Chapter Nine

“Where ye want ’im, sir?”

“Put him on the table.”

Henry and his accomplice huffed and puffed as they hauled their package to the surgical room. With a heave and a ho the package landed with a solid thump that made William wince.

“Watch it, mate,” he said harshly.

Henry didn’t seem to care, and his skittish partner shrank back as if he’d been pinched. For being such a tall, gangly man, he frightened easily.

Henry shifted from one foot to the other as William reached into his pocket, withdrew eight pounds, and handed it with a twist of his lips to Henry.

Quick as the street urchin that Henry probably was, the money disappeared and Henry all but pushed his friend out the door, leaving William alone with the corpse.

This was the part that William loved the most, the quiet moments before the surgery, before the students filed in and took their seats in the auditorium, when William ran through the motions in his mind.

He turned to the ceramic bowl of cold water and dipped his hands in, closing his eyes as his hands soaked in the water. Studies had shown that washing hands was a great way to stop the spread of infection and, while the body was no longer living, William still washed his hands, because he couldn’t abide dirty hands in his operating room. Or in life in general.

William liked things to go according to his plan. That was why Lady Fieldhurst was such a frustration to him. How could she not see that she was his perfect mate? That together they could become an invincible, respectable couple in English Society?

But Ellen was proving difficult. She insisted on keeping their relationship at arm’s length, pretending they were friends, when William knew they were much more than that. It was destined, the two of them. Fate.

He’d been patient, thinking she needed time. After all, her husband had died only three years ago, but William’s patience was coming to an end, and he was ready for the next stage in their relationship—an official betrothal.

Except Ellen refused to consider the possibility. She liked her life the way it was, she’d said. She wanted to remain friends, she’d said.

Friends.

William was beginning to hate that word.

Men and women couldn’t be friends. It went against everything God had decreed.

He would simply have to press his suit more forcefully. He’d given her the time he thought she’d needed. He’d been patient. He’d been solicitous to her every need and had attended those ridiculous salons she insisted on hosting.

That would come to an abrupt end once they were wed.

The students started shuffling in, their voices hushed, as he required. The body might be dead, but it still deserved respect. That was the first thing William taught the young men lucky enough to listen to his tutelage and woe to the person who disrespected William’s rules.

He dried his hands on a towel that he insisted had to be laundered just so and untouched by anyone but his assistant, and turned toward his rapt audience.

He felt a swelling inside him, a pride that took over every time he looked into the avid faces of his students. They had fought and studied and worked hard to be in this room, and he never forgot that these men yearned to learn from one of the best surgeons England had to offer. Their pencils were poised above their papers, ready to write down every word he uttered, and he was ready for them. He took the knife from his dour-faced assistant, paused so his audience could get the full effect, and because William liked just a little bit of drama, he began to cut.

There were murmurs when steam rose from the body. Every person in that room knew it meant that the body was recently deceased, and William silently cursed Henry.

Did these students not realize that dead bodies were hard to come by, since all of the medical schools demanded a steady supply? William had told Henry to do what he had to, in order to give William the bodies he needed.

He shot a quelling look at the students, and the muttering immediately ceased. They would not question the freshness of the body, because that would mean questioning William, and that would mean being tossed from the program.

No one wanted to be tossed from the program.

“As you can see,” William began, “the deceased is a young man, possibly in his late teens.”

William continued cutting, and all else faded away until he was one with the body.

…

Ellen floated through the rooms, smiling and stopping to talk to people as she went, keeping a keen eye on the servants as they passed around drinks and food. Normally, she loved nights like this, but tonight things had been off.

She felt like a ghost, flitting about the crowd, no one really noticing her.

She’d been happy married to Arthur. They had loved each other in a comfortable, quiet kind of way. It had taken time, of course, and she’d had to put Oliver out of her mind, but Arthur had been kind and even somewhat grateful for his young wife. He’d treated her well, and she had done her duty by him, but beneath it all, she believed that there must be more to life.

She often remembered her conversation with Oliver over ices at Gunters. She’d never told anyone else what she’d told Oliver that day, about wanting to meet new and interesting people. Only he had known of her secret desire.

And eventually she had accomplished that. Her salons had taken time to grow, but eventually she’d found a group of people who had become her friends. A strange mixture of people with one thing in common—their open-mindedness and willingness to embrace diversity.

She’d friended the actresses, musicians, poets, and politicians. She’d hosted salons where the main purpose was to educate people on the arts. She’d made friends with people she’d never thought to make friends with, and she’d learned so much.

She’d finally felt like she’d landed where she was meant to be.

