Page 27 of A Wager at Midnight (Betting Against the Duke #2)

Chapter 27

S TEPHEN —C HECKING ON H ER P ATIENT

T he carriage begins to slow, and I slip Scarlett from my lap to the seat next to me.

I want to make a joke about us pretending we haven’t been wrapped in each other’s arms kissing like maddening fools. But I can’t make a light or humorous statement, not when she’s given me her heart.

Yet I can’t say anything back. I want to blame the moment, the chaperone awakening. None of that is true. It’s fear. I don’t want to jinx this. I’d declared my feelings to Eveline. She was part of the community. She had the aunties’ approval. Banns were to be read in a week or two.

Then she eloped.

The way things ended, I wrestle with it. I hold Scarlett’s hand and there’s some irrational fear that once I tell her everything in my head and heart, her feelings for me will go away.

I see it in her eyes. Those mirrors show fear. And I’ve put it there by not telling her I love her, too.

Mrs. Cantor yawns and is fully awake. She stares at us and offers a little cough, but I refuse to move my hand from Scarlett’s. I need to get Scarlett completely alone. Then I will break my oath and tell her everything.

“This is not Wesley’s Chapel. We are at my house on Ground Street. Are you done with me so soon?”

“No. We are beginning. Look at me, Scarlett. Trust me. I need you to trust me. My fear of losing you is deeply felt.” I put my hand to her chin. “And I will if you can’t see that I’ve changed.”

She almost pulls away, especially when I see tears in those jet mirrors. Can’t she see . . . Do words matter more?

Scarlett lifts her chin, then bursts out of the carriage.

I pick up the papers she sent. “We still have time to get to the church, but I thought you’d like me to look in on your patient.” I clasp her hand. “Let’s go see Mr. Thom together.”

Her face, her beautiful face is shocked. She leaps into my arms. “I’ll trust you. No one knows me as well as you.”

Grasping her about her waist, I feel as if she understands me, too. Turning to the carriage, I say, “Mrs. Cantor, we will be back.”

“Fine, dears. I’ll knit while I wait. Don’t be too long or be alone.”

The sweet woman pulls out more yarn from her bag and begins making more of whatever she’s knitting.

Lord Mark and his wife come out of the house. “Sister, Mr. Carew. What brings you here?”

I shake his hand. “We’re on an outing, but I knew it would rest Miss Wilcox’s mind if we checked on Mr. Thom and I offer my opinion on treatment.”

Georgina grabs Scarlett and makes her twirl. “Simply lovely. And here I thought you only loved Papa’s boots.”

“Boots are inappropriate for church and an evening picnic.” Scarlett looks at me. “I want to be appropriate. Demure, impeccable. . .”

Her voice sounds sad and makes my soul ache. I turn from her and grab my leather bag from the carriage, and then signal to Benny to take the carriage around.

My man winks at me. He approves of Scarlett, but who wouldn’t?

The carriage heads to the rear.

“You think our chaperone will finish whatever she’s making, Miss Wilcox, before we are done here today?”

She shrugs. My attempt at small talk falters. Maybe I need to speak more on cholera.

“A chaperone,” Georgina says. “This sounds serious.”

“It is serious.” I take my chance at redemption, clasp and kiss Scarlett’s hand. “I’m serious about my fiancée. Scarlett Wilcox is the woman I will marry.”

Scarlett’s countenance blanks.

Georgina jumps up and down. “My goodness. You two!”

The sister hugs me and says again, “Scarlett. Mr. Carew. I’m so happy for you both. I never thought it possible for the two of you.”

Squinting at her, I ask, “Why? Is it so improbable?”

“Well, you two always argue. And Scarlett never seemed interested in anything but Papa’s boots and science.”

“I have other interests, Georgie. And in spite of everything, I do like him.” She glances at me with renewed coldness. “I can say I love him, just like I can admit that the sun is the moon if you wish. Both are bright, Petruchio . Petruchio, that’s my pet name for Carew. Better than Mr. Stuffy.”

Oh, she’s big mad at me. The lady that doth quote Shakespeare’s Taming of the Shrew is learned and angry. I’m in trouble again.

“Scarlett is glowing.” Lord Mark is kind and still clueless to our dynamics. “It sort of makes sense that you two are always bickering. It gives me hope for Torrance and our sister Katherine.”

Lord Mark shakes my hand again. “Getting another physician in the family is wonderful.”

Scarlett wears a smile, but her eyes are not happy.

Georgina pulls her aside. They’re discussing me and Torrance. I stop trying to overhear when Scarlett’s tone becomes blunt. “Did you know that Katherine’s stillborn was the duke’s son?”

