Heavens, that sounded lovely. Louise nodded and allowed him to guide her. She might be defying her father’s wishes, but she’d deal with that later. For now, in this moment, she was thankful to receive some aid. It didn’t really matter who offered it. Of greater importance was that she could feel her anxiety ebb.
“There’s a chair immediately behind you,” the stranger said once they’d walked for a while and the sounds from the ballroom had faded. “Lower yourself slowly.”
Louise did as he suggested and puffed out a breath when her bottom connected with the seat. “Thank you.”
“Think nothing of it.” He withdrew his hand from her arm, leaving a cool spot in its place. “I’m going to ask one of the footmen to fetch Lord Redding and to inform your parents of where to find you. It’ll only take a moment. Will you be all right here until I return?”
“Yes. I believe so.” He began moving away from her. A thought struck. “You addressed me as Lady Louise before, and yet I have no idea who you are. Will you not do me the honor of letting me know to whom I’m indebted?”
He paused long enough to convey indecision before he said, “You’re not indebted, my lady. As to your question pertaining to my identity, my name is Marcus Berkly. I am the Earl of Hedgewick’s son.”
So he was the dishonored viscount. Her father’s concerns made sense now, yet Louise could not align herself with the notion that one man’s sins should be inherited by his descendants. According to her own experiences with Mr. Berkly, limited though they might be, he was a good man - a considerate man - deserving of respect and gratitude.
“It’s an honor to make your acquaintance,” she said.
“Likewise,” he said, immediately before leaving the room.
When he returned, he brought the Duke of Redding with him.
“Mr. Berkly tells me you’ve lost your eyesight,” the duke said. He crouched before Louise in a smudge of indistinct fuzziness. “A footman has been asked to notify your parents so they should join us shortly. But in the meantime, I’d like you to tell us about your symptoms.”
“You think you might be able to help?” Louise knew the duke was considered a fine surgeon, though she’d not heard of him operating on eyes before.
“Not me so much as Mr. Berkly, who specializes in correcting vision and curing blindness.”
Stumped and intrigued, Louise considered this new information a moment before she said, “I’ve struggled with seeing my entire life. The doctors said I was born with cataracts on both eyes. They recommended couching when I was seven, and I’ve now had the procedure done twice more since the benefit does not seem to last.”
“Although the procedure is a lot simpler and less controversial than taking the damaged lens out completely,” Mr. Berkly said, “I’ll agree it’s a temporary solution that often fails over time.”
“Why is that?” Louise asked. The doctor her parents kept taking her back to had never explained it.
“Because,” Mr. Berkly said, “the lens isn’t being removed. It’s just getting pushed aside, which gives it the chance to slip back into place at any given moment. It may take years before this happens, but I’ve come across the occasional patient for whom it happened within a few days. And yet couching still remains the most popular option when dealing with cataracts. Mostly because the other technique requires British practitioners to reject their school of thought in favor of one invented by the French. Or because they’ve lacked a steady hand. But the fact is cataract extraction is far more efficient since the effects are lasting.”
“I’m curious, Lady Louise,” Redding said. “You mentioned having both your eyes couched.”
“I did.”
“Forgive me for saying this, but it strikes me as odd that you’d lose your vision in both of them at the same time, which is what appears to have happened in this case.”
Louise cleared her throat. “That’s because I was only able to see from one eye. The right one.”
“Explain that to me, if you will,” Mr. Berkly said.
“My right eye was last couched when I was seventeen. I lost the vision in it during a musicale so my parents insisted I get it fixed. A few weeks ago, I lost the vision in my left, but since I’d no desire to undergo the painful procedure again, I hid it, and have since pretended everything was fine.”
“Which it was,” Redding said, “until this evening.”
Louise drew a deep breath. “You mentioned extracting the lens completely, Mr. Berkly. I’d like to know if—”
“Louise. I heard what happened.” Her mother’s voice swept toward her and then the lady’s hands gripped hers. “Your father has sent for the carriage.”
“It should be ready within five minutes,” Papa’s voice announced. His tone was harder as he said, “If I’m not mistaken, I specifically asked you to stay away from my daughter.”
Louise winced as heat burned her cheeks. “Mr. Berkly is—”
“Beneath your notice,” Papa clipped. “Madam, assist your daughter, please, so we may depart.”
“Lord Grasmere,” Redding said, his voice conveying the soothing sort of calm he likely used on impossible patients, “Mr. Berkly is the finest oculist I know. His success rate with regard to cataract surgery is second to none, which is why the doctors at the Royal Infirmary for the Diseases of the Eye and at Moorfield's Eye Hospital refer their most challenging cases to him.”
“Be that as it may,” Papa said in that tone he always used when he’d no interest in further discussion, “Mr. Berkly is not the sort of person anyone wishing to safeguard their reputation would want to associate with.”
“You would sacrifice your daughter’s hope for perfect vision because of prejudice?” Mr. Berkly asked, his incredulity and offense so palpable it enhanced Louise’s chagrin.
“Come, Louise.” Papa’s voice brooked no argument. “I’ll make an appointment with Doctor Pierson in the morning.”
Mortified by her father’s treatment of Mr. Berkly after he’d been so kind to her, Louise muttered a soft apology to him. As her mother escorted her from the room, Louise murmured, “I wish Papa had been nicer.”
“He only wants what’s best for you.”
“I don’t think he knows what that is, Mama.”
“The most important thing now is for us to fix you as quickly as we can so you can get on with the season.”
Louise wished she was brave enough, or disrespectful enough, to tell both her parents to go to the devil. But that wasn’t who she’d been raised to be.
And yet, she could not stand the idea of having her eyes couched again. So as she settled into bed later that evening, she made her decision - she’d find a way out of it, at least until she’d learned more about the alternative option.
Marcus wanted to hit something. Preferably Grasmere’s arrogant face. He’d not experienced such forceful anger since learning about his father’s crime. The man wanted to torture his daughter with a senseless procedure that wouldn’t work, by sticking a lancet in her eye whenever the need to do so arose.