“A few weeks! No. That will not do. I cannot lay here in this infirmary for a few weeks.” He shook his head. “No. I must send for my driver.”
She leaned over him, practically nose to nose. “Listen to me, Lord Sterling. You were in bad shape physically before you were stupid enough to engage in a horse race while drunk. Now that you’ve done severe damage to your body, you are at risk for infection and improper healing. The last thing you need is more alcohol. You need food and rest.”
His anger turned to panic. No brandy? No wine, or ale? This woman must have been sent from the devil. “All right. Tell me what’s so very wrong with me that I have to stay here for—” He waved his hand around. “—whatever it was you said.”
The doctor stood and walked to the counter and picked up the pad she’d been writing on when he awoke. She settled back on the stool and flipped back through a few pages.
“You have a broken tibia—”
“—stop! Please use terms I can understand. I know nothing about medicine.”
He could have sworn she mumbled he knew nothing about anything, but he chose to ignore it.
“You have a broken bone in your right lower leg. You cracked two—I think—ribs. A sprained wrist. Aside from that, you have cuts, scrapes, a black eye, and other bruises all over your upper body.” She closed the pad and looked at him. “Since you said the last thing you remember is racing your horse and being thrown, I can only assume upon landing you collided with a sturdy object. The scrapes and cuts could be from whatever it was you hit, or from striking the ground.”
Edwin closed his eyes, trying to remember where they were when the race took place. He thought it was Queen Victoria Park, but things got a little muddled after they left the Grossman ball.
Dr. Stevens stood and glared at him. “Reconcile yourself to the fact that you will be here for a few weeks. You will be given plenty of healthy food and when you can move a little bit, a trip to the garden for fresh air.
“There will be no spirits of any kind, and no cigars, if that is also your habit. You will eat three full meals a day, drink plenty of water and sleep whenever your body tells you to.” She leaned over him, her eyes snapping, her cheeks flushed.
The God of Vengeance.
“Aren’t I going to be an expensive guest?” Again, he tried his best smile, but she never flicked an eyelash.
“You are no guest, my lord. You are a patient and believe me when I tell you that the bill I present to you will cover all your needs. Do I make myself clear?”
He was getting mighty annoyed with the doctor. He hurt, he needed a drink and the last thing he wanted to do was remain in this den of purity for a few weeks. “And if I don’t agree?”
“Then I will arrange to have your driver pick you up as requested and will make time in my schedule to attend your funeral the following week.” She squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye. “It’s your choice, my lord.”
With those words she turned on her heel and left the room. He hadn’t been chastised like that since he’d been a lad in short pants.
Chapter 2
Rayne dipped a linen into a pan of cool water and ran it over Sterling’s face. It had been three days since he’d been deposited on her doorstep. His injuries had not been her main concern, however.
He’d been in withdrawal from his alcohol addiction since he arrived. He was unable to sleep, shook so hard when she tried to feed him and offer him water that it invariably spilled all over him and his bedclothes.
“If you would give me just a little bit of brandy, I would feel much better,”
Sterling said as he pushed her hand away.
“Yes. I know that. You would feel much better, but you would need to keep drinking it until you passed out again.” She tried again to make him comfortable by wiping his face and arms.
He smiled at her, which looked more like a grimace. “At least if I’m unconscious I wouldn’t annoy you.”
The man was covered with sweat, his face as pale as new snow. He hadn’t been able to keep down any of the food she forced him to eat, and truth be told she was concerned at this point that she might very well be attending his funeral the next week. There was just so much a body could take, and with the injuries he’d suffered, combined with this problem, healing was precarious.
The evening before she had traveled to the village between Bath and Bristol where her father lived in comfort in a small house, with a full-time woman who acted as a companion, housekeeper and cook to see to his needs.
