“All right then. If you’d please have a seat, Mr. Berkly.” Albert guided Louise toward the sofa.
Grabbing the armrest, she turned and lowered herself carefully while her brother went to call for a maid. Once comfortably in place, she turned her attention toward Mr. Berkly’s indistinct figure. “I hope we didn’t force you away from your patients.”
“Indeed not,” Mr. Berkly said. “I would have delayed coming here if I’d had a prior appointment.”
Louise nodded. “Thank you for agreeing to meet.” The soft tread of footsteps approaching alerted her to Albert’s return. He sat beside her, ready to help if the need arose. “I’d like to begin by apologizing for the manner in which my father rejected your opinion the other evening. He can be very…direct.”
“Rude would probably be a more apt description,” Albert murmured.
“It’s quite all right,” Mr. Berkly said. “He’s not the first person to disagree with my views.”
Louise angled her head. The barest hint of strain in his voice suggested it took some effort for him to say this instead of agreeing with Albert’s assessment. Mr. Berkly, it seemed, was attempting to be polite when, Louise rather imagined, he’d like nothing more than to make a long list of her father’s shortcomings.
“You mentioned a different approach to treating cataracts,” Louise said, deciding it might be best to get on with her reason for summoning Mr. Berkly. “Could you please explain to me what this would entail?”
There was a pause, and then Albert said, “My sister would like to consider the operation you favor, but after everything she’s been through since birth, she’s wary of making mistakes that could leave her worse off.”
“I understand,” Mr. Berkly said, his voice pensive, “but it’s my understanding your father will never agree to letting me operate on your eyes, my lady. So I don’t quite see what—”
“Forget my father,” Louise said. She was tired of being controlled – of having major decisions affecting her life made by others. “I’m not a child. Indeed, I…I reached my majority last month.”
“Louise,” Albert warned.
“In other words,” she continued, her desperation prompting her to add something more before her brother revealed the truth, “I am legally able to make my own choice.”
She did not need to be able to see in order to know her brother was frowning at her.
“Nevertheless,” Mr. Berkly said, “you are still unmarried and dependent on your parents’ good will. Are you certain you wish to cross them?”
“If it means I can see without ever having to worry over suddenly losing my sight again, then yes. I’ll cross them a thousand times over.”
Albert clasped her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
“Are you sure?” Mr. Berkly asked.
“Of course,” Louise told him without hesitation. “This is my life we’re talking about.”
“I happen to agree,” Mr. Berkly said. “Will you permit me to have a closer look at your eyes?”
“Certainly.” Louise held her breath in anticipation.
She watched Mr. Berkly’s blurry shape move toward her. His hands clasped both sides of her head and tilted it back. He leaned in, his face coming so close to hers she caught a distinct whiff of sandalwood. Louise’s heart beat with unsteady movements. Her stomach turned over in the most peculiar way. Even though she could not see his features, she recalled with perfect clarity what he’d looked like when they’d met on the terrace: tall with strong features, a sharp intelligent gaze, and hair that gleamed like gold in the torchlight.
But of course, her response had nothing to do with him or how handsome he was. She loved Mr. Fairbanks, which meant she must simply be nervous about Mr. Berkly’s prognosis.
The parlor door opened. “Oh. I do beg your pardon.”
“It’s quite all right, Molly. Please set the tray right here,” Albert told the flustered maid.
Louise did her best to sit perfectly still while Mr. Berkly studied her eyes. There were some shuffling sounds and then the parlor door closed, announcing Molly’s departure.
“The cataracts are highly advanced on both eyes,” Mr. Berkly said. His fingers scraped gently across her cheek as he angled her head to the right. “Though the left one does appear to be slightly worse off. I believe you told me your eyes have been couched three times?”
“That’s correct.” Louise tried to force her heartbeats into a calmer rhythm but failed until Mr. Berkly released her and took a step back.
He removed himself to the chair he’d occupied earlier and, from the sound of it, poured a cup of coffee. “While I do believe I can help you, you need to know that the surgery I propose is far more invasive than couching. It will involve cutting a flap in the cornea, lifting it, and removing the lens through an incision directly beneath that flap. There will be pain and discomfort. I’ll not pretend otherwise. And it will take weeks for you to heal – a month, to be exact – during which you will have to lie as still as possible in a darkened room.”
“And afterward?” Louise asked.
“Spectacles will still be necessary since there will be no lenses to focus your sight, but you’ll be able to read, write, and move about without needing assistance. Plus, you’ll not have to worry about the lens suddenly rising back into position to obstruct your vision, as you do with couching.”
“That in itself is a benefit, but I’m concerned about the recovery time. It makes it impossible for me to undergo this without my father’s knowledge and assistance.”
“Not necessarily,” Albert said. “Diana and I spoke earlier, in the event drastic measures would be required. She has suggested you stay with her parents at their estate. It’s the last place on earth where Papa will desire to look for you. Which ought to give you the peace you require.”
“You want me to stay with Mr. and Mrs. Winterly?”
“Exactly. They would offer you both security and discretion.”
“But I barely know them, Albert. I only met them at your wedding and even then it was just in passing. To impose on them by installing myself at their home for weeks on end would be incredibly presumptuous.”
“Diana will accompany you and see you settled,” Albert insisted.
“Thank you, but I’m really not comfortable with this.”
“Then what do you propose?”
Louise considered her options. They were discussing surgery and a prolonged absence from home, not which gown she ought to wear for the next ball. Perhaps a bit of careful contemplation was in order? “I’m grateful to you for advising me on this matter, Mr. Berkly, and I realize I haven’t much time to decide, but I need a moment to think.”
“I understand you completely, my lady. This is a big decision.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to sleep on it.”
“Of course,” Mr. Berkly said. He stood. “Shall we reconvene here tomorrow at the same hour?”
“If it’s not any trouble.”
“None at all. I’ll see you both then.”
“If you do decide to go through with this,” Albert said once Mr. Berkly was gone, “bring a travel bag with you tomorrow when you return. It will make it easier for us to implement a plan.”