Chapter Eight #2
That was a difficult position to take—refusing his father’s dictates without also setting fire to the dukedom and all it represented.
He’d walked that tightrope for years, but it was getting harder.
He refused his father’s demand that he take a position in the House of Commons but agreed to honor his betrothal to Lady Kimberly.
But then he delayed that wedding by insinuating himself into Prinny’s inner circle.
And all of it was done while he tried to indulge his singular passion in all things oriental without leaving England.
After all, the sole heir to a dukedom couldn’t risk himself on foreign shores.
But now that China had come to him in the guise of a frightened Chinese woman, he would not abandon her to the likes of Madame Sabate. Or allow her to die under his watch.
He simply would not allow it, and so he rushed upstairs to see if his will alone could ward off Death.
He mounted the stairs in quick steps and rushed to the hallway just outside Emmaline’s bedroom where two very different medical men were bickering in front of a grim-faced Kimberly and a greenish-looking Chris.
The one dressed in the finest attire—Dr. Morton—shook his head with a grave countenance even as he bowed to Max.
“My lord, sad news, I’m afraid. Very sad indeed.”
Max waited, his entire body tightening as he glared at the man.
“Stop it, Max.” Kimberly huffed. “It does no good to seek advice only to intimidate him into silence.”
A fair point. He did his best to moderate his expression, but the truth was that nothing this day left him feeling particularly charitable toward anyone. Except Yihui, of course, who was the biggest victim in all of this.
“Kimberly, summarize it for me please. You have the best medical understanding of all of us.”
His English fiancée winced. “Taking care of dogs is not the same—”
“But it is better than anything I’ve ever done.” He looked at the woman he’d known since he was four years old. “Please, Kim.”
She nodded. “The doctor believes amputation of both her feet is the only option.”
The doctor nodded. “There is infection, my lord. And that will kill her for certain.”
Lady Kimberly continued. “Mr. Torres… He’s the surgeon. He agrees but feels that life without feet will be very bad for her. Very, very bad. He has seen several patients recover without amputation. The odds are slim, but survival is possible.”
So it was exactly as he had guessed. Miss Wong wasn’t expected to survive. He glanced into the darkened room. She appeared to be sleeping comfortably, but perhaps that was an illusion.
“How much laudanum did you give her?”
“None,” the doctor said. “She refused it. I fear the fever has addled her wits.”
“She said she’d had enough of that,” Kim corrected, her tone curt. “Her English is awkward, but the meaning was clear.”
“Just as well,” Mr. Torres said. “She needs her strength to fight the infection. There’s a balance to be found between pain and strength.”
There was no balance in any of this and everyone was looking to him to make a decision. He looked at Chris who was, as usual, listening to everything but saying very little. “Chris—” he began, but the man held up his hands as if warding off an evil spell.
“Do not look to me for answers. I’m here in case the duchess peeks her head out of her bedroom. At this point, I’m the only one who can keep her calm.”
That was true. His mother had a soft spot for Christopher, likely because he reminded her of her brother James. But that wasn’t helpful right now.
“This is a gamble either way, yes?” he asked the four of them.
They each nodded, though the surgeon looked thoughtful.
“Yes?” he pressed. Mr. Torres was a little shabby, but there was intelligence in his eyes and not one whit of obsequious pandering, unlike Dr. Morton.
“We can wait through the night, I think,” the surgeon said. “The morning will tell the tale.”
“Unacceptable!” snapped Dr. Morton. “To put his lordship, not to mention the duchess, through a night of caring for a foreign woman—”
“I can care for a sick woman,” Max snapped.
The doctor shook his head. “You do not know the kind of illness we are discussing, my lord. You have been shielded from the worst kinds of—”
Kim waved her hand. “I can stay.”
“My lady! This is not something you should subject yourself to. It’s very unpleasant, very—”
“I think,” Max interrupted, “that my mother could use your attention, Dr. Morton. Something to calm her overwrought nerves.”
“Yes, my lord, but—”
“Yes, yes, I understand your recommendation.” Then he paused, the words choking him. “If it comes to it, will you be the one to do the amputations?”
The man’s eyes bulged out in shock. “I should say not! That is…” He sniffed as he looked to the surgeon. “That is more properly something for a surgeon.”
Which is why Kimberly had asked for him. “Thank you, Dr. Morton. Pray do see to my mother’s nerves now.”
The man knew he was dismissed, and so he bowed and left, moving with pompous care. Max turned his attention to Mr. Torres.
“What will be the signs if we wait too long?”
“The fever will be very bad. Red streaks climbing upward from bad blood. The rest will look very similar to what you see now.”
Max nodded, his expression grim. “I’ll stay with her. She has no one in this land except me, and I will not abandon her.”
“Very well, my lord. I will return before nightfall to see if she has turned a corner in either direction.”
“Thank you—” he began, but Kim touched his hand. It was a loud gesture for her since she rarely touched people. Her caresses were almost exclusively reserved for dogs.
“The odds are not good, Max,” she said. “You need to prepare yourself.”
“I know,” he said grimly. “Go home. There’s no need for you to stay.”
She flashed him a wan smile. “Actually, I need to return to my cousin. She is doing a similar vigil tonight.”
He frowned. “The black mastiff?”
She nodded.
“I’m sorry, Kim. This has been a hard day for you.” He knew Kimberly loved that dog almost as much as her cousin did.
“It’s his time,” she said, her gaze going to the bedroom door. She didn’t have to say the words for him to know what she meant. She thought that he should allow Miss Wong to pass on as well. Life for a foreign woman with no feet was no life at all.
Unfortunately, he agreed, which made him feel sick.
He raised her hand to his mouth, giving her the most formal and devoted of kisses. “Thank you, Lady Kimberly,” he said.
She tapped his arm before he released her. “It’s not so awful being Ophelia, you know. Not when you are acting so kind to a complete stranger.”
“I am not Hamlet,” he grumbled. “Christopher, however—”
“I’m off!” his friend interrupted. “Prinny will want to know all the details and I have yet to shave.” Then with a rakish grin, he headed for the stairs.
Max would have thought him completely unaffected by the day’s events, but he saw the man glance to the other bedroom door. Glance, flinch, then hunch away.
Chris wasn’t nearly as sanguine as he appeared.
“Good luck,” Kimberly said, drawing his attention back to her.
“Thank you,” he said. Then he turned to the darkened bedroom. Was he really sitting vigil next to a foreign woman?
Apparently so. He prayed vehemently that this was not a death watch.