She’d been truly happy, for only the second time in her life. The first being her short time with Oliver.

And now, suddenly, there was a shadow over everything. Her happiness had dimmed, and she was inexplicably restless.

She glanced over her shoulder, a prickling running down her neck, to find Oliver on the other side of the room, standing alone, watching her. She suppressed a shiver and continued her circuit, aware that he was watching her.

William appeared beside her and put a hand on the small of her back. “A smashing success as usual,” he said as he smiled down on her.

She looked around the room at the artists that might never have mingled, if not for her, and felt a hollow sense of accomplishment.

“Yes,” she said. “It is.”

“But you don’t have a drink in your hand.” He motioned for a servant and plucked a glass of champagne off the tray to hand to her. Absently, she took it from him but did not sip.

Oliver was watching them carefully, and it made her angry. What right did he have to come back into her life all these years later? What right did he have to upset the balance of everything? To make her feel out of sorts?

She paused. Is that what was happening? Was it Oliver who was making her feel suddenly restless?

His reemergence from her past had definitely made her anxious. She’d been happy to avoid him for all those years after she’d realized that the baby she’d given birth to was not her husband’s but her one-time lover’s. It was safer that way.

But now he was back and not only that, she had asked him to help her with Philip. Of all the stupid things she could have done. But she’d been desperate and out of options and Oliver had been so kind—with those blue eyes that were so much like his son’s—that she had pushed through all her misgivings and asked for his help.

And he’d not really been any help at all.

She turned her back on Oliver and let William lead her toward the music room where they were to hear the famous Abigail Betts sing. For a moment, they were alone in the room, and William turned to her.

“You seem out of sorts tonight.” He looked concerned, and it made her heart twist a bit. William was one of the most brilliant men she knew—the queen’s surgeon and one of the leading surgeons in London. She’d been in awe of his reputation and had foolishly invited him to one of her salons, thinking he would mix well with the others. She wasn’t sure how it had happened, but eventually, they had become a couple. They’d never officially announced a courting, but it felt like it just the same. She’d not protested and sometimes she wondered why. She liked her new independence. She did not really want another man in her life, but William was here, and she’d not had the heart to send him away.

He took her to the theater and the opera and he attended her salons. She’d learned that he was actually very gifted with the violin and he’d play with some of the musicians that attended.

“I’m just worried about Philip,” she said.

William’s eyes darkened. William didn’t like Philip. He felt Philip needed more direction and more punishment. Philip thought William was a self-centered windbag. They avoided each other.

A servant approached and said something to William. His expression went grave, and he turned to Ellen. “I’m afraid I have to leave.”

“Nothing serious, I hope,” she said, wondering at the bit of relief she felt that he would not be hovering the rest of the night.

“A patient who needs my help.”

“Go then. And good luck.” She lifted her cheek for his quick kiss, and he was gone.

She’d become accustomed to these hasty exits. When one was such an accomplished surgeon, one was in demand.

Her relief was short-lived, because William was replaced by Oliver who was suddenly at her side. He was looking down on her and she was looking up at him and neither one of them said a word for what seemed like the longest time.

“Ellen,” he finally said. It was the first time she’d heard him say her name since that night seventeen years ago.

“Lord Armbruster.” She had to keep her distance. She just had to. Otherwise everything she was holding together by a thin thread would unravel, and that simply could not happen.

His lips tilted in a not-quite smile, and she knew that he knew what she was doing.

“I’ve decided to help,” he said.

People were making their way into the music room and Ellen glanced around nervously, but no one seemed to be paying them any mind. And why would they? They don’t know our history. They have no idea.

“Help?” She couldn’t seem to think properly, and why did Oliver look so angry? He was clutching a glass of champagne as if his life depended on it, and there were two creases between his furrowed brows.

“With young Fieldhurst. The headmaster said he would accept the boy back early if I vouched for him. Well, I’m not vouching for him until I know his behavior has truly improved.”

Ellen felt as if a cold draft had entered the room, and she was suddenly chilled. She had no idea what Oliver meant by helping, but she felt a foreboding so deep that she wanted to run away.

“Tell Fieldhurst to be ready at eight sharp and to dress in old clothes that he doesn’t mind ruining.”

Ellen heard a roaring in her ears, not comprehending any of this.

“What do you mean?” she asked. “What are you doing with him? Where are you going?”

Oliver put his half-empty glass on a passing tray and looked at her with angry blue eyes. “Do you want his attitude and behavior to change?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then have him ready to go.”

Oliver spun on his heel and walked out of the room. Ellen didn’t see him for the rest of her night, but an anxious rock settled in her stomach.