Page 43 of Lady of Charade
“Here we go,” Sarah said, taking a deep breath then looked over to the Duke of Clarence, nodded, and began to search for the bullet as efficiently as she could.
Lord Upwell bucked up off the table, but Sarah breathed deeply, ignoring him for a quick moment as she found what she was looking for, pinched it, and slid it out quickly.
“You found it?” Clarence asked incredulously, and Sarah nodded. “I did.”
Sarah cleaned the wound as best she could, before bandaging the arm and sitting back to survey her work.
“I’m impressed,” Clarence said, just as the door opened and a man, who must have been the physician, walked through.
“How is he?” The physician asked, coming to the side of the bed, then saw that the wound was bandaged. “What have you done?” he asked, looking at Sarah with wide eyes.
“I’ve found the bullet and treated the wound,” she said, turning from him and beginning to clean her instruments. “He will be fine.”
“How can you be sure?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “What training have you had?”
Sarah was well aware that most physicians did not respond well to women who were practiced in healing. She understood. Their type of training was vastly different than hers, which she had learned from her mother. Hers was a knowledge passed down through generations of other women.
Sarah had full confidence in her abilities and how she had treated the man, yet how was she supposed to best share that information with the physician standing in front of her?
Before she could say anything, however, the Duke stepped forward.
“Miss Jones has done an exemplary job, Doctor,” he said. “I apologize that you have been summoned unnecessarily. If there is any reason for us to contact you once more, we certainly will do so. We will ensure you are paid well for your time.”
And with that, the Duke was escorting him from the room, and Sarah let out a long sigh as she looked over at Elizabeth and then Phoebe, who had remained by the door, surveying the scene and prepared to offer any additional assistance.
“If only people would listen to me like that,” Sarah said with a wry grin, and Elizabeth laughed.
“I would like to say it is all his title,” she said with a bit of a shrug. “But it is practiced charm as well.”
“Whatever it is, I could use some of it,” Sarah said as she lifted her bag and went out to the hall to speak with Lady Upwell about her husband’s prognosis.
* * *
David heardall about Sarah’s treatment of Lord Upwell’s wound, though he certainly wasn’t surprised, seeing how well she had treated his own injury. Most of the party were now much more intrigued in Miss Sarah Jones and her healing abilities — where had they come from and just how did she know how to treat Lord Upwell? For the man was out of bed and at dinner the very next day, shocking them all as he praised Sarah and her treatment of him.
The weekend at Berkley’s house had been filled with hunting, drinks, musicales, and billiards. Yet David could think of nothing other than Sarah, and the mystery of her father.
Of course, it didn’t help that everywhere he turned, there she was, just out of reach. Lady Alexander had arrived along with many of the other guests who had been invited, and the woman looked at him as though he were a jackal attempting to steal her beloved hare.
Why she cared, he had no idea. She clearly had no intention of helping Sarah beyond offering her the link to society. If Sarah mattered more to her than that, why did she not truly provide her with a home?
He attempted to work on that angle further one evening after the gentlemen rejoined the ladies in the drawing room.
“Lady Alexander,” he said, taking a seat in the stiff-backed chair next to her. She always seemed to choose the most uncomfortable chair in the room, he noted. “How do you do this evening?”
“I am well,” she said, eyeing him from the side without actually turning her head toward him, as though if she ignored him he would leave her be. David, however, was far more determined than that. He pasted his most charming smile on his face — one that had won many hearts — and continued in as friendly a manner as possible.
“I am certainly glad to hear it,” he said. “Lord Berkley has a lovely home, does he not?”
“He does.”
“How do you know the family?”
“I am here, Mr. Redmond, to chaperone Miss Jones, as you well know.”
“Of course,” he said, attempting to infuse all matter of warmth into his tone. “However, your families must surely have had many connections over the years, have they not?”
“As much connection as to any other noble family, Mr. Redmond.”
