“I wish I’d known Mr. Berkly needed extra assistance,” Hannah said, her voice apologetic. “I’d have come right away.”
“It’s quite all right,” Louise gently told her. “He received the extra pair of hands he required.”
Footsteps hurried nearer. “Was it very painful, my lady?”
“Yes.”
“And now?” Hannah asked with greater hesitation.
“It’s as if I’ve had weights placed on top of my eyes.”
She heard Hannah swallow and then the maid said, “I’ve brought some tea and a couple of biscuits. Perhaps I can help you eat and drink? It might make you feel a bit better.”
“Thank you.” Louise appreciated Hannah’s consideration. “But I think it best if I wait for instructions from Mr. Berkly. When he left me here, he asked I not get up.”
“But you’ll have to do so to some degree for a number of reasons.”
“I know. However, I want to discuss it with him first so I don’t risk ruining his efforts or extending the healing process.” She considered the darkness she’d now be confined to for the next month. “Is there a clock in this room, Hannah? I haven’t been able to hear one.”
“It doesn’t appear so,” Hannah said after a moment. “Would you like me to fetch one for you?”
“If you could, it will help me tell the hour when it chimes.”
“I also need to bring your things in here since this is where you’ll now be staying. It shouldn’t take long.”
“Mr. Berkly says I’m not to be left alone, so maybe you can do it when Mr. Winterly returns with the book he’s gone to find. I expect he’ll do so soon.”
But it wasn’t Mr. Winterly who entered the room next. It was Mr. Berkly.
Louise wasn’t sure how she knew this, but it was almost as if the air responded differently to him, shifting in a manner that swiftly revealed his identity before he spoke or came close enough for her to pick up his scent.
Her pulse leapt ever so slightly with what could only be described as eager relief.
“Mr. Berkly is here now,” Hannah said, not realizing Louise already knew this.
The surgeon cleared his throat. The soles of his shoes scraped softly against the floorboards as he moved further into the room.
“You may see to my things now, Hannah,” Louise said. For some inexplicable reason, she wanted to be alone with Mr. Berkly. Or as alone as propriety would allow. “Leave the door open, if you will.”
Louise listened to her maid’s departing footsteps, and then to Mr. Berkly’s approaching ones. He lowered himself to the chair beside her bed and… said nothing.
“Your silence is telling,” Louise told him after a while. “I fear it can only mean you have bad news.”
“I’m afraid so,” he admitted in a somber tone after yet another moment of silence. He cleared his throat again, his seeming reluctance to speak a testament to his deep emotional turmoil.
“Say what you’ve come to say, Mr. Berkly.”
So he did, with measured words that only underscored the degree to which he blamed himself for not being able to offer her more assurance.
“It’s not your fault.”
“Of course it is.”
“Very well,” she agreed. The pain she was in was too exhausting for her to gather the energy she required to argue. And besides, he did have a point, though not a very compelling one considering what she herself knew. She sighed. “Even if you’d discovered the problem back in London, I still would have risked the surgery on both eyes.”
“You cannot possibly know that.”
“Of course I can.” She took a shuddering breath and tried to ignore the sharp ache she experienced. It seemed to be getting worse. “After suffering with this problem most of my life, I would have taken the risk of improving my sight, no matter what. And you’re an excellent surgeon, Mr. Berkly, in whom I would have placed my trust, regardless.”
