Page 10 of A Sight to Behold
But there was no time to dwell, not now. He had a difficult surgery ready for him, and it was time to shine in the operating room. At least there, he never needed to worry about his clumsy way with women. He was everything but clumsy with the scalpel.
Nick entered hislittle operating area at the far end of his exam room. There was the leather-upholstered surgical table with the headrest that he’d altered. It was a chair he’d gotten from Felix, just when he’d started his practice here in London. Felix had purchased a new dentist chair and given Nick the headrest from his old one. Nick had had it welded onto the bottom of the metal frame and then upholstered it. Now, it was a cushioned and elevated place where his patients could comfortably rest their heads—and hold still. A still patient and a steady hand were more than half of a successful surgery.
Time to get to work.
Wendy had prepared the patient, as usual. The room smelled as it should, of steaming hot water to clean the blade, a gas lamp to cauterize incisions with heated instruments, clove extract, and Alfie’s aromatherapy to calm the patient.
“My Lord,” Nick said to the long body under a white sheet on the operating table. He never splattered, but it was well known that even a tiny dot of red would send patients into a frenzy, and a clean sheet could easily prevent the outrage. Patients didn’t need to see any blood. Especially not their own. And these rules applied particularly to the aristocrats.
“I’m ready, Doctor Folsham,” the earl mumbled from under the fabric. Wendy had put a warm compress soaked in Alfie’s concoction of herbal calming balms on his forehead. It also signaled that she’d cleaned his face. “I feel rather foolish, here.Covered in a shroud. It’s ghoulish to be honest. Why all the fabric?”
“The benefit of covering your hands and body with the clean sheet means a lower risk of infection from the usual dirt or dust on clothes,” Nick said. This was why Nick always wore freshly laundered and pressed white cotton for surgeries though he didn’t share this with the earl. The lower the risk of spreading dirt, the lower the infection rate. And his rate had been zero so far; he certainly wanted to keep it at that.
“How terribly thoughtful of you but I’m quite clean.” The earl’s voice came muffled from under the white sheets.
“It’s merely a precaution regardless of how clean and elegant you are,” Nick said, casting Wendy a look demanding she offer profuse acclaim for their noble patient, if only to get the man to acquiesce.
“And may I be so bold as to say you are so very elegant, my lord. Only the finest materials can do justice to a man of your stature.” Wendy spoke as if she’d rehearsed the compliments for the Ton, her wide eyes met with Nick’s in understanding. Their patients’ vanities ran deep, and it was not new to them how to handle them. Their priority now and always was a calm patient so that the surgery could be smooth.
When the fabric over the earl’s face crinkled, Nick knew he’d smiled. Good.
“My lord, this will be essentially the same procedure as last time, just on the other eye.”
Nick cast Wendy a glance. She’d set up the lens in a metal bowl of alcohol. The triangular scalpel was ready on a clean towel on the tray to his right. If only his thoughts could focus and his heart could stop longing for a woman out of his reach, Nick knew the surgery would be over quickly.
“You’ll feel a slight pinch, and then it’s almost over, your lordship.”
The patient nodded, and the compress slid askew, but that didn’t matter, for Nick removed it and carefully pulled the man’s eyelid open. His iris was just as foggy as Nick remembered. Without the lens replacement, the cataract would soon leave him blind. A well-known consequence of excessive alcohol consumption, cataracts were common among those who could afford to drink. And the earl could afford almost anything he wanted. Although merely in his thirties, the earl had led an indulgent lifestyle on every front. He’d shared his love for brandy with Nick before and admitted that his frequent visits to Felix were due to his love of chocolate before bedtime. Even Alfie had sold him an array of ointments, tinctures, and powders to cure his rashes, likely contracted during his exploits before his marriage. But the earl had surprised them when his betrothal had been announced a year ago. Perhaps the man was on a path to better health in lifestyle and love.
*
“Is he trulyonly one and thirty?” Felix asked as he took a spoonful of mashed potatoes and slid the bowl over to Nick. It was dinner time, and they’d just finished preparing Nick’s operating room for the next treatments. The odor from the kitchen permeated the entire building, and they’d left the window open to the back. The kitchen was tucked away, and even though the adjacent building obstructed the view from the small window, it was shielded from the bustling streets in Marylebone, where the friends had established their new practice.
“He is almost thirty-two, I think, but his bride is nineteen,” Alfie said.
“She’s supposed to be quite beautiful,” Wendy said dreamily. She’d always had a soft spot for anything relatedto an aristocratic wedding. Dukes, earls, viscounts, and even diplomats qualified as Prince Charmings in her romantic imagination. She adored fairy tales and love stories and could swoon over the idea of a handsome man even though she was a grown woman. Nick hoped it her dreams would remain as that, and never become something she attempted to put into reality.
“How do you know?” Nick asked, constantly worried about his little sister’s interactions. He could trust Felix, Alfie, and Andre, the other doctors he’d started this practice with, but everyone else was not as good-natured and respectful of women in general, and especially—his sister. Even though Felix was an older friend, Alfie was like a brother to Nick. With his life and soul, he’d protect Wendy—just like Nick.
“He told Alfie when he came back for more of the oatmeal bath and itch oils,” Wendy said, her mouth still full of the roasted venison. They usually couldn’t afford meat, but a butcher with cavities had bartered four pounds for Felix’s treatment. He was so happy that Felix hadn’t removed—but rather, treated his teeth—that he brought two sacks of potatoes along with the roast to thank him.
“What does he need itch oil for?” Nick asked, thinking of the various ailments their first patient of the Ton had.
“Antiitch,” Alfie said with a sideways glance to Wendy. Patient information was sacred; none of them would carry any of the treatments their patients required beyond these walls. But they finally had their own walls to call a practice, which was theirs together. Thus, discussing the diagnoses and treatment plans was on the menu for every dinner.
“Alfie said it’s from too much lovemaking,” Wendy said, and Nick sputtered, nearly spitting his mashed potatoes over the table.
“How do you even know about that?” Nick’s spoon halted mid sip as his sister’s words hit him and without meaning to, he let go of the utensil. It clattered into the soup bowl.
“She’s a nurse, Nick; what do you think patients tell her?” Alfie snorted and filled his glass with water from the terra cotta jug.
“He’s had too much of a lot of things if you ask me,” Felix said. “By the time I’m finished with my treatment, his mouth will have several grams of gold.”
“He needed that many fillings?” Nick wondered. “At his age?”
“That’s what I’m saying, Nick. He’s always had everything he wanted.” Felix shook his head in disapproval. “He got every woman he wanted, and if his escapades ended with an itch, he just found an ointment to apply and carried on. You know, he has the most intricately decorated little chocolates by his bedside and eats them like nuts before bedtime. I’m amazed that he never took laudanum for a toothache.”
“What did he take?” Alfie asked, always interested in the old wives’ cures and alleged poisons patients told him about.
