is simply doing his job.
He was a doctor. A man of science. He had the deepest blue eyes Bella had ever seen. Bluer even than Clarissa’s. They were kind eyes, she realised.
Patient.
The voice deep inside of her soothed that she could trust him and she forced herself to believe it.
Slowly, and with surprising tenderness, he removed her half-boot and gently examined the swelling around her ankle. His dark brows were drawn together slightly. He had a good nose, Bella mused to avoid thinking about the past, neither too small nor too large, and a strong chin that was already showing evidence of a very dark beard, even though he had clearly shaved it this morning. His black hair curled slightly at the snowy-white collar of his shirt and fell softly forward over one side of his brow in a slightly boyish manner. The natural style reminded her that the good doctor was not one for pomades or unnecessary frills like the dandies in town. She liked that about him.
Not that he needed them. He was incredibly handsome. Bella had surprised herself by thinking it the first time she had seen him at the local assembly, because it had been over a year since she had thought such things about a man. She had never seen him wear anything other than stark, dark black or navy blue, and although he was always smartly turned out, his attire gave off the air of a man both comfortable in his own skin and far too busy with important things to pay much attention to his wardrobe. He was a true man of science and it showed.
He had handsome hands, too, if indeed hands could be described as such. Clean, sensibly trimmed fingernails, but capable. So very different to the hands of that scoundrel. Healer’s hands. Just like hers.
She found herself scrutinising his technique as the panic began to wane. After all, he had been properly schooled in the precise art of medicine whilst all her knowledge had come from whatever books she could find. Those books were no substitute for practical experience.
‘Mrs Patterson, would you mind...’ His words trailed off and he wore an odd expression as he gestured to his housekeeper to remove the stocking on Bella’s left leg. Feeling horribly exposed and conscious she had been intently staring at him, she lay back on the bed and fixed her gaze on the ceiling as his large hands meticulously prodded and probed her foot, calf and ankle.
He is simply doing his job. Stop being a pathetic coward. It’s irritating. You’re irritating. Be logical.
Once she had succumbed to the inevitability of her situation, and repeated her new mantra another dozen times silently in her head, it turned out not to be such an unpleasant experience. He had lovely warm palms and his deft touch left a trail of tingles on her skin which caused havoc with her pulse. Bizarrely, it had nothing to do with fear or panic. Bella knew those emotions too well and this was nothing like them. How peculiar.
His fingers suddenly left her skin and the real her willed them back. In fact, the real her was positively swooning. ‘The good news is that it is not broken.’ Bella watched those capable hands as he absently returned her skirts to order. He had obviously touched a significant number of ladies’ legs on a regular basis, she concluded, because he looked decidedly nonplussed with hers. ‘But it is badly sprained and bruised, so you will have to keep your weight off it for a few days.’ He smiled his detached doctor smile and spoke quickly to his housekeeper.
‘Mrs Patterson—could you fetch some ice and some towels, please?’
They would be alone! She missed the end of the conversation due to the hammering panic in her head and the older woman left to do his bidding. Bella levered herself to sit, just in case she needed to run, wincing as cuts on her hands protested at being used to lever her.
‘Let me see.’ He said this in a reassuringly detached and professional way as he took both her hands in his. Instantly, her silly pulse leapt even as she froze, then continued to bounce around frenetically as he turned them palms up to examine the filthy grazes caused by her fall. Strangely, there was no urge to run at being so intimately close to him. She hoped that was more evidence of progress. ‘These need cleaning.’
He dropped her hands dispassionately and went across the room to a large washstand. After pouring water into the bowl, he added a generous dash of clear liquid from a bottle next to the jug, and after tossing a clean towel over his shoulder, he carried the basin towards her.
‘Put them in here, please.’
Bella plunged her hands into the water and immediately snatched them out again as it stung so very badly.
‘What is in there—acid?’ She eyed the water warily.
‘Gin. I have noticed that wounds regularly cleaned with alcohol are less susceptible to infection. Besides, it is also very cheap. And I would prefer not to waste good brandy.’
He was attempting to put her at her ease as he did the children in the infirmary. He had such a lovely voice. Deep. Kind. Yet Bella blinked back at him rather than smile at the little joke and saw his own smile slide off his face within seconds. He did not like her and who could blame him when she could not stand her new self either?
A blush of shame bloomed instantly. Here he was, being nothing but nice, and all she could do was blink? Once upon a time she would have responded with something appropriate. Friendly. Usually funny. She missed that girl and willed her back every single day. But the old Bella was missing, presumed dead, and the new one was not quite right in the head.
For the only time in living memory, she fleetingly wished she was her sister. Clarissa would have replied with something witty and charming, happy to talk. Bella remained mute. Even her real self could think of nothing to say, so the silence was quite deafening. Once again the atmosphere became uncomfortable, something she was painfully aware was brought about at her doing, and she wondered if she could drown herself quickly in the shallow basin of water—putting them both out of their misery—while he continued to dab at her hands with the towel.
Satisfied that they were thoroughly clean, he then patted them dry and went to the wall of shelves at the back of the consulting room and rummaged for a pot of salve. He opened it and gently applied the ointment to the worst of the grazes.
‘That smells like honey.’ She willed the words out. It was a desperate and feeble attempt at normal conversation, but at that moment it was all that she had. At least she was conversing with him. A man. Surely she could take heart it signalled progress?
He resealed the pot and put it to one side. ‘That’s because it mostly is honey. We waste it on bread, but the Ancient Egyptians realised that it has exceptional healing powers. Like the gin, I have found honey acts as a barrier against infection. And is perfect on bread, of course.’
He smiled briefly and it did funny things to Bella’s insides. She tried to ignore it and forced herself to stop biting her lip and reply. ‘The Egyptians had metal scalpels, bone saws...’ This comment earned her another odd look, as if she were the most peculiar of females, and made her voice trail off. ‘Or so I have read...’
‘You pass the time by reading about surgical instruments?’
‘I am not an empty-headed ornament.’ And now she sounded snippy and defensive. Clarissa would certainly never try to engage a gentleman in discourse about bone saws! She would smile and compliment him on his superior knowledge. But then Clarissa had been born charming and Bella had lost that part of herself, and her current circumstances were particularly trying.
He was saved from having to respond by Mrs Patterson returning with the ice. It had already been smashed into small
