Why did this have to keep happening?
She glanced around, desperately seeking a point of reference, an anchor for her to hold onto until Mr. Newdale returned with her parents. But all the lights, the reflections from the mirrored walls, and the people moving about collided to form a smear of indistinguishable shapes that made this effort impossible. She took one step to the right, toward the wall she knew must be there. Her hand reached out, seeking the solid surface. She took another small step. If memory served, it wasn’t more than a yard away.
“Lady Louise,” a familiar voice murmured. “Allow me to help.”
Before she could speak, her arm was caught in a steady grasp by the man she’d met on the terrace at Redding House one week earlier.
“I’m not supposed to talk to you,” she told him even as relief swept through her.
“For good reason, though I think you might wish to make exception, given the situation.” He paused for a second, as if to gauge her reaction, then added, “If you’ll permit, I’d like to take you to a quiet sitting room where you can wait for further assistance in private.”
Heavens, that sounded lovely. Louise nodded and allowed him to guide her. She might be defying her father’s wishes, but she’d deal with that later. For now, in this moment, she was thankful to receive some aid. It didn’t really matter who offered it. Of greater importance was that she could feel her anxiety ebb.
“There’s a chair immediately behind you,” the stranger said once they’d walked for a while and the sounds from the ballroom had faded. “Lower yourself slowly.”
Louise did as he suggested and puffed out a breath when her bottom connected with the seat. “Thank you.”
“Think nothing of it.” He withdrew his hand from her arm, leaving a cool spot in its place. “I’m going to ask one of the footmen to fetch Lord Redding and to inform your parents of where to find you. It’ll only take a moment. Will you be all right here until I return?”
“Yes. I believe so.” He began moving away from her.A thought struck. “You addressed me as Lady Louise before, and yet I have no idea who you are. Will you not do me the honor of letting me know to whom I’m indebted?”
He paused long enough to convey indecision before he said, “You’re not indebted, my lady. As to your question pertaining to my identity, my name is Marcus Berkly. I am the Earl of Hedgewick’s son.”
So he was the dishonored viscount. Her father’s concerns made sense now, yet Louise could not align herself with the notion that one man’s sins should be inherited by his descendants. According to her own experiences with Mr. Berkly, limited though they might be, he was a good man - a considerate man - deserving of respect and gratitude.
“It’s an honor to make your acquaintance,” she said.
“Likewise,” he said, immediately before leaving the room.
When he returned, he brought the Duke of Redding with him.
“Mr. Berkly tells me you’ve lost your eyesight,” the duke said. He crouched before Louise in a smudge of indistinct fuzziness. “A footman has been asked to notify your parents so they should join us shortly. But in the meantime, I’d like you to tell us about your symptoms.”
“You think you might be able to help?” Louise knew the duke was considered a fine surgeon, though she’d not heard of him operating on eyes before.
“Not me so much as Mr. Berkly, who specializes in correcting vision and curing blindness.”
Stumped and intrigued, Louise considered this new information a moment before she said, “I’ve struggled with seeing my entire life. The doctors said I was born with cataracts on both eyes. They recommended couching when I was seven, and I’ve now had the procedure done twice more since the benefit does not seem to last.”
“Although the procedure is a lot simpler and less controversial than taking the damaged lens out completely,” Mr. Berkly said, “I’ll agree it’s a temporary solution that often fails over time.”
“Why is that?” Louise asked. The doctor her parents kept taking her back to had never explained it.
“Because,” Mr. Berkly said, “the lens isn’t being removed. It’s just getting pushed aside, which gives it the chance to slip back into place at any given moment. It may take years before this happens, but I’ve come across the occasional patient for whom it happened within a few days. And yet couching still remains the most popular option when dealing with cataracts. Mostly because the other technique requires British practitioners to reject their school of thought in favor of one invented by the French. Or because they’ve lacked a steady hand. But the fact is cataract extraction is far more efficient since the effects are lasting.”
“I’m curious, Lady Louise,” Redding said. “You mentioned having both your eyes couched.”
“I did.”
“Forgive me for saying this, but it strikes me as odd that you’d lose your vision in both of them at the same time, which is what appears to have happened in this case.”
Louise cleared her throat. “That’s because I was only able to see from one eye. The right one.”
“Explain that to me, if you will,” Mr. Berkly said.
“My right eye was last couched when I was seventeen. I lost the vision in it during a musicale so my parents insisted I get it fixed. A few weeks ago, I lost the vision in my left, but since I’d no desire to undergo the painful procedure again, I hid it, and have since pretended everything was fine.”
“Which it was,” Redding said, “until this evening.”