When I hear Georgina whisper yes, I flee with Mark to the house. The second oldest Wilcox sister, the one closest to Lady Hampton, must be aware of the whole truth.

My hands are ice. The worst Wilcox lie is yet to come. I have a feeling it will be exposed, and all involved will pay a price.

Following Lord Mark into the house evokes so many memories. The matriarch Patsy would play the pianoforte for me when she was well. She suffered greatly from the sickness that the duke and Lydia have.

When gossip spread about the Wilcoxes and their suffering, I don’t think they were as welcomed. People understood the sickness followed bloodlines. No one would wish this illness on their children’s children. It’s an unwanted legacy that hurt too many.

“Sir, are you well?” At the base of the stairs, Lord Mark stops. “Do you need a moment? A new engagement can be very exciting and taxing.”

A clock moans. It’s solemn, almost pained. I think I recognize it. “Is that Mr. Wilcox’s longcase from his office?”

It chimes again and I am reminded of the patriarch’s proud face when it sounded. How he tried to use his frustration of it losing time or odd chirps to hide the man’s tears when sorrows came. “I thought Lord Hampton sold it off.”

“No. Scarlett has it in her room.” Lord Mark glances at me, and I trot up the stairs like a weight is on my shoulders.

“You sure you’re well, Carew? Georgie has baked biscuits. Eating will refresh you. I’ll send some up before I take the afternoon’s deliveries.”

He points at a bedchamber down the hall. “Thom is in Lydia’s bedchamber. He’s comfortable, but I believe his days of driving for Wilcox Coal are done. Not sure what Katherine will do now. I’ll take on more, but no one works as hard as Mr. Thom.”

More voices echo in the house below. One is Georgina’s. The other is Scarlett’s. I feel better knowing she’s here and that she’s entrusted me with her research. I want to be able to support her in it, but blindness is difficult to fix, and surgeries are dangerous.

My gaze cuts again to the matriarch’s old bedchamber, or what became the chambers of Lord and Lady Hampton. The day the two wed at St. George’s, I remember Mrs. Wilcox leaving her sickbed to witness their union. I, and a few members of the community, came. Georgina held the three-month-old Lydia. The babe was remarkably quiet during the service, but her pallor was yellow because of the sickness. Scarlett, skinny and boyish, seemed unmoved. She sat in the rear with Mr. Wilcox. The man didn’t look impressed either. Even then, Scarlett could tell the difference between the sun and moon, truth and lies, between love and convenience.

She has to be able to see what I feel. A t’ing is a t’ing even if yuh don’t name it. No jinx-jinx on wud I feel.

The longcase makes another noise. It’s the oddest sound, sort of like it is running out of air or time. As I walk to the bedroom door, it definitely feels like the latter.

Pushing into Lydia’s bedroom, I feel a warm breeze coming into the small room. Whitewashed walls hold pink decorations. The curtains on the window are light and airy. A tiny bed made for two, or maybe one, is in the rear with a thick rya leading toward it.

“Mr. Thom, it’s me, Mr. Carew.”

The man moans but doesn’t open his eyes. “They sent for you. Am I done for?”

“Of course not. You make it sound as if Mr. Carew is a bearer of bad news.” Georgina enters with a platter of her famous ginger biscuits. “He’s our physician and soon to be part of the family.”

Scarlett comes inside the room. She stands away from Georgina and closer to me. The move is obvious and feels cold toward her sister.

“Well, Mr. Carew,” she says, “how is our patient doing, the treasured Mr. Thom?”

“Not much of a treasure,” their man-of-all-work says as he tries to sit up from the pile of bedsheets.

“Steady, sir.” Scarlett rushes to Mr. Thom and puts her hand on his shoulder. “So glad you’re not much hurt.”

“Nothing but my pride. Our duke is a good man. He’s had someone watching since you told him I was having trouble with my vision.”

Georgina lowers her tray of sweet-smelling goodies. “You told the duke, but not us, Scarlett?”

“You’re busy being married. Lady Hampton’s busy trying to best the duke and save the coal company. You don’t have time and don’t need new worries. Miss Scarlett is my friend.”

“So you get to be selective with secrets?” Georgina bites into one of her ginger biscuits like she is ravenous or wild and stares at her sister. “A need-to-know basis?”

“Maybe he knows who to trust.” Scarlett’s tone is tart. “It’s hard to be certain.”

I try to calm them. “Ladies, please. This is about the patient.”

Scarlett sits on the bed, her hand covering Mr. Thom’s withered dark-brown digits.