Rayne had consulted with him for advice and guidance about Sterling, but he assured her she was doing whatever she could to save the man and should do nothing more. Saving souls was not their calling, he admonished. That hadn’t been good enough for her, though. As much as she detested the condition Sterling had allowed himself to get into, she knew there was a reason a man drank so much. At the present time, of course, it was just that his body craved it, but something started him on this trek to self-destruction.
“Stop looking at me like that.” Sterling closed his eyes and turned his head the other direction. “I know you are wondering how you can save me. I cannot be saved. Just let me lie here in peace until my last breath.”
In the time she’d been treating him, she used cajoling, humor, and—God help her—flirting to get him to drink water and take the broth she’d offered several times a day.
She hadn’t gotten a great deal of sleep, herself. She checked on him many times during the night and juggled seeing her other patients and dealing with him until she was bone tired.
Now she was angry. “How dare you fall into a well of self-pity! You have everything a man could want in life. You are wealthy, titled, well-educated, and handsome. Yet you throw away everything on a debauched lifestyle.”
When he raised his brows, she continued. “Yes. I know all about the way you conduct yourself. You make the gossip columns almost every day. Nightly, you drink yourself into a coma, gamble money that could be put to much better use, spend your time carousing with, and chasing, the lowest sort of women, without a care for your own well-being.” She took in a deep breath, annoyed with herself for speaking that way to a patient in his condition. She was a doctor and was not to be judgmental.
He continued to stare at her, a slight smile on his face. “You think I’m handsome?”
She growled, threw the wet cloth at his face, and left the room.
To save her own sanity she had to leave the house for a while. There were people she had to check on, and this was the best time to do it before she strangled the man. Primum non nocere. ‘First do no harm’. The words reverberated in her mind as she shrugged into her coat, pinned on her hat, picked up her medical bag and left the house.
Most of the time she rode her bicycle to visit patients, and since she needed the exercise to rid herself of the unkind feelings she had toward her patient, she walked behind the infirmary and placed her medical bag in the basket on the front of the bicycle stationed there and climbed on.
The fresh air felt good on her face and helped with the tiredness from the past several days. Her first stop would be Lottie’s house since she’d sent word earlier that her little boy, John, seemed to be suffering from an ague. Since she and her husband, Carter were quite the nervous parents, Rayne had sent back a note that she would stop in to see the lad.
When she arrived at the Westbrooke household she found Lottie walking back and forth, holding a crying John, while Lottie’s mother, Mrs. Monroe, sat wringing her hands.
“Oh, thank goodness you are here, Rayne.” Lottie immediately handed the child over to her. “Carter was about to take a carriage to your house to drag you here.”
“And I’m afraid I was no help at all, since I didn’t deal with Lottie’s illnesses when she was a child.” Mrs. Monroe looked anxiously at her grandson.
Mrs. Monroe had been a well-known courtesan in London, who kept her profession a secret from her daughter and sent Lottie to live with a family when she was young and
then off to a boarding school in France. She had maintained a very close relationship with Lottie over the years, however, and after a falling out and then a reunion, Mrs. Monroe married a wonderful man who was a great husband to his wife, a wonderful father to Lottie, and grandfather to John.
John was rubbing the side of his face with his pudgy hand and crying up a storm. Rayne felt his forehead and the back of his neck. She laid him on the sofa and took out a stethoscope. Despite his wailing, she was able to listen to his lungs.
“It seems your son has caught an ague, and it has settled in his ear. That can be quite painful.”
“Oh, no.” Lottie looked as if she were about to burst into tears. “What can I do?”
“There isn’t a lot that can be done for an ague. Try to get him to drink as much water and beef broth that he can. He has a slight fever which you can help by using cool cloths to wipe down his body. I have a mixture I will leave with you to make a tea. Just be sure to let it cool completely before giving it to him. I will add something to the mixture to help clear out his little nose and help him sleep.
“There is also the thought that warm oil in his ear, along with a warm compress against his head might help.”
“But it’s not serious?” Lottie continued to walk up and down with the wailing child.
