Warren paused on the threshold, the brackish taste of mouldy cask water burning his tongue. He took a deep breath, coughing slightly as the scent of burning wood and gunpowder filled his nostrils.
His mother looked up, apology as heavy as concern for the patient in her expression. ‘Warren, thank goodness you’re here.’
Warren pushed forward, forcing his feet to move one in front of the other. He carefully brushed aside the broken porcelain pieces so he could kneel next to the regal lady and better view the laceration. He removed the blood-soaked handkerchief and steadied himself as he examined the gaping wound.
‘How are you tonight, Lady Ellington?’ He tried to sound cordial but the words came out tight.
‘I’ve certainly been better.’ She offered him a weak smile, her wide chest covered in diamonds struggling to reflect the low light.
‘Miss Domville, please bring the candles closer.’
Miss Domville’s dress fluttered behind her as she took the candelabrum from near the door and set it on the table above Lady Ellington. The memory of his assistant surgeon holding a candle over Warren’s head while Warren dug splinters out of a seaman’s neck flashed in the facets of Lady Ellington’s diamonds. Some of the sailors had survived thanks to his skill. Many more hadn’t, no matter how much he’d done for them.
Miss Domville knelt beside Warren. The whisper of silk and her fresh peony scent pushed back the old stench of seared flesh. He offered her an encouraging smile, wishing he could wallow in her faint answering one. He couldn’t and focused on the patient.
‘I’m sorry, Lady Ellington, but the cut is deep and will require sutures.’
Lady Ellington’s pale face went almost transparent. ‘It will hurt, won’t it?’
‘It will, but without them I can’t stop the bleeding.’
‘Don’t worry, Lady Ellington, you’ve faced worse,’ Miss Domville encouraged. The worry he’d caught in her voice in the hallway when he’d cautioned her about believing too much in medical men was masked by her reassuring words.
‘You’re quite right, my dear. We must soldier on tonight as we always do, mustn’t we?’ Lady Ellington reached out with her good arm and patted Miss Domville’s knee. The young lady didn’t stiffen beneath the older woman’s touch as she had with Warren’s, nor did the tenderness of her smile fade.
‘Sir Warren, I brought the items you requested.’ Lady Cartwright’s voice ended the sweet comfort of the ladies’ exchange.
At the door, Lady Cartwright covered her mouth in shock. Warren wasn’t certain if it was for Lady Ellington or the now-stained carpet. He suspected the latter as he took the sewing box and bottle of vinegar from the stalwart housekeeper and set them next to him.
‘Come away from there at once, Miss Domville.’ Lady Cartwright flapped her hand at her guest. ‘Next to a surgeon is no place for a young lady. You’ll only get in Sir Warren’s way.’
‘No, I need her help and her friend needs her comfort,’ Warren countered as he took up the needle and began to thread it with sturdy white silk. His hands were solid on the slender metal, but he felt the tremor rising up through his body. He was determined to finish the task before it swept over him and made him appear weak and incompetent. He took a deep breath, inhaling Miss Domville’s sweet scent. It calmed him more than any drought of laudanum or dram of rum ever had.
When the needle was ready, he handed it to Miss Domville. ‘Hold this, please.’
Their fingers met and she pulled away as if he’d pricked her, the tension he’d sensed when he’d touched in her in the hallway returning. He wished he could soothe whatever worries made her flinch, but it was the patient who needed him now.
He took up the bottle of vinegar, splashed some on to the clean cloth and pressed it to the wound. Lady Ellington winced.
‘You might have warned me.’ She scowled, a touch of humour behind the reprimand.
‘It would have hurt more if I had,’ Warren countered with a half-smile. He set the cloth and vinegar aside and took the needle from Miss Domville. He pinched the top of it, careful not to touch her this time. ‘Put your hands on either side of the skin and push it closed.’
Without question or hesitation, Miss Domville did as she was told. A trickle of blood seeped over her long fingers, but she didn’t flinch or blanch. He admired the girl’s pluck. Most genteel young ladies would be swooning on the sofa by now.
Not to be outdone by a young woman, Warren drew in a bracing breath and set to work.
Lady Ellington whimpered with each pierce of the needle and draw of the thread, but she didn’t scream or jerk away. Warren worked fast, eager to cause her as little pain as necessary.
Over his shoulders, an occasional whisper broke through his concentration. To Lady Cartwright’s credit, she kept the other ladies from crowding into the room and interfering. To her detriment, she didn’t staunch the steady stream of derision aimed at Miss Domville.
‘She’ll ruin her dress,’ Lady Preston sneered.
‘She’s acting like a common camp follower,’ Miss Cartwright hissed.
Warren made the final suture, tied it off with a neat knot and used the scissors in the sewing kit to snip the needle free of the thread. ‘You’d make quite a surgeon’s assistant, Miss Domville. You have the steady nerves for it.’
She frowned and glanced past him to the door. ‘Not everyone agrees with you.’
‘Ignore them.’ He handed her a clean towel, eager to see her lovely white fingers free of the red taint.
‘I spend my days ignoring them.’ She roughly scrubbed her skin.
He wondered what had happened to turn the others against her. Perhaps it was jealousy. She was sensuous like a Greek sculpture with shapely arms ending in elegant hands. When her fingers were clean and white again, she handed him the stained towel, avoiding his touch. Then she adjusted the lace chemisette covering her very generous décolletage. The brush of her fingertips across her breasts proved as teasing as it was modest. It made him forget the dirty linen in his palm as he watched her straighten a pin in her golden hair with its faint hints of amber circling her face. It was arranged in small twists which were drawn together at the back of her head, emphasising her curving neck and the small curls gracing it. While he watched her, he was no longer irritated at being drawn back to the sickroom he despised. If he’d known this beautiful woman was waiting in the sitting room for the men to finish their port, he’d have insisted they leave the dining room at once.
‘Warren, perhaps you should see to the bandage,’ his mother encouraged, interrupting his admiration of Miss Domville.
‘Of course.’ Warren took up the roll of linen and wound it over the wound, attempting to ignore the blood covering his fingers and to focus on Miss Domville’s steady presence beside him. As he tied the bandage, a small spot of red darkened the centre, but it spread out only to the size of a thruppence before stopping. ‘There now, Lady Ellington, all is well again.’
Lady Ellington looked at her arm and the dried streaks running down it. ‘To imagine, all this trouble because I tripped.’
‘It was no trouble at all. I’m glad you summoned me.’ He patted her good shoulder, hoping his smile hid the lie. It didn’t and his mother caught it, offering him a silent apology, but he ignored it. The old fear humbled him enough without anyone noticing it. ‘Let’s help her up to the sofa so she can rest.’
The moment Lady Ellington was settled against the cushions, the invisible dam holding the ladies back burst. They flooded into room, surrounding the Dowager Countess in a flurry of chirping and silk. Warren moved back, surprised to find Miss Domville next to him.
‘She