He chuckles. “So you brought Mr. Stuffy to see me. Must be pretty bad off.”

“Mr. Stuffy?” I glance at her, and she sort of shrugs. “I insisted upon coming, sir. I had to, once I reviewed Scarlett’s notes. How do you feel?”

“Poorly,” he says. “But I’m going to be fine. Mrs. Georgina and Lord Mark have been so kind.” He squints toward Scarlett. “So, is stiff fella giving you a hard time today? And is you dressed as you or your brother? Boy, that Scotland was something.”

“Our brother was,” Georgina says. She’s come closer, bringing along the scent of ginger and butter. “He’d be glad that Scarlett is gathering resources to help you.”

“Even brought Mr. Stuffy. Oh boy.” Mr. Thom lies back. “I guess that means I’m causing more of a fuss.”

“Mr. Thom, be at ease,” Scarlett says. “Me and Mr. Carew are friendly today.”

Woman, friendly! With my hands all over her in the carriage and my thoughts imagining everywhere else, what does she mean friends? Livingston’s my friend, sort of, but I’d never be in a carriage with him like that.

I’d never risk her reputation or mine . . . for friendliness.

I keep my thoughts to myself and become the professional I am. “Mr. Thom. It’s my honor to look after you. You’re a Wilcox by extension. I’ve looked after them all. I, Stephen Carew—”

“You mean Stephen Adam Carew. You have to say it like Miss Scarlett, with awe and respect.”

That notion makes me smile, makes me think back to each time she’s called my whole name, that perhaps it was with love . . . and aggravation. I lean closer to the patient. “Mr. Thom. I need to examine your eyes.”

Putting my bag on the side of the bed, I dig inside and pull out a magnifying lens, a candle, and a small holder.

Scarlett’s arms are folded. She looks fragile, like I’ll find fault. I’ve seen this tension in some of our teasing. Must fix this now. “Scarlett, I need you—”

Her jet eyes open wider. I’m lost and then found in her pupils.

“What will you have me do?”

There’s so much I want . . . need of her. For now, I light the candle, put it in the stand and hand it to her. “Hold this, then do exactly as I say.”

“Yes, of course.” Before she takes the items from me, she slips off her cape. It flutters and falls to the bed. As if I’m watching her descend the stairs at Anya House once more, I’m dazzled. The curve of her bosom, the flair of hips that shape her dress better than any petticoat—all are inches away. Her lips part. “What do I do?”

“Hold me . . . it close. The candle. Be careful of falling wax. Beeswax is hottest when molten. I don’t want anything to hurt you or Mr. Thom.”

A deep blush falls on her cheeks. My blathering has affected her. My God, she’s beautiful. And she loves me.

Scarlett unpins her straw bonnet with the red-dyed feather and hands it to her sister, who’s nervously eating another treasured biscuit. The scent of ginger is replaced by jasmine. Scarlett is absolutely breathtaking.

Her arm is outstretched. With her gloves remaining in my carriage, her arms are bare to her shoulders like a sculpted piece of sleek bronzed statue. “Do I hold it like this, Mr. Carew?”

I’m speechless. I’m absorbed by the lines of her, the elegance of her profile in a gown fit for a princess. How did she ever pass for a man?

With a shake of my head, I clear my thoughts. “Relax, Mr. Thom. And here, Miss Wilcox, stand here.”

Drawing her from the bed, I have her in front of me again. This time, I link our hands together and guide the candle to within inches of Mr. Thom’s right eye.

“The light’s focused on the zygomatic bone.” Scarlett’s tone is low but authoritative. “Should I move up?”

“Oh, Lord,” Mr. Thom whimpers. “Zygo-might. That sounds bad.”

“Just say the cheekbone, Scarlett. The formality may frighten the patient. And there’s no need to impress me. I already am. And yes, go up a little. Put the focus on my magnifier.”

“Give it to me straight, Mr. Carew.” Mr. Thom thrashes about in the light. He calms when I have Scarlett move the candle. “How long do I have?”

“To live?” I say, “A long time. To see, I’m not sure.”

“What next, Mr. Carew?” Her voice sounds distant and formal.

I slow my nervous heart. I’m not returning her until after midnight. I have hours to fix us, to heal our newborn relationship.

“Let’s look at the other eye again. I need to estimate the size.” Releasing my hold on the candle, I give her full control, but I guide her placing my palm to her abdomen. I feel her tremble against me. With more pressure, we move as one.

“Perfect,” I say, and draw in a breath of her sweet jasmine and the honey smoke. “Mr. Thom, keep holding still. Scarlett, a little closer.”

