This thought brought her mind back to Mr. Fairbanks. “If only he would pay more attention to me,” she said, addressing the toad, “but what would ever compel him to? Do you have any idea?” When the toad continued to sit there, motionless and silent, Louise sighed. “Oh, if only you would speak.”
Someone cleared their throat behind her, and then a man said, “Forgive me. I believe you must have mistaken me for someone else.”
Startled, Louise spun around and nearly lost her footing in the process. Of course someone had to witness her talking to a toad. That was simply how her life worked. She stared at the stranger – a handsome gentleman with an inquisitive gleam in his eyes. “Who are you?”
He studied her for a moment. “Apparently not the person you believed you were addressing.”
“No. I…um…” She looked askance. Perhaps she could tell him something more socially acceptable than the truth?
“Riii—bit.”
Louise bit her lip. Drat!
The stranger frowned. His appearance was different from Mr. Fairbanks’s, whom she’d always thought the handsomest man in the world. By contrast, this man possessed fair hair, his jaw was more angular too – less delicate in appearance – while his mouth seemed on the verge of smiling, without actually doing so. The effect lent a jovial air of mischievousness to him that Mr. Fairbanks, who either smiled with complete abandon or not at all, lacked.
“Were you conversing with a frog?” asked the stranger, his casual tone not the least bit condemning.
“No,” Louise tried as the toad hopped out from behind her. It paused for a moment before continuing down the steps toward the grass beyond the terrace. She huffed a breath and chose to accept defeat. “Maybe.”
A low chuckle resonated between them. “How unusual.”
She knit her brow. “It wasn’t very helpful.”
“Not with its advice perhaps, but maybe by lending an ear.” The stranger tilted his head in thought. “Do toads even have ears? I’m sure they must.”
Louise instinctively smiled. There was comfort to be found in this man’s company, which was odd since she’d no idea who he was. And since they’d not been formally introduced… “I should probably go back inside. Being out here alone was all right until you joined me. Now it would be improper.”
She started toward the French doors behind him while he tracked her steps in silence. A pity she could not stay when instinct suggested she’d like conversing with him at greater length. She was almost at the doors when one side swung open and her father stepped onto the terrace. “Louise. What are you doing out here?”
She took a fortifying breath and prayed he’d stay calm. “I was merely taking a small reprieve.”
He held her gaze. “Go and find your mother. She’s in the supper room, waiting for you.”
“Yes, Papa.” What else could she say? He was her father and she’d always done as he’d asked. Glancing toward the stranger, she gave him a swift smile in parting before she returned inside, resigned to the idea of not being able to leave the ball any time soon.
“The man you met on the terrace,” Papa began once Louise and her parents were finally heading home in their carriage three hours later. “You’re never to speak with him again. Is that clear?”
Curious about her father’s apparent dislike of a person she’d thought to be rather pleasant, she asked, “Who was he?”
“If he approaches you, you’re to walk away immediately,” Papa said, ignoring her question. “To be seen in his company will most assuredly lead to ruin. Mark my word.”
“Goodness,” Mama said with a gasp. “You really must be careful, Louise. Listen to your father and protect your reputation at all cost.” The fact that she believed it was the only asset Louise had left besides her increasingly large dowry was heavily implied.
“I gather he’s a rake then?” Louise asked, since this was the sort of man her parents had always warned her against.
“I’ve no idea,” Papa said, then hastily added, “but it wouldn’t surprise me if he were.”
“Hmm…” Louise frowned. She found her father’s vagueness, his reluctance to mention the man’s name, peculiar.
“Cast him from your mind,” Papa said. “He’s not worth sparing a thought.”
“Instead,” Mama said, “I would suggest you make more of an effort to be seen by the eligible gentlemen looking to marry. If you continue to hide in various corners, they’ll forget all about you.”
“I’m not hiding in corners,” Louise grumbled.
“You’re not making an effort either,” Mama said.
“I spoke to Mr. Fairbanks,” Louise blurted, her intention being to win this frustrating argument.
She instantly regretted it when Mama said, “I believe he’s enamored by Lady Deidre.”
“He hasn’t announced an engagement yet,” Papa said. “Louise could still win him.”
“Yes,” Mama agreed in a tone devoid of conviction. “I suppose she could.”
Louise sighed. She knew she had to do better, try harder, be more assertive. If only fear didn’t always lurk at the back of her mind, it would be so much easier.
To her surprise, her musings on the subject led her thoughts straight back to the stranger she’d met on the terrace. Gazing out the carriage window at the dark streets beyond, she went over their conversation while picturing him in her mind’s eye. Would she ever meet him again? More to the point, who on earth was he?
2
“Are you ready?” Marcus asked his patient, Mr. Keen, as he drew the curtains enough to keep out the bright morning light without plunging the room into complete darkness.
Mr. Keen nodded. “Aye.”
Crossing to the washbasin, Marcus cleaned his hands according to the Duke of Redding’s directive. The practice of doing so still wasn’t widespread, but it was one Redding had been adhering to since having read William Buchan’s Domestic Medicine during his medical studies a couple of decades earlier. In the book, disease was directly linked to a lack of cleanliness, so when Redding had begun work at St. Agatha’s, he’d insisted no employee touch a patient without first washing their hands. Coincidentally, St. Agatha’s boasted the lowest mortality rate of any English hospital.
Marcus dried his hands and approached Mr. Keen. Reaching up, he undid the end of the bandage surrounding his patient’s head and began to unwind it. His heart beat a steady rhythm thanks to his years of experience. He knew how to keep his nerves under control, even though apprehension remained at the back of his mind. One breath in, one breath out. Deep inhalations and slow exhalations.
In his line of work there was always a risk, a gamble, made less only by the skill he possessed. Redding understood this better than anyone else of Marcus’s acquaintance. The duke had discussed it with Marcus at length and had offered support on the rare occasion when Marcus’s effort to restore sight failed.
“You can open your eyes now, Mr. Keen. Slowly, if you please. Give your vision a chance to adjust. Here, try putting these on.” Marcus helped Mr. Keen with his spectacles. In order to protect the man’s eyes from the sun, Marcus had covered the lenses with black veil fabric cut to size. He opened the curtains more to let in additional light.