was a pause, during which Louise ate some more. A piece of silverware rattled against some china and then Mrs. Winterly said, “A month is a long time for anyone to be immobile, and with your eyes bandaged, you’ll be more blind than you are now.”
“I know,” Louise said. She set her fork aside slowly and carefully searched for her cup. She almost dreaded the dark stillness after her surgery more than the pain she’d endure during.
“With this in mind, I’ve made a plan to entertain you,” Mrs. Winterly said. “We’ll take turns keeping you company. Mr. Winterly can read the paper for you every morning, if you like. I can play the violin or the harp or simply engage you in conversation, and Mr. Berkly tells us he would be happy to read fromThe Last of the Mohicans, should you wish it.”
“I really don’t want to impose any more than I already have,” Louise said.
“You’re not,” Mr. Winterly said. “But you’re Diana’s sister-in-law, which makes you family. As such, we’d like to make this experience as tolerable for you as we can.”
Louise scarcely knew what to say. Their kindness was overwhelming. If only her own parents would be as thoughtful and understanding as the Winterlys.
“How do you feel?” Mr. Berkly asked a bit later when Mr. Winterly showed her into the room where the surgery was to take place.
“I’m ready,” Louise said even though her heart had proceeded to gallop while she’d climbed the stairs.
Mr. Berkly chuckled. She sensed rather than saw him approach, his now familiar scent of sandalwood stirring her senses. “Would you like a small sip of brandy to calm your nerves?”
She swallowed and gave a tight nod while his voice swept over her shoulders. “Please.”
A hand caught hers. Louise wasn’t sure how she recognized it as his, but she knew it wasn’t Mr. Winterly’s. Strong fingers molded her own around a cool glass. She raised it to her lips and tipped it back until the spicy liquid forged a hot path down her throat.
“Good girl,” Mr. Berkly murmured and took the glass from her. “Please, come this way.”
