“She didn’t.” Devlin, assisted by Parker, explained how Therese had helped organize getting the injured and dead out of the wreck. He concluded, “It wasn’t until right at the end, when she’d done all she could and I finally found her, that she fainted.”
“Hmm. So when she stood back from action, as it were.” Sanderson nodded as if that was somehow significant. “Right, then.” He looked around. “I need a basin of hot water and clean cloths and bandages.”
Devlin arched a brow at Parker, and with her customary rigidly controlled demeanor back in place, she bobbed and went to pour into a bowl the hot water she’d already brought to the room.
After ferrying various towels, cloths, and prepared bandages to the bed, she carried the bowl to Sanderson’s side.
Sanderson picked up a thick white towel, folded it, then knelt on the bed behind Therese. “If you could lift her slightly, Alverton?”
Devlin slid one hand beneath Therese’s shoulder and spread his other palm beneath her head and carefully eased her up.
“That’s enough.” Quickly, Sanderson thrust the more thickly folded towel beneath her head and shoulder, on top of the single thickness already spread there, then nodded. “Set her down.”
Devlin did, then watched as Sanderson, after adding some tincture to the water and stirring it in, dipped in a cloth and started gently sponging the blood from Therese’s head.
Sanderson worked slowly and methodically.
A gentleman’s son, Sanderson was about ten years Devlin’s senior and had attended Eton, where he’d met and become firm friends with Lord Ryder Cavanaugh. Sanderson had gone on to medical school and had eventually hung up his slate in Harley Street as a specialist in births and ladies’ health. Regardless of his specialty, Sanderson had also become known as an excellent, no-nonsense, all-around family physician, his easy manner working as well with children as with their parents. He’d remained a close friend of Ryder, now the Marquess of Raventhorne, and courtesy of Ryder’s marchioness, Mary, who’d been born a Cynster, using Sanderson’s services for her confinements, he’d become a sought-after doctor to the ton and was now the physician of choice for all the Cynster ladies. Therese had insisted on engaging Sanderson for her confinements, and Devlin had been glad he’d agreed.
Even in this instance, he doubted Therese could be in better hands.
With Parker assisting, Sanderson washed, dried, and anointed the gash on Therese’s head. All Devlin was called on to do was help lift her when Sanderson changed the soiled towel beneath her.
As, apparently finally satisfied with his handiwork, Sanderson straightened and reached for the bandage Parker held ready, he met Devlin’s gaze. “I removed as little of her hair as possible.” He waved at Therese’s long locks, now spread in a golden mass over her shoulder and across the pillow. “Given her mane is so bountiful, I seriously doubt it will show.” He glanced at Parker and smiled. “And I’m sure Parker will know how to dress her mistress’s hair so the bare patch won’t be visible.” Sanderson unrolled the bandage and bent again to his task. “Of course, in time, it’ll grow back, but she’s bound to notice and wail—they always do.”
Devlin saw Parker prim her lips, but she didn’t—probably couldn’t—contradict Sanderson.
At last, Sanderson straightened and stepped back from the bed.
He walked to where another bowl sat by the pitcher of warm water and proceeded to wash his hands. Parker took him a clean towel. Sanderson accepted it, dried his hands, then handed the towel to Parker and walked back to the bed, this time to stand beside Devlin.
Devlin watched Sanderson study Therese’s face, then he bent over her, raised one of her lids a fraction, and let it fall.
As Sanderson straightened, Devlin asked the question he’d been waiting to ask since the doctor had arrived. “Will she be all right?”
Sanderson glanced at Parker.
Devlin raised his voice. “Parker, please take the bowl and the soiled cloths away. I’ll ring when we’re ready for you to return.”
The dresser threw him a look, all worry and concern, but did as he’d asked. After collecting the cloths and putting them in the bowl, she carried the bowl to the door.
When the door closed behind her, Devlin returned his attention to Sanderson. “Well?”
His gaze on Therese’s face, Sanderson folded his arms. “I can’t say I’m pleased that she’s remained unconscious for so long. Against that, however, I know for a fact that she’s in excellent health overall.”
He paused as if searching for words in which to explain his thinking.
Devlin didn’t speak, and eventually, frowning slightly, Sanderson went on, “I wouldn’t have expected such an injury to send her into so deep a faint. Not in any usual circumstances. I can only conclude that the physical effort she expended while helping at the crash site plus the effect of the blood loss—and on top of that, it must have been chilly, and the cold wouldn’t have helped—combined to send her into what we term ‘shock.’ In her case, I suspect she was in shock and feeling the effects for some time before she succumbed.”
Sanderson nodded as if satisfied with that explanation. “If that’s so, then her remaining unconscious is her body’s way of ensuring she rests enough to properly recover.”
Devlin stirred. “So what’s your prognosis? When will she wake?”
Sanderson’s lips tightened, and Devlin’s blood chilled, then he firmed his jaw and stated, “The truth, please. I would rather know…”
Sanderson briefly met Devlin’s eyes, then blew out a breath. “All right. The worst prognosis first. Her skull might be fragile, and if that’s so, it’s possible she will never wake. But,” he rushed to say, “in my view, that’s highly unlikely.” He paused, studying Therese, then went on, “That’s the very worst prognosis I can imagine. At the other extreme, which is the outcome I would wager on, if her skull is half as hard as I’ve always thought it, she’ll wake soon enough and, other than having a sore head for a few days, will suffer no lasting effects.”
He exhaled, then in what seemed an afterthought, added, “Sometimes, with injuries such as this, there’s some underlying trauma that means the patient doesn’t actually want to wake up—to return to life, as it were—but”—he glanced again at Devlin—“in Therese’s case, she has everything to live for—her children, her marriage, her households, and more. On that score, I’m confident that she won’t choose to slip away.”
