could have told him that,’ Westleigh remarked.
‘I agree.’ She had not wished to be this involved. Should she tell him the surgeon preferred her company to the duties that called him here?
‘A nasty business, eh?’ Wynne finally turned his attention to the patient. ‘Please do sit and I will bring a chair closer to you.’
Westleigh lowered himself back into the rocking chair and Wynne brought the wooden chair over to him. Daphne stood near to the door.
‘Now,’ Wynne said, ‘tell me—do you have any difficulty breathing?’
Westleigh took a breath. ‘No.’
Wynne nodded, but from his bag pulled out a cylindrical tube. ‘Best to check, in any event.’ He placed one end of the tube on Westleigh’s chest, the other against his own ear. ‘Breathe deeply for me.’
Westleigh did as requested and the surgeon moved the tube to various locations on his chest.
‘Your lungs are clear,’ Wynne said. ‘Have you experienced any dizziness?’
‘None now,’ Westleigh answered. ‘Not even if I walk. I am quite steady on my feet.’
‘Any pain?’ the man asked.
Westleigh shrugged. ‘My throat feels a bit rough. My head aches still, but not excessively. It is my eyes—my eyes concern me the most. They ache with a dull sort of pain. Again, not excessive. If I try to move my eyelids, however, the pain sharpens a great deal.’
‘Best you not move your eyelids.’ Wynne chuckled.
Westleigh frowned.
This was not a joking matter to him, Daphne wanted to say.
Wynne leaned forwards. ‘Let me have a look at you.’
He placed his fingers on Hugh’s head. His fingers looked stubby, but his touch seemed sure.
‘It is most remarkable you were not more burned.’ Wynne moved his fingers around his head and looked closely at the exposed parts of his face. ‘The eyes can get the worst of it even if your skin’s damage is superficial. Your hair is singed in places and I cannot see under the bandage, but I suspect you are fairly unscathed.’
Daphne had seen his eyes, though. His eyes had been alarmingly cloudy.
Wynne leaned back. ‘I would like to examine under your bandages, but you must promise me something.’
‘What is that?’ Westleigh asked.
‘Keep your eyes closed.’ Wynne emphasised each word. ‘If you do not keep your eyes closed, you risk further injury and blindness. Do you understand me?’
‘I understand.’ Westleigh answered in a low voice.
Wynne turned to Daphne. ‘Mrs Asher, may we close the window and draw the curtains?’
‘Certainly.’ She hurried to do as he asked.
Westleigh remained still as Mr Wynne unwound his bandages. He was like a taut string vibrating with tension. The bandages seemed endless, but finally Wynne came down to the two round pieces of cloth that were pressed against Westleigh’s eyelids.
‘Remember, keep your eyes closed,’ he warned.
He removed the last and moved even closer to peer at Westleigh’s eyelids. He touched one very gently with his thumb.
Westleigh winced.
‘Does that pain you?’ Wynne asked.
‘Some,’ Westleigh responded tightly.
Wynne held the lids closed, but turned to Daphne. ‘Will you bring me a lighted candle?’
She took the candlestick from the bedside table and lit it with a taper from the fireplace.
Wynne brought the candle close to Westleigh’s face.
Westleigh’s eyelids were still red and a yellowish crust clung to his eyelashes. If he did open his eyes now and could see, he’d know instantly who she was, but Daphne thrust that thought aside. He was more important this moment than her pride...and shame.
Westleigh remained like a statue.
‘Are you able to see the light?’ Wynne asked.
‘Yes!’ His voice filled with excitement. His eyelids twitched.
‘Keep them closed,’ Wynne warned again.
‘Does that mean I will be able to see?’ Westleigh asked.
‘I wish I could make that promise.’ Wynne leaned back and pulled out more bandages from his leather bag. ‘Your eyes need more time for us to be certain. Two weeks, like the other surgeon said. If you want a chance to heal completely, wait the two weeks. There is no infection now, but to open your eyes now—well, I cannot stress how urgent it is that you wait the two weeks. It is your only chance.’
Westleigh’s chin set and his head remained erect.
For some silly reason, Daphne felt proud of him for not giving in to emotion.
He might yet be blind.
Chapter Four
Hugh was through with confinement. He was through giving in to his fears. He would see again. He must. He would not sit in one room for two weeks waiting. He’d move around, act as if he could see, no matter how many pieces of furniture he bumped into, no matter what came crashing to the floor. He’d pay for the damages.
But he would not be confined.
Mr Wynne did not require him to remain in bed. The only admonition the surgeon had made was that he was not to remove the bandages over his eyes. Wynne said he’d return in a few days to check him and change the bandages, if necessary. In the meantime, Hugh intended to leave this room.
Wynne also said he could travel, if he wished. He could be in London in one day’s coach ride and straight into the suffocating confines of his mother’s care.
He’d rather impose on Mrs Asher. Was that ungentlemanly of him? He suspected so, but an unwanted invalid would receive the least fussing and he had no wish to be fussed over. It might cause the lady some annoyance if he did not remain in his room, but he’d go mad otherwise.
Carter knocked and entered the room. ‘Do you require anything, sir?’
‘Nothing at the moment,’ Hugh replied.
‘Very good, sir.’
The door sounded as if it was closing and Hugh raised his voice. ‘Carter?’
It opened again. ‘Yes, sir?’
‘What time is dinner to be served?’
‘Whenever
