Free The Surgeon's Lady by Carla Kelly Page A

walked at his side, she found herself appreciating his height, which made their strides equal. With every step she took, she felt more tired than before. Even then, she knew she could not accept his offer.
    “I should find a hotel,” she said, as they came to another building in the quadrangle.
    “No need. I occupy the end of this building. I have a dragon for a housekeeper and cook. As soon as I leave you here, I’m going back to Block Three. I’ll be back in an hour to eat—I know it’s late, but that’s my life—and then it’s back to Three for the night. You won’t be in any way compromised.”
    That was blunt enough. Embarrassed, she glanced at him, and found him looking at her with an expression entirely matter-of-fact.
    “You must think I am an idiot,” she said. “My concerns are so puny and your responsibilities so huge.”
    “I think nothing of the kind,” he said briskly. “Credit Niall McTavish at Edinburgh University, Lady Taunton. I happened to be paying attention when he said…” He paused on the walk, struck a pose, and continued in a Scottish accent that made her smile. “‘Lads, everrryone’s consairns are parrramount and it is evarrr thus.’ I believe him.”
    “Verrrra well,” she told him, and he chuckled.
    By now he was opening the door to the end apartment. “Here is that dragon I was telling you about,” Lt. Brittle said cheerfully, as a woman just slightly shorter than he was entered the room. “Aunt Walters, this is Lady Taunton, our guest for the night. Aunt Walters is also my father’s older sister, and was never afraid to pound me when I deserved it.” Lt. Brittle set down her valise and left the room.
    “Dragon, is it?” Mrs. Walters said as she picked up Laura’s valise. “He always was a cheeky boy and I can still pound him. Come along, my dear. I have a bath ready for you, and I intend to wash your clothing. I hear you were pitchforked into physicking.”
    There didn’t seem to be any point in arguing. Despite her bone weariness, Laura couldn’t imagine arguing with Mrs. Walters. There also wasn’t any point in arguing when Aunt Walters scrubbed her back and washed her hair, as she sobbed in the tub.
    “He bled and bled. I didn’t know what else to do,” Laura said when she could speak.
    “What you did worked,” the woman reminded her. She picked up the sponge and rubbed Laura’s back. “Hippocrates and his stupid oath! Those Greeks! I’d pit an English-woman against them any day. You did what you could and without flinching.”
    “I’m crying now,” Laura argued.
    “The crisis is past so you’re allowed to cry all you want. You did what you could,” Aunt Walters repeated.
    I did, Laura thought, as she let Aunt Walters help her from the tub and wrap her in a towel that was blessedly warm. The woman left her to dress, taking the bloody clothes with her. “I think your petticoat is unsalvageable,”she said. “Come down when you’re dressed, Lady Taunton. My nephew is coming in a few minutes for supper.”
    Lt. Brittle was sitting at the dining table when she came downstairs, her hair wet but pinned up on her head. He stood up when she entered the room and pulled out her chair for her. He had removed his surgeon’s apron, thank goodness.
    The food was plain and ordinary, but every morsel was delicious. She hadn’t eaten since tea and toast hours ago in Torquay, and hoped she didn’t look like a famished pensioner as she downed sausages and mashed turnips, then sat back, satisfied.
    “I don’t know when I’ve been so hungry.” She glanced at the clock. “My word, it is nine o’clock. I suppose I will be awake all night, after that feast.”
    “I doubt it.”
    “I do not,” she contradicted. “When I close my eyes, I know I will see Davey Dabney.”
    He nodded, but offered no platitudes that would only have made her uncomfortable. Instead, “Was today the worst day of your life, Lady Taunton?”
    His question startled her, but she