need no compensation.’ She waved a dismissive hand. ‘I—I do not know if Carter can produce a doctor this very day, though.’
The village did have a surgeon, Mrs Pitts had said, but he was kept very busy.
Westleigh took a bite of bread, chewed and swallowed it. She could not help but notice the muscles in his neck move with the effort. She touched her own neck.
‘Let us hope he can come today,’ he said.
He must be as eager to be on his way as she was for him to leave, but should she trust his care to a village doctor? Perhaps she should send for a London physician. She would love to send for the physician her husband had used when he was in town, but that man knew her.
Of course she could simply tell Westleigh now who she was.
She opened her mouth.
But he spoke first. ‘Might I have a clock?’ he asked. ‘A way to keep track of time. I cannot even tell if it is day or night.’
How awful! All sorts of things must be difficult if one was not able to see. How much worse if one would never see again.
She vowed she would leave a large coin in the cup of the next blind beggar she came upon.
‘I am so sorry,’ she cried. ‘I should have thought to provide you a clock. Perhaps I can purchase a watch that chimes. I have seen such watches. You could keep it next to you.’
Although, now that she thought of it, would a small village have such a watch? She’d only seen them in London shops.
‘A clock will be sufficient,’ he responded. ‘And I am well able to pay for it, if there is not a spare one in the house.’
‘We’ll find you one, do not fear.’ There was one on the mantel in the library. She’d have it brought to him immediately.
Or she would have to bring it herself, since she’d sent everyone else away besides Mrs Pitts, who would be much too busy.
‘Wait here a moment,’ she said, which was a silly thing to say. Where could he go without sight?
She hurried out of the room and ran down the stairs to the library. Carefully she took the clock from the mantel and carried it back to his room.
‘I’ve brought you a clock!’ she said as she entered. ‘I’ll place it on the mantel and we’ll make sure Carter winds it for you.’
‘I did not mean for you to bring it so quickly, but I am very grateful.’ He had finished the food and was feeling for the tea cup.
She walked over and guided his hand to it.
He stilled and his face tilted towards hers.
She wished she could see him, see all his face. She had seen him a few times at the Masquerade Club and had been introduced to him once. It was the only time she could remember speaking to him, and she’d paid little attention.
‘Is there anything else?’ she murmured. ‘Anything else I can do for you?’
He continued to seem as if he was facing her. ‘I want to leave this room,’ he said. ‘To come and go as I wish. Surely there must be a drawing room or a library or someplace I could sit without disturbing anyone.’
‘But how can you? You can’t see,’ she cried.
He scowled. ‘I can walk.’
She feared he would injure himself even more. What would she do then?
‘The surgeon at Ramsgate said—’ She cut herself off. ‘Let us at least wait until another doctor examines you. I would hate to risk your recovery.’
He gulped down the cup of tea.
She leaned closer to pick up the tray.
‘Roses,’ he said softly.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You smell like roses,’ he explained.
She felt her cheeks flush. It delighted her that he’d noticed. It was her favourite scent. She always rinsed herself with rosewater and any perfume she purchased must smell like roses.
‘I—I should leave now, unless there is something else I can do—’ She bit her lip.
‘Nothing.’ His voice dipped low. ‘I am grateful for the breakfast and the clock. And for sending for the doctor.’
She cleared her throat. ‘Let us hope he comes soon.’
Balancing the tray, she exited the room and only then did she realise she’d again not told him who she really was. Maybe when the doctor came, he would indeed say Westleigh was recovered. Maybe he would remove Westleigh’s bandages and his eyes would work perfectly and she could have her coachman take him to London this very day.
* * *
It was late afternoon before the doctor called at the cottage.
Carter announced him to Daphne as she sat in the drawing room, writing a letter to her man of business, informing him of her arrival in England and her stay at Thurnfield.
She, of course, did not explain why she remained at Thurnfield.
She rose at the doctor’s entrance. ‘Mr Wynne, how good of you to come.’
He was a man of perhaps fifty years, with a rough but kindly appearance. When he saw her, his face lit with surprise, then appreciation. ‘Mrs Asher! My word. May—may I welcome you to Thurnfield. You are a very delightful addition, if I may be so bold as to say.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Daphne’s response was well practised. Men who saw her for the first time often reacted so. In this instance, however, she did not want her beauty to distract the doctor from why he was here. ‘I do believe Mr Westleigh is anxious for you to examine him. Carter can take you up to him directly.’
He tapped his lips. ‘In a moment. I understand from Mr Carter that you witnessed the injury and the examination by the other surgeon. I think it best I should speak with you first.’
She sat again and gestured to a chair. ‘Do sit.’
He lowered himself into the chair and leaned towards her, all ears. And eyes. ‘Now. Tell me what happened.’
She relayed the information as succinctly as she could, but he asked several questions about the injury and other surgeon’s examination, forcing her to repeat herself.
It was a good thing she had not ordered tea, or the man would never make it up to Westleigh’s room.
Her patience frayed. ‘I do think you should see Mr Westleigh now, sir. He has been waiting a very long time.’
‘Indeed. Indeed.’ Mr Wynne took his time rising from his seat. ‘You will accompany me? I may need information only you will have.’
She’d just given him all the information