“No. He is young and healthy. It should cause no more than a few nights of fussing. And, I’m afraid loss of sleep for you.” Rayne pulled out several small bags of dried and crushed herbs. “However, if he develops a fever higher than what he has now and you are unable to reduce it, send for me right away. Bathing in cool water will help to bring down a fever.”
Finally reaching the small bags she needed, she pulled them out of her satchel and looked up at Lottie. “I will need your kitchen to mix these up.”
“Oh, yes. Of course. Just follow me.” Lottie grinned. “Or the sound of crying.”
The three women walked to the kitchen.
Mrs. Monroe took the child out of Lottie’s arms. “I can spend the nights here with you, dear, and help so you can get some sleep.” Mrs. Monroe still looked flustered, and Rayne couldn’t help but wonder how much assistance the poor woman would actually provide. But then there was a lot to be said for moral support.
“I thought you had a nurse for the boy?” Rayne looked over at Lottie. “I need a cup or jar to mix this.”
Lottie reached up on a shelf over the stove and plucked a jar and handed it to Rayne. “Yes. We did have a nurse.” Lottie smiled and studied Rayne as she added various herbs to the jar. “Many of them, in fact. The last one lasted the longest, about two weeks. Carter never feels they are doing enough for our son.”
The three women looked at each other and laughed. Carter’s undying devotion to his wife and son was the subject of many chortles. Except as far as Rayne observed, the others in their group, Marcus Mallory, Lord Berkshire, and Nick Smith were all the same. It seemed the men who fell in love with one of the Merry Misfits of Bath—as they were all known—were good-and-well besotted.
Rayne had been drawn into the group of women and was thrilled to have female friends. For most of her childhood, with her devotion to studies, she hadn’t the time to develop relationships with other girls. Then, being the only female student at St. Bartholomew’s, and not widely accepted, there were no friends to be had there, either.
She mixed up the combination of herbs that would help the little boy and handed the jar to Lottie. “This should help, but I hate to tell you the best cure is time. It will run its course.”
“Thank you so much.” Lottie took the jar and placed it carefully on the shelf. They all walked to the door, and it appeared the babe had fallen asleep in his grandmother’s arms.
The silence was a blessing. “I am off to visit Lizbeth now. ‘Tis time for her monthly check-up.”
“I hope you can join us all for tea this week. I know you are busy, but you must take time for yourself,” Lottie said.
Time for herself sounded wonderful, but something quite elusive with her present in-house patient. “I agree. Physician heal thyself.” They were all truly wonderful women and she was so grateful to have met them. “Just send a note around when you have a day and time and if there are no emergencies, I will be honored to join you.”
The air had turned cooler, but Rayne still enjoyed the bicycle ride from the Westbrooke residence to see Lizbeth. As she sped by the houses between the two residences, she smiled at the memory of Lizbeth approaching her shortly after her marriage to ask for guidance.
Lizbeth had been kidnapped and sold to a brothel and was rescued by Nick Smith and Lizbeth’s now husband, Marcus. Although very much in love with her new husband, she was having a hard time with the idea of intimacy. Whatever Rayne had said to her had worked because only a few months later after a visit to her infirmary, Rayne was pleased to tell Lizbeth that she was with child.
Truthfully, Rayne was sure Marcus’s charm and seduction skills had much more to do with Lizbeth’s comfort with the marital bed than Rayne’s words.
Lizbeth’s examination went quite well, which was no surprise because the mother-to-be was a young and healthy woman.
“Rayne, I’m sorry, I know you are the doctor, but I am certain I am carrying twins. I still have three months to go and I’m big as a house.” Lizbeth rubbed her lower back as she settled into the settee in her drawing room, adjusting the necessary pillow against her back.
“As I told you, given all your signs, it is quite possible. However, I only feel one baby right now, but it’s possible that they are situated in such a way that the second one is—for lack of a better term—hiding.”
Marcus Mallory strolled into the drawing room. “Ah, good afternoon, Dr. Stevens. How is my lovely wife doing?”
