The Courtesan. Julia Justiss
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made her shudder, but the last person she wished to entice was the persistent baron. “They should all go,” she countered. “The captain needs air and the doctor will need space to work. Armaldi!” she called. “Clear the room, please!”
The wiry Italian nodded. “Subito, Bella. Signore!” Clapping his hands to draw their attention, he waved the crowd toward the door. “You also, my lord Rupert,” he added when that gentleman looked as if he meant to linger.
“I will await the lady, who should be escorted from this distressing scene as soon as possible,” Rupert said.
“I’m not leaving until the captain has been treated,” Belle replied.
“Ah, he arrives, il dottore!” Armaldi cried.
“The doctor had a colleague visiting, a military physician, Major Thompson,” the fencing master’s assistant called to them as he entered. “Thought it might be best to bring him.”
“Oh, yes, Dr. Thompson, we’ll be glad of your experience!” Ludlowe said, relief in his voice.
After having to push his way past several groups of bystanders, the doctor ordered, “Out with you all, now!” Setting down his bag, he knelt beside the captain while Darnley described the injury and Armaldi shepherded out the remaining lingerers. Even Rupert, with a disdainful glance at the physician, walked toward the door. “I shall wait outside to escort you home, Lady Belle.”
“I may be here some time,” Belle warned.
“Nonetheless, I shall wait,” he said, and to her vast relief, finally exited. When she returned her attention to the captain, the doctor had begun examining the wound.
“Why don’t you go change, ma’am?” Darnley asked, glancing at her. “I’m sure you’ll want to…freshen up.”
Only then, following his gaze, did Belle notice the blood spattering her breeches and shirtfront, soaking the ragged edges of her torn sleeves.
Carrington’s blood. Blood, welling still around the doctor’s probing fingers, from a wound her carelessness had caused. A wound that might yet cost Carrington his life.
Despite a sudden dizziness that made her faint, she shook her head. “I can’t leave. Not until we know…” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.
“Remain if you wish, ma’am,” the doctor said, “but no attack of the vapors, if you please! There’s a frightful lot of blood, but his pulse is steady. If he’d severed an artery, he’d have bled to death already. Much will depend on how seriously the lung is affected.”
With that not-so-comforting assessment, the doctor continued probing. And so Belle remained in her gore-spattered garments, gaze fixed on the captain’s too-pale face, trying to form a prayer for his recovery out of the tumult of anxious thoughts tumbling about in her head.
She had almost killed a man. Whatever had possessed her to attack him so? The protector must have become dislodged from her blade. She should have noticed it, would have noticed, had she not been in such a rage.
Remembering the ferocity of that anger chilled her. For years she’d felt herself the victim of another’s unfeeling, heedless action. It dismayed her to find within herself a similar strain of thoughtless single-mindedness.
Her mind recoiled from the possibility that Carrington might die. The captain would recover. He must.
His probing apparently complete, the doctor sprinkled a powder over the wound, drew a roll of cotton from his bag and began binding up the wound.
Though she knew the doctor could make no promises, Belle couldn’t prevent herself asking, “Will he recover?”
“Though the lungs appear intact, he will have some difficulty breathing, and I can’t tell yet whether the blade touched anything vital. Of course, there’s always the danger from fever, but he will do for the present.”
The captain wasn’t going to die—yet. Belle almost sagged in relief. “Thanks be to God,” she murmured.
“I’ve bound up the shoulder to keep it immobile. I trust you have lodgings nearby? You’ll need to move him carefully to avoid disturbing the wound. Don’t worry if he takes a while coming to himself. I’ll leave you some laudanum, but on no account administer any until you are sure he is clearheaded. Watch for fever, and if the lungs were damaged, a pleurisy might settle in.”
Belle must have paled, for the doctor patted her hand. “Don’t distress yourself, my dear. Your husband appears to be a strong fellow, and from the looks of that scar on his shoulder, has weathered worse. Send a servant to fetch me in Curzon Street and I’ll check him again this afternoon.”
Belle opened her mouth to deny the relationship, then closed it. There seemed no reason to correct the doctor’s misapprehension and make this incident more embarrassing for the captain than it was already bound to be.
“Thank you very much, Doctor,” she said instead.
Hauling himself to his feet, Thompson laughed and shook his head. “Pricked in a fencing match! You’d think he would have gotten his fill of that in Belgium. Doubtless he’ll soon recover and go haring off on some other fool stunt, causing you to doubt your joy at his deliverance. I shall see you this afternoon, ma’am.”
With Ludlowe and Darnley echoing Belle’s thanks, the doctor departed. “Signore Armaldi, have you anything that can be fashioned into a litter?” Belle asked.
“Sì, mia Bella, I go prepare it,” the fencing master said. Gathering his assistant, he walked out, leaving Belle alone with the injured captain and his friends.
“Where should he be conveyed?” she asked them.
Darnley and Ludlowe exchanged glances. “I’m afraid that’s a bit of a problem, ma’am,” Darnley replied. “Jack just arrived back in England and is staying in borrowed rooms. His family is still at their country home, and at present, he hasn’t even a valet to attend him.”
“I suppose my valet could undertake Jack’s care,” Ludlowe said, “though he has no experience in a sickroom.”
“I’ve nothing better to offer,” Darnley said with a frown. “My mother would gladly take up the task, but she, too, is not yet in London. I suppose we could ask the physician to recommend a competent nurse, but…”
Both men stared at her. A panicky foreboding added to the mix of fear, regret and worry churning in her gut.
Though she would be more than willing to pay for the services of a competent nurse, it would be unconscionable to send the captain back with only a hired stranger to watch over him. ’Twould be best for his own family to supervise his care. But in the absence of his relations, his friends clearly expected her to volunteer for the task.
“I…I have some sickroom experience,” she admitted. “However, I am sure that his family, who will be most distressed to learn of his injuries, would be even more upset to find he was being tended by one of my…reputation.”
“They’d be more upset to find he’d died from lack of care,” Darnley said bluntly.
It isn’t fair, she thought despairingly, torn by guilt and anxiety. Not now, when she could at last begin searching for something that might lay to rest the torments of the past and offer her peace—or absolution. She’d rather introduce a viper into her house than invite the disturbing captain to reside within her walls.
At present, though, his ability to disturb her would be limited. Besides, she could not escape the fact that, having been the cause of his injury, she must do whatever she could to assist in his recovery. Though she dreaded what she must say next, she knew there was no alternative.
“Transport him to my house. I shall manage the captain’s care until the doctor declares him well enough to be moved to a more…suitable location.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Darnley said