Sinful. Charlotte Featherstone
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put aside to pension you and the others off when I depart this earth.”
The scone turned to ash in Jane’s mouth. She did not want to think of living in a world without Lady Blackwood. “You know I do not—”
“Yes, I know.” Lady B. sighed. “You do not wish to take from me, but, Jane, it is my fondest wish to see you settled. And see you settled I will.”
“I like working. It gives me purpose. An identity.”
Jane shrank away from the blue gaze that bored into her. “You do not need to exhaust yourself to be of notice.”
But what of purpose? Jane wondered.
“There are times when I wonder if I haven’t instilled too much independence in you, Jane. It can be a burden to only rely on oneself.”
“I am grateful for everything you’ve given me. Independence is a gift, my lady.”
“Sometimes it can be a curse,” she replied, staring at her with eyes, that despite their rheuminess, showed deep understanding. “And it can be lonely, too.”
“Nonsense,” Jane scoffed while brushing off a few crumbs from her fingers. “A lady’s independence is invaluable.”
Lady B. pursed her lips, but said nothing. “Very well. You have won this morning, Jane, but we will have this conversation tomorrow morning, and the morning after, and the one after that until I have prevailed upon you to quit that place. Now, then, on to other business. I have had a letter from my niece,” she said, reaching for a folded missive that was placed near her left hand. “She fares well, but her sister, Ann, has taken ill. Measles, I’m afraid.”
An image of the breathtaking Ann flared to life in her mind. She would no doubt still break men’s hearts despite the red dots that marred her usually flawless skin.
“Anais has written, wondering if there is anything they might give her for relief of the pain. Naturally, she is hesitant to use laudanum.”
Jane could well understand the reason for that. Anais’s fiancé was recovering from an opium addiction. Anais would naturally fear the worst. “I do have some holistic recipes she might try, herbs and powders. I’ll write to her this afternoon when I wake up.”
Lady Blackwood’s expression darkened. “You work yourself to the bone, Jane, I can’t bear to see it.”
Jane patted her employer’s wrinkled hand. “I like my job, both jobs,” she clarified. “And I’m not working myself to death.”
“Well, you shall have a break soon, for you will be accompanying me to Bewdley for my niece’s wedding. And there, I will assure you that I will make every attempt to play matchmaker. You mark my words, Jane, I was quite a strategist in my youth.”
Jane laughed and left the breakfast room, all the while thinking of her patient, and how impossible it would be to be matched with someone like him. Ah, well, she mused as she climbed the stairs to her room, that was what dreams were for.
The wards were loud that night as Jane entered the hospital. Shouting and the sound of metal hitting the stone floor echoed off the lime-washed walls. A woman’s shrill voice cut through the ringing, followed by the deep rumble of a man’s, full of indignation and anger.
Pulling her bonnet strings, Jane tugged off her hat and placed it atop the hook in the storage room. Her cloak came next, then she reached for the starched apron. She was tying the strings around her waist when the day nurse came in, her face flushed and her gown and apron soaked through.
“Maggie, what have you done to yourself?” Jane asked, watching the agitated woman reach for her wrap.
“I quit,” Maggie snapped. “That devil of a man has been the death of me today.”
“What man?”
“His lordship,” she replied, out of breath from her anxiety. “He’s been nothing but a pill today, he has. Always grumbling about somethin’ and fighting me at every turn. Couldn’t do a thing right for him. He’s been asking for you since breakfast, maybe you can set him on the right track.”
“All right,” Jane murmured. Her body was suddenly filled with little prickles at the thought of seeing him again. He had asked for her. A ridiculous little thrill warmed her blood.
She had not slept well during the day, her slumber interrupted by the most improper dreams and thoughts. She had told herself on the carriage ride over that she would not seek him out. She would not think of him as a healthy, vibrant man, but as an ill patient. And nurses did not have erotic thoughts about their patients.
She had succeeded in putting him out of her mind, that was, until Maggie had mentioned him. How little it had taken to flame the flicker of desire she tried so hard to snuff.
“He’s burning with fever, and he won’t let anyone near him to check beneath the bandages,” Maggie grumbled as she searched through her purse for a crown for the hansom cab. “Dr. Inglebright fears the wound is festering, but his lordship won’t let him get within a hairbreadth of him. He calls for you, Jane, and the doctor awaits you.”
Jane touched the sleeve of Maggie’s damp gown. “You aren’t serious about quitting, are you, Maggie? It would be such a loss.”
The woman, who was in her late forties, flushed again, but this time it was not with agitation, but pleasure. “Perhaps a good night’s sleep will change me mind.”
“And a different patient tomorrow morning?”
Maggie nodded and squeezed her hand. “Good luck, miss. You’ll be in for a time of it. His lordship is quite the handful, and he’s got a tongue that will slice you to ribbons.”
Jane had come across many difficult patients in her time at the hospital—she was certain the mysterious lord would not get the better of her.
Leaving Maggie, she walked down the long corridor that led to Dr. Inglebright’s private room. She heard Richard’s voice through the wood.
“Damn you, if you don’t cooperate, you’ll get the ether.”
“Sod off,” came the deep reply. “I’ll break your goddamn hand if you come near me.”
“May I be of some help?”
The door swung closed behind her, and the two men froze in place. Richard was looking at her, a pair of scissors in one hand and a roll of fresh bandages in the other. Her patient was lying on the bed, thrashing his limbs as the two night men tried to hold him down. His chin lifted and he quieted. She saw his nostrils flare, as if he was smelling something, and then his head turned in her direction.
“Jane,” the two men said simultaneously. The sound of the patient’s voice, deep and seductive, made her tremble, and she was grateful for Dr. Inglebright’s stern voice, for it made it easier for her to hide her response to Matthew’s hushed whispering of her name.
“He burns with fever and rages like a lunatic. I need to check beneath the bandages, but he lashes out.”
“How long has he had the fever?”
Jane came closer to the bed and watched as Matthew’s head turned, as if he was following her path. He could not see, yet somehow he knew where to find her.
“All day, and I’m afraid the wound is full of putrefaction.”
Jane could not smell anything that might lead her to believe the wound was festering, but there was a shadowing of old blood and yellow fluid beneath the layer of binding, which could be pus. The fact he burned with fever was sign enough.
Richard caught her gaze, his eyes pleading silently for her assistance. His gaze said it all, the patient was an aristocrat, and Richard could ill afford the man’s death on his hands.
“Will you not let the doctor look?” she asked as she came to stand beside Matthew’s bed.
“No,”