Lizbeth smiled brightly at her husband who walked right up to her and took her hand, giving it a gentle kiss. Dr. Stevens grinned when Lizbeth blushed. They were such a sweet couple. “I just finished her examination and she is doing quite well, Mr. Mallory. Healthy, and happy. The best kind of mothers-to-be.”
“Since you are on a first name basis with all the men and women in our group of friends, I suggest we drop the Mr. Mallory.”
“Yes. And we can drop the Dr. Stevens, as well.”
“Will you be staying for dinner?” He poured a brandy and joined the ladies in the chair across from where they sat on the settee. Apparently, he knew of her aversion to spirits because he did not offer her one.
“I’m afraid not. I have a patient in my infirmary who needs looking after.” She tightened her lips and shook her head. “A gentleman who was in dismal condition when he was dropped by his idiot friends on my front doorstep a few days ago.”
Lizbeth’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, my goodness.”
“Yes. I understand the man has quite the reputation with dissipation, debauchery, and other unsavory habits.”
“You aren’t referring to Lord Sterling, are you?” Marcus asked swirling the liquid around in his glass.
“Yes. I’m afraid that’s who was dumped at my door.”
Marcus snorted and sipped his drink.
“Is he in bad shape?” Lizbeth asked.
Rayne stood and began gathering her medical bag, gloves, and hat. “Yes. Not life threatening, but his behavior and the way he abuses his body will be life-threatening in the future if he doesn’t stop.”
“What I find strange, is I’ve known Sterling for many years. It’s only in the past two years, once he moved to Bath in fact, that he has taken up this path to destruction,” Marcus added as he walked her to the door.
He gave her a slight bow. “Thank you again for taking such good care of my wife.”
Rayne smiled. “I can only do so much, but I assure you, your everyday care of her is what makes for a happy woman in her condition.” She shrugged into her coat and offered a smile. “Good day, Marcus.”
“It’s about time you fools got here.” With a great deal of pain Edwin raised himself up on his elbows and
regarded his two friends, Manchester and Brennan. “Do you have any idea how much pain I’ve been in?”
“Well, you slammed your body into a tree when your horse threw you. I would expect you to be in pain.” Brennan grinned at him.
Edwin closed his eyes. “Not that. Idiots, both of you. The doctor won’t allow any spirits in this entire building. Can you imagine?”
Both men stared at him, aghast. “No spirits? You’ve been without brandy since we left you here?”
“No spirits, and yes I’ve been without since then. I hope you brought some with you. The termagant is out making calls so…” He beckoned with his one good hand.
“I never travel without my good friend,” Manchester said as he withdrew a silver flask from his jacket pocket.
“Me neither,” Brennan added, producing his own flask.
Edwin grabbed the closest flask and downed half the container. “Ah.” He wiped his mouth with his hand. “Heaven.”
“No. I’m afraid it’s not heaven, my lord. But hell.” Dr. Stevens stood in the doorway to the infirmary room, her hands fisted at her side, the look on her face enough to frighten Lucifer himself.
“Ah, shite.” Sterling mumbled.
Chapter 3
Edwin closed his eyes and groaned.
Dr. Stevens dropped her arms to her side and walked slowly to the three men who remained as still as statues, the tapping of her shoes on the floor the only sound in the room. She held her hand out to Edwin. As annoyed as he was with her treating him like a recalcitrant child, nevertheless he handed over the flask.
She turned to Brennon and held her other hand out. He looked over at Edwin who shrugged. It was his decision. Slowly he gave her the flask. “That’s a family heirloom, you know.”
Her brows rose. “It is a pity that your family honors drink so much that they carry it in an heirloom.”
Brennan flushed which amused Edwin since very little embarrassed the man. He’d seen him in some very questionable circumstances over the years. But then Dr. Stevens had way about her that could make many a man fall to his knees.
The Doctor and the Libertine: The Merry Misfits of Bath - Book Five Page 2
