“Are you nervous?” Mr. Berkly asked while they waited for their food to be served that evening. They’d stopped at a posting inn so everyone could get a few hours rest and had met downstairs for dinner after securing their rooms. The intention was to set out again before dawn, which would give them roughly five hours’ sleep.
“Of course,” Louise told him. “I’m about to have a completely new experience. One you’ve assured me will be painful, and one my father will likely murder me for undergoing, once he finds me. It would be odd if I were completely calm about it. Would it not?”
She tried to locate her glass, which was almost impossible with the dim light rendering her almost totally blind. Diana caught her wrist and directed Louise’s hand toward the right. She thanked her sister-in-law for helping, even though she hated this. There was nothing worse than having to rely on others for the simplest of things. And all she could eat was bread with small bits of cheese and ham she could pick at without making much of a mess.
So here she was, completely dysfunctional, and with Mr. Berkly as witness. For some strange reason, it was worse than if Mr. Fairbanks had seen her like this. Most likely because she knew Mr. Fairbanks better and had been assisted by him in the past, on that awful day at the musicale. It was one of the reasons why she loved him. His kindness toward her had filled her heart to overflowing.
Gripping the stem of her glass, she raised it to her lips and managed to sip the wine without issue. It slid down her throat with perfect smoothness.
“You’re remarkably brave,” Mr. Berkly murmured, his low timbre vibrating through her until her pulse quickened. “It takes tremendous courage to thwart authority, to turn one’s back on social expectation, to defy a parent you’ve always heeded. It requires going against your instinct and possibly facing the anger of someone you love, of being willing to let them down.”
He was right. Louise loved her parents. They were good people whose only intention was to protect her. Papa was being deliberately difficult, but Louise believed his dislike of Mr. Berkly was clouding his judgment.
“I’ve always followed the rules,” Louise quietly told him. “But I have to do this, Mr. Berkly, for my own peace of mind. So I’m placing my faith in you, and hope you won’t disappoint me.”
“I’ll try my best not to, my lady.”
She knew it was all he could say. There were no assurances to be given, but since the Duke of Redding was willing to vouch for Mr. Berkly, he had to be skilled at his work. And Louise was far more comfortable betting on that than she’d ever be betting on Doctor Pierson.
They left the inn early the following day. As they travelled, Diana and Hannah napped at great length while Louise listened to their slumberous breaths. She knew the surgeon was awake on account of the pages he kept turning in whatever book he was reading. Lucky fellow. All Louise could do to pass the time was enjoy the ever changing blur of colors around her. Or sleep. And chat.
Finally she asked, “How did you end up studying medicine?”
A brief hesitation accompanied the sound of him closing his book. “Before I tell you, I probably ought to inquire as to how much you’ve heard about me.”
“I know you’re the Earl of Hedgewick’s son and that he was convicted of murder some years ago.”
“That’s right. He was hanged by the neck on October 10, 1820.”
“And you lost everything as a result. Your honorary title, the right to the title your father held, your fortune, and the position you’d had within Society since the day you were born. It must have been unbearably hard.”
“So it was, but giving it up in exchange for justice was the right thing to do.”
His remark gave her pause. “How do you mean?”
“I helped convict him.”
She’d not expected this. “You sent your own father to the gallows deliberately?”
Mr. Berkly snorted. “No. I sent a monster to the gallows.”
Louise allowed herself a moment in which to digest what she’d been told. The enormity of what Mr. Berkly had gone through was almost inconceivable. She couldn’t imagine the shock he must have experienced upon discovering his father’s crime.
“I’m sorry you had to endure all of that.”
“After Papa’s arrest, when everything started falling apart, I moved in with my sister and Windham. It seemed rather fitting. They were more or less outcasts and so was I. I had no desire to be dependent on them forever, but I had nothing to fall back on, save the history degree my father insisted I get. As he’d put it, there was no sense in wasting time on law, medicine, or anything else of the like, since I’d never need to work for a living. The degree would only be symbolic - a trophy of sorts - obtained from the same university he’d attended. Namely Oxford.
“So I chose to start over. Windham gave me a loan so I could support myself through my studies. Medicine seemed like an interesting choice and after meeting Mr. James Wardrop while at Edinburgh University, I developed an interest in the eye.”
“Was he a professor of yours?”
“No. He’s a surgeon who came to give the occasional lecture, and the author of Essays on the Morbid Anatomy of the Human Eye. I had the honor of speaking with him at great length on a number of occasions. He pointed me in the right direction and even invited me to sit in on a few of his operations. I learned a great deal, thanks to him.”
“You have a remarkable past,” Louise said.
“Most would probably say it is one I could do without.”
She considered this. “What do you say?”
“Hmm… I suppose everyone is a culmination of experiences. I’d not be the man I am today without the past I’ve had. And since I prefer myself now to how I used to be, I’m not sure I have regrets.”
“What was wrong with your younger self?”
“He was more...entitled. Or rather, he lived with a sense of entitlement that made him lazy, for lack of a better word. I used to be a man of leisure, Lady Louise. I’ve since become a man reliant upon an income, and I’m inclined to believe I’m happier for it. You see, there’s a great deal to be said for making something of oneself instead of having it all handed to you. Being an ophthalmologist isn’t easy. I’ve had to struggle to get where I am. I received no special treatment during my studies because I was titled or privileged. Indeed, for the very first time in my life, I was on equal footing with everyone else, and it was wonderful. Because I knew the day I received my degree with highest honors that I did so on merit, and not because of my rank.”
“Your achievements are to be admired. Most men in your position would likely have turned to drink or some other form of self-destruction. Instead, you rose above the blemish your father placed on your name and turned it into a strength.”
“I never really thought of it quite like that.”
“Perhaps you should.” When he said nothing further, she asked, “What are you reading?”
“The Last of the Mohicans, by James Fenimore Cooper.”
“I haven’t heard of it. Is it new?”
She could hear him flipping through pages, and then, “It says it was published two years ago, so relatively new, I suppose.”