by S. J. Lynn
“A butler? That sounds like so old-school.”
“That he is. It’s a whole other world over here in England, or at least on this estate, but I do my best to keep busy.”
I have to get out of the house for a few hours every day, or I feel myself starting to get panicky. Being around the Duke in his lifeless condition can really mess with a person. But, I don’t tell her that.
“Well, I just hope that you keep doing some things for yourself. I’m sorry, Adalind, I wasn’t aware at how serious this was.” She huffs into the receiver. “I mean, I knew it had to be something serious for you to be asked to go to England to help a Duke, but damn, I was thinking more Downton Abbey than Grey’s Anatomy.”
I laugh. “That’s exactly what I thought when I first arrived. Little did I know how right I really was. But, it’s not all that bad. We have tea every day.” I’m not sure if I say this more to convince her or me.
“Yeah, okay,” she says sarcastically. “You’re trapped in a castle giving sponge baths to the cursed Duke. You’ll probably be beheaded or some shit if you don’t cure him somehow, you know that right? I mean, he’s kind of important.”
“Dear Lord, no one is going to be beheaded. But seriously, I probably shouldn’t have even told you that much.” I’m kind of starting to feel like I’m being disloyal to the Duke by telling her these things. I would never normally share details about my patients’ care. “Anyway, I still get to do stuff that I enjoy. For example, every night like clockwork, I read to him. It’s only the newspaper, but if he is aware of what’s going on, I want him to be up to date with current events. Plus, this way, neither of us has to be lonely.” Despite his title and what it has to offer, I get the feeling that he is a private person…that he doesn’t really have many friends. I could be wrong, but since no one has stopped by, I doubt it.
“Oh, Addie, it sounds like you’re getting caught in the Wuthering Heights-ness of it all. I hope you are not getting your heart involved in this. I know how you can be.”
“It’s nothing like that. I just want him to wake up and get his life back, you know? He’s got so much and he can’t enjoy any of it.”
“I know, honey. Just be careful, you’re a long way from home, and that can mess with a person. Call me whenever you need to talk, or vent, and especially when you finally have something juicy to tell me.”
“I will. Thanks.” I hang up the phone and go check on him. All of this talk about him waking up has me antsy.
***
Another week goes by. I’m at the Duke’s bedside reading him the paper while holding his hand as I’ve done so many times, and suddenly I feel it—a twitch of his fingers. I’m uncertain if it’s my imagination playing tricks on me, so I set the paper down and wait to see if he does it again. He does! My eyes fill with tears. I can’t believe it! Glancing at the monitor, there is brain activity dancing everywhere. Something is happening. But, just like that it stops, and I’m left feeling nothing but disappointment.
Removing my hand from his, I reach into my pocket and pull out my cell to call Shelly with an update. I’m both eager to talk to her and nervous.
As expected, I get her voicemail. Because this is a high profile assignment, not to mention the privacy rules about the HIPAA law, I keep it brief and to the point, letting her know I have new updates on my patient’s condition.
She calls back about a half hour later.
“Adalind, what is it? What’s the new prognosis?” Her voice is all business and she sounds rushed.
“He’s showing some signs of body movement. I felt his hand twitch twice, and saw some heavy brain activity on the monitors which says a lot because when I first came here, the activity was just as someone who is dreaming. This development is huge given the fact that in the two weeks I’ve been here, this is the first evidence of him starting to come out of the coma.”
“Hmmm. That definitely is something to keep an eye on. You’re staying then, right?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Shelly.”
“Adalind, you are the only nurse that I trust with such an important client. I need you there; a high-profile recovery like this would be so important to the agency’s reputation and future. And, damn it, I also need your skills here, but another week shouldn’t hurt us too much.”
Her emphasis on how I’m the only one she trusts with this puts a huge guilt trip on me. But, to be honest, I still don’t want to leave. I do, but I don’t. And anyway, I’m already here. If by some miracle he wakes, I want it to be me that he sees. I want it to be me that gets him better. The realization of that hits me hard and baffles me.
What is wrong with me?!
“Okay, I’ll see where this leads.”
***
The subtle movements within his body continue for days, yet I tell no one but Shelly in my daily reports. I don’t want to give false hope, and she agreed, advising me to keep it quiet for now.
Laney is the one to call this time wanting the entire scoop…and by “scoop” I mean what he looks like.
“Oh my gosh, Addie, is he hot like he looks on the internet?” she asks while crunching on something in her mouth. “I searched “Dukes in England, coma” and Evan Jacob Frederick, the Duke of Warlington, popped up. That’s your boy, right?” Evan? God, I didn’t want to know his birth name. Not yet, anyway; I’d decided against asking. I was too scared to. Many nights while lying awake in my room, I came close to giving in and looking him up but couldn’t. Somehow it would be too familiar once I knew and I already am struggling with keeping a professional, slightly detached mind. Laney is not helping. “Why didn’t you tell me he was a total babe? You were holding out on me. You can’t say ‘sponge bath’ like it’s a bad thing when he’s a looker.” Her pout is evident in how whiney her voice sounds. It’s hilarious.
I try my best to sound unfazed. “Laney, he’s my patient for goodness sake. And have you forgotten his current condition?”
