Tossing the forceps, he grabbed a needle and pinned the smallest fragment in place before it could slip out of reach.
Sweat pooled between his shoulder blades as he worked to save Lady Louise’s eye. With painfully slow movements he extracted the larger part of the broken lens and then the second, setting them both aside for later observation.
His lungs released the air he’d been holding. With the worst part behind him, he only had to complete the remaining steps. It took no more than a couple of minutes to do so.
“That’s it,” he told her. Grabbing the second compress he’d prepared, he placed it over the eye he’d just worked on. “Hold this in place too. I’ll secure them both with a bandage.”
Five minutes later, Lady Louise’s head had been wrapped and she’d been moved to the bed. Marcus cleaned his surgical instruments and washed his hands. “How are you?”
“The pain is substantial, but bearable.”
“Would you like some laudanum to ease it a little and help you rest?”
“Not right now. I want to try and cope without it. If I can’t, I’ll let you know.”
Having witnessed grown men cry and beg for relief, Lady Louise’s strength impressed him. She was certainly a lady to be admired, for having suffered the loss of sight as she had without being defeated, for having the strength to thwart her father’s wishes and do as she deemed best for herself, to live through the pain of the surgery without the slightest complaint.
And yet, Marcus could not shake the feeling that he had failed her as he’d once failed Mrs. Weaver. He glanced at Mr. Winterly. “Thank you for your help, sir.”
“I’m glad I could offer assistance,” Mr. Winterly replied.
Marcus responded with a curt nod, then picked up the small dish on which he’d set the cataract aside. “I’m going to go and examine this.” To the maid who’d assisted, he said, “Please stay here in case her ladyship needs anything. I’ll be back to check on her later.”
Without further comment, Marcus quit the room and went to find a bright spot in the house. The conservatory with its massive windows admitting plenty of sunshine would serve his purpose nicely.
Taking a seat at a small round table intended for afternoon tea, Marcus set his things down and arranged them so the dish with Lady Louise’s extracted cataract was placed immediately before him. He pulled his chair closer to the table and grabbed a magnifying glass in one hand, a pair of pincers in the other. Then, with the same sort of care he’d applied while working on her, he pieced together the two broken parts for closer inspection.
“Damn it.”
Marcus stared at the small jagged corner, so tiny he’d not been able to see it until now. There was a third piece - a missing piece - a piece he must have lost inside her eye.
Clamping his jaw shut he shoved back his chair and stood. By all that was holy, he was an ass - an absolute moron unworthy of his profession. He curled his hands into fists and stared across the room toward the outdoors. How could he have bungled things so badly?
Perhaps because he’d been too distracted by Lady Louise herself, too eager to help her? Yet now he’d quite possibly done the opposite. The piece that had broken off was so tiny he’d never find it, even if he went back and tried. Infection could set in as a result - hell, any number of things could now lead to her going totally blind in that eye.
He’d told her as much but she had insisted he go ahead anyway.
Yes, but he should have been able to warn her ahead of time. Not while already working on the eye.
Cursing once more, he shoved his chair aside and crossed to the French doors leading out to the garden. With crisp movements he unlatched one side and pulled it open. He needed fresh air, needed to move, needed to expel this frustrating energy building inside him with each breath he took. Only once before during his career had a failed operation been his fault. Eighty-one times, he’d operated with success, ever mindful of the mistake he’d once made and of how crucial it was to pay attention, double check everything, and apply extreme caution. Yet somehow, he’d managed to muck it up, and he’d done so with a woman he liked more and more with each passing second - a woman whose father would most likely shoot him dead now.
6
“Is there anything you would like me to bring you?” Mr. Winterly asked once Mr. Berkly had left the room.
Louise pondered a moment, then said, “No, thank you.”
He seemed to hesitate. Louise angled her head and waited to see if he’d add something more. She was about to suggest he ask Hannah to come and take the place of the Winterly maid when he said, “Perhaps you would like an embossed book?”
Excitement rose within her at the prospect of reading through touch. She’d deliberately purchased one such book a few years ago in order to practice, just in case she ever lost her sight permanently. But since she’d left London in a rush, she’d not had a chance to bring the book with her. Having a similar one at her disposal though would let her entertain herself to some degree without constantly having to rely on others.
“You have one here?” she asked.
“Indeed. It’s in excellent condition too, though it is in French. My father purchased it for my grandmother while the two were in France, but I don’t think she ever attempted to use it. I can fetch it for you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Winterly. I’d be most grateful.”
He left. Louise heard the maid shuffling about and then, a few minutes later, Hannah came to relieve her.
