Confident he’d done all he could to prepare her, Marcus pulled a spare chair closer and selected a fine, slightly bent needle from the table he’d placed to his right.
Leaning in close to Lady Louise, he drew her bottom lid down, steadied his hold on the needle, and proceeded to make a radial incision five millimeters from the center of her pupil until he’d created a large enough flap. Next, he selected a delicate pair of forceps with which to peel back the membrane. Determined to focus solely on the task at hand, to remain emotionally disconnected for the purpose of doing his job to the best of his ability, he tried to ignore Lady Louise’s reaction since succumbing to it would only prolong her anguish. It wasn’t easy though. Air hissed between her parted lips, interrupted only by throaty groans and whimpers of pain. The twig-like rigidity in Mr. Winterly’s fingers revealed the effort it took him to keep her still while Marcus worked. Stealing himself against the desire to stop and end her suffering, he stared into her ruined eye with every intention of seeing her through this.
Relying upon every skill he’d honed through experience, he made sure the opening he’d created was large enough before using a tiny pair of scissors to sever the delicate fibers holding the lens in place.
“Almost done,” he said, focusing his concentration on pulling the whole lens free with a slim pair of pincers. He closed the flap, removed the hook Mr. Winterly held, and told Lady Louise to close her eye. He grabbed a compress he’d prepared and placed it on top of the eyelid. “Keep this in place with gentle pressure.”
She reached up and took control of the compress. Her hand was shaking.
“How do you feel?” Marcus asked.
“Like I’ve been stabbed in the eye,” she murmured.
Marcus allowed a wry smile while Mr. Winterly chuckled. Lady Louise’s ability to jest was a positive sign.
“Would you like to rest awhile before I start on the next one?”
“No. I want to get this awful business over with as soon as possible,” she said. “I’ll rest afterward.”
Accepting her decision, Marcus placed the instruments he’d used in a dish filled with rum and went to wash his hands once more.
Lord help her, it hurt. And it wasn’t over yet. Louise pressed the compress to her eye and tried to force air in and out of her lungs. She needed to breathe, to get her pulse under control, to prepare herself for what would come next. It was worse now that she knew what she could expect.
Bracing herself, she adjusted her position and waited for Mr. Berkly to begin. The hook pulled on her left eyelid. Mr. Winterly held it in place while securing her head in his vice-like grip.
Liquid landed upon her eye as Mr. Berkly administered the belladonna. Heat fanned outward before diving all the way to the back of her skull. She sucked in a breath and tightened her grip on the armrest. A blur of movement warned her, and then she felt the sharp sting of the needle piercing her eye.
She winced, gritted her teeth and clamped her jaw tight, then dug her heels into the floor while doing her best to hold the compress over her other eye. A wet streak ran down her cheek, alerting her to her tears. She drew a ragged breath and fought the whimper that rose in her breast. It pushed past her lips and filled the air with the sound of her suffering.
Time stretched until it became an endless blur, no different from the near blindness she hoped to escape.
“Damn it.” Mr. Berkly’s knee bumped hers. Whatever tool he presently used seemed to stab at her with more insistent force. He huffed a breath. “The cataract on this lens is considerably more developed than I surmised during my evaluation, which means the lens will be very fragile. It won’t be easy to remove without its breaking apart. If it does, it could lead to complications and irreparable damage to your eye. To be blunt, going ahead with the surgery could lead to complete blindness in this eye.”
It wasn’t what Louise wanted to hear, but at least Mr. Berkly was being honest. And now she had a tough decision to make at the drop of a hat. After all, her eye had been sliced open, the front peeled back like the skin on a ripe tomato. She could not sit here for hours on end weighing the pros and cons.
But she knew one thing. “If you do nothing, my eye will be useless anyway.”
“You could have it couched instead.”
She could. Mr. Berkly wasn’t wrong. And yet…
“I chose to do this because I’m tired of having repeat operations. I want this over and done with.” With quivering words, she addressed the spot where she knew he sat.. “Remove the lens, Mr. Berkly.”
“Lady Louise, I really must ask you to reconsider. Even if you never have this eye couched again, at least you’ll see color. But if an infection sets in there’s no guarantee, and that’s—”
“Mr. Berkly,” she said, surprising herself with her own resolve. “I trust you to do your best. Now, if you don’t mind, this hurts like the bloody devil, so I’d appreciate your getting on with it.”
Marcus was tempted to shake her for being so damn stubborn. Her faith in him exceeded his own. Because he’d made a misdiagnosis. And he’d done so with her - a woman he’d offered assurances to. Which made him want to toss himself out the nearest window. No doubt her father would do the deed for him once he showed up. Christ have mercy. The earl would murder him on the spot, and Marcus wasn’t sure he would blame him.
“Mr. Berkly?”
Mr. Winterly’s voice pulled Marcus out of his reverie. He frowned. This could be done, provided he had an additional pair of hands. “I require further assistance.”
A few short minutes later, the first maid to answer his call helped hold Lady Louise’s lower eyelid down while Marcus worked.
Sweat trickled down the back of his neck as he increased the radial incision around the pupil. His heart thumped hard. He gripped his pincers for all he was worth and held his breath while gently, carefully, shifting the lens so he could snip it free and remove it.
Swallowing, he gave it a soft tug. It caught and broke, prompting him to curse once more.