She backs into me and again my mind is gone. It takes a moment of concentration to stop thinking of her hips. “I meant to bring the light closer to Mr. Thom’s face.”

Scarlett responds and our movements again are fluid. She’s an extension of me, or I am of her. “The left lens is completely occluded. It has a solid lenticular cataract blocking light into the eye.”

“Mr. Thom.” Scarlett’s voice sounds full of tears. “That means the left eye is fully darkened. You see nothing. How long, Mr. Thom?”

“Nothing.” The man grunts. “Not for two days. It went. Then I crashed the cart.”

She leans against me again and steals my breath. “I’ve been fussing with the modiste and gowns. I should’ve been here.”

“Scarlett, your being here wouldn’t stop this.” My hand lightly cups her hip, drawing her again to me, so near that her lovely neck is in kissable range, and I relax my hold, flattening my palm to keep from tracing what feels like the lace of a chemise, the edges of a shift or some undergarment that adorns her rich skin. I’m spun up again.

“Uhmmm.” Dusting crumbs from her mouth, Georgie coughs, looking straight at me. “Too friendly, Mr. Stuffy.”

My fingers give me away. They wish to paw into this silky gown and seek the pleasures and surprises of this woman. “Let’s look at the right eye once more.”

Scarlett nods.

“See it, my dear, the occlusion?”

“Like a flawed diamond,” she says. Her voice is low. I hunger for it to again be in my ear. “The right side, the growth is slower.”

I’m trying to focus on the patient who might go blind, instead of how blind I’ve been not noticing a diamond in my midst, a brilliant fiery gem who loves me even though I’m deeply flawed.

“The right eye has some cataracts but still has vision. It’s not a candidate for the procedure. However, the left is definitely a candidate for couching. Very good work researching.”

“Stephen, you agree with me?”

“Your analysis is right. I’m honored that you entrusted me with your notes.”

Her cheeks turn red, Georgina interrupts. “Wait a moment. Are you saying the research my sister did, all these sketches she’s created will help restore Mr. Thom’s eyesight?”

“Yes, Georgina. Scarlett’s diagrams have been used by the duke to commission the special tools needed for this couching technique. It should work, but how well is the question.”

“Slouching,” Georgina says, “Sis. You are wonderful.”

“It’s called couching. Don’t celebrate. It requires a very sharp instrument to push back the cataract-covered lens completely into the eye. Light will then be able to reach the inside of the eye again. Mr. Thom will regain the ability to see shapes and colors,” Scarlett says. “That has to be better than blindness.”

I put my hand on her shoulder. “Before we get too excited, Mr. Thom must consider the risks. There are a lot of risks. And it can’t be done here. It needs to be a hospital . . .”

My voice sort of dies. A year ago, I was working in a hospital that could do just that. But I stopped and built my profession for my aunties’ approval. Begging for sponsors, when my own coffers are light, is hard for a proud man. Now I’m a lauded gentleman with no hospital to serve the community I love.

“Stephen?”

I rub at my face. “I suspect that Scarlett and the duke have a place that’s suitable. I spent time there earlier.” Now for the hard part. “Mr. Thom, there can be a lot of complications. Couching may only regain color perception. There can be infection. I’m not sure it’s worth the risk.”

Scarlett pulls away from me. We’re separated for the first time. I witness her shiver. Like me, she must miss our bodies’ heat.

“Like a fever? Infections cause fever.”

She sounds small and scared and unlike confident Scarlett.

“Yes, a fever. Mr. Thom may also lose the ability to open and close the eye. The procedure will be painful. Anything involving the eye is. Mr. Thom, you must consider all these factors.”

“None of the research accounting said anything about fevers.”

“Scarlett, fevers arise whenever an operation happens. It’s common, so it’s not often mentioned. It’s a reality of any surgical procedure.”

“But fevers can kill,” she says. Scarlett’s eyes are big and fearful. She runs from the room.

I look at Georgina. She whispers, “Scotland.”

She and her tray of biscuits head out after her sister.

“Mr. Stuffy, what do you think?”

I take his hand, as I’ve done thousands. “You heard the risks. I need you to decide.”

“Would you do it?”

“Mr. Thom, if it meant a chance at seeing one of the things I treasure, then yes. It’s worth the risk.” Picking up my bag, and Scarlett’s sketches, I head to the door. “I’ll check with you next week. When you are strong enough, in July, we can do the procedure at Anya House. Scarlett Wilcox was right on this practice.”

“Glad you now see how special that girl is, Mr. Stuffy.”

On that I can agree. Except for the girl part. Scarlett Wilcox is all woman, and now all scared.