Page 100 of The Duelist for the Ton
“Dr. Lucas is at home in his bed, Lady Portia,” Nerissa said. “Surely you didn’t think I’d bringhimwhen his daughter has more aptitude for medicine in her right hand than he…” Her voice trailed off, and she sighed. “Forgive me, Miss Lucas. I’ve been worried about my mistress, and spoke out of turn. I meant no insult to your father.”
“It matters not,” Euphramia said. “I’m loyal to Papa, but not to the point of foolhardiness.” She arched an eyebrow and pressed the spoon against Portia’s mouth. “I trustyou’renot stubborn to the point of foolhardiness, Lady Portia. Now, would you be so kind?”
Her gentle persuasion breached Portia’s defenses, and she parted her lips, bracing herself for the bitter taste.
“It’s for your benefit,” Euphramia said, her tone almost apologetic.
“Perhaps, but why must everything for our benefit be so unpleasant?”
Euphramia gave a soft laugh. “It’s a question my patients at the hospital are always asking. Before he left for Yorkshire, Captain Broom asked the same question when I removed the stitches from his wound.”
“We can’t all be as courageous as Captain Broom,” Portia said, smiling at the memory of the soldier’s infectious optimism.
“Or the man who saved his life,” Euphramia replied with a sigh. “Colonel Reid is a most—”
“Shall I apply another bandage, Miss Lucas?” Nerissa interrupted.
Euphramia frowned. “You ought to know by now, Nerissa, that too tight a bandage for this type of wound can hamper recovery.”
“Of course. Forgive me, Miss Lucas.”
“The tincture should prevent putrefaction, but I’ll need to check it again in a day or so—that is, if you’ve no objection to my visiting again.”
“Why should I object?” Portia said. “You’ve likely saved my life.”
“There’s been an outbreak of smallpox in the hospital. I am, of course, taking every precaution, but I wouldn’t want to risk exposing you to danger.”
“I’ve done enough of that myself,” Portia said, nodding to her arm, which was bandaged below the elbow.
“But you’ll not be placing yourself in such danger again, will you?” Nerissa said, her tone that of a nanny chiding a wayward child.
“Is the pain lessening at all?” Euphramia asked.
“A little,” Portia replied.
“Good, the laudanum’s taking effect.”
“I don’t want to sleep.”
“In which case, I’d recommend you sit up…and perhaps return to your own chamber if you don’t want anyone finding out how you were injured.”
Portia glanced at Nerissa. “You didn’t tell Euphramia what happened, did you?”
“I’ve just removed a bullet from your arm, Lady Portia,” Euphramia said. “And given that your injury was sustained before dawn, I can make an educated guess as to the circumstances leading to your sustaining that wound. But I care not what those circumstances were—my only concern is your recovery.”
Euphramia’s words were such that Portia could almost have imagined that Dr. McIver spoke them. What a misfortune, the circumstance of her birth! Had Euphramia been born a man—and born to Dr. and Mrs. McIver—she would have thrived asa surgeon, with her crisp efficiency and dexterity. But no, her sex prevented her from getting the recognition her expertise merited, and her father, with his medieval attitude to medicine, would hamper her dreams at every turn.
Whereas I, born into privilege and wealth, ignored the advantages of my birth, sought the self-indulgent gratification of a spoiled child—and nearly brought about my own destruction.
And even if she had escaped physical destruction, she’d destroyed the one thing she craved more than her own freedom.
The unbridled love of a good man.
Portia blinked, and a tear splashed onto her cheek.
“Do you need something else for the pain?” Euphramia asked.
Portia shook her head. No amount of laudanum would lessen the pain in her heart.