“No, I haven’t forgotten about his leprosy,” she jokes. “But, please…just because he’s your patient and happens to be comatose that doesn’t mean you can’t ogle the guy and take your time with his cleanings…I mean, what better time to do it than when he’s unconscious, right? You could try kissing him, sort of like a Snow White thing. What do you think? I know I would if I were you. A guy in a coma has certain advantages.”
“I’m not taking advantage of this poor man and kissing him like some raging hormonal teenager.”
“Who said anything about taking advantage? That would be totally hot though. What if it woke him up?” I roll my eyes. It’s a good thing she is not the one taking care of him, or we’d see her on the six o’clock news. “Please, Addie, just give me a little something. I’m totally jealous over here. You have me second-guessing my career choice now.”
Laney is a law student, and although she teases about it she’s damned good.
“Fine,” I say with a sigh. It couldn’t hurt to tell her this little bit. I mean, he is a public figure. “He’s not what I expected. He’s around my age and gorgeous as hell which you already know since you cyber stalked him.”
“Yes, I know how fine he is, but I want to know your thoughts. God, you’ve been single for how long? And, you are always saying you never have the time to date because of your work. Well, one plus one equals two. Problem solved!”
I burst out laughing again. I knew she would cheer me up. And, she’s right about my love life—it’s nonexistent.
“You’re crazy. Fine! I’ll admit that he is a decent looking man.”
“Decent my white American ass! If that is how you are going to play it, then fine. But, I know differently. He’s a freakin’ Duke. They have to be hot. It’s like, in their Duke book of rules or some shit.”
“Honey, that’s only what your romance-reading mother raised you to believe so you’d have something to fantasize about.”
“True. If you look up the other Dukes, they are uglier than homemade soap.”
Ever the drama
tic. But, she’s right though. Searching Google right now while talking with her, I keep seeing all of these older gentlemen who aren’t really high on the handsome list. As Laney keeps mumbling about random physical traits they all have, I stumble upon his picture—Evan. The guy was made to have his photograph taken, whereas the others are left lacking. So in that, she is spot-on. My breath escapes my lungs in one fluid motion. Needing some air, I try to cut the conversation short. Fawning over pictures of my patient with my best friend is not appropriate behavior for someone in my position.
“He’s even better than the photos, yes. But seriously, I have to go. Dinner is ready and if I don’t head down, Hugo will come up to see what is taking me so long and I’m not properly dressed yet.”
“Properly dressed? Hugo?” She laughs. “What a cliché. Anyway, I’ll talk at ya later, chica. If you decide to get a little fresh with the hunk of man meat—and I’m sure that’s impressive too”—Oh, if only you knew— “call me. I’ll make sure to pop me some popcorn while you tell me all the deets in vivid detail.”
I roll my eyes again. I can’t help it. She does that to you. She’s a little spitfire, but I wouldn’t trade her for the world. And any other time or any other person, I would have joined in on her schoolgirl silliness. But not this time; not with him. He’s like a little secret that only I get to know. And for some reason that I don’t even understand, I don’t want others to be privy to any of it. I’m his protector in a way. I know I’m probably sounding like an obsessed schizophrenic, but I swear I’m not. I just feel like I have a major responsibility to protect him. If not me, then who else? If he was awake or married, then that would be a different story. Maybe.
Getting dressed I head down to dinner. The table is set to the nines. Food is practically spilling off the sides there’s so much. I wonder if Hugo is expecting some company.
“Ms. Carter. Glad you were able to make it down. I was getting concerned that perhaps you had fallen ill.”
“Oh, no, I’ve just been busy. Plus, I talked to a friend earlier and she can talk your ear off if you give her the chance. I called Shelly as well.” Hugo smiles fondly at the mention of Shelly’s name though he tries to conceal it by turning his face.
Okay, something is up with that.
“Well, glad you could stop her long enough to eat. Please, sit.” Hugo pulls out my chair and I take my seat which is at the head of the table where he had set up my plate and silverware.
“Hugo, this all looks amazing.” I lean in to take a whiff. There are many different kinds of cheeses with crackers and grapes for the appetizers. There’s also what looks to be pot roast and fresh baked bread for the main dish. Dessert is some decadent looking cheesecake. Blueberry with lemon? I hope he doesn’t expect me to eat all of this myself. It’s as if the Queen was expected to visit. Maybe she is. Oh God! I’d die.
“Will others be dining with us tonight?”
He shoots me a strange look.
“Why would anyone be dining with us tonight? Have you invited someone over?”
“Um…” I continue to stare at the smorgasbord in front of me. “No.”
“Then, no, my dear. This is just for you. Your supper.” It’s my turn to look at him oddly. I’ve been here for two weeks and although the food has been exceptional, it hasn’t been quite like this. It’s clear to me he’s up to something; I suspect Hugo might be buttering me up for information. As Shelly instructed, I’ve kept a tight lip on the signs the Duke has been showing.
“Well, it looks delicious. My compliments to the chef.”
“Splendid. Well, if that is all, I can leave you to it,” he says, but he doesn’t make any attempt to leave as he stands there holding a tray.
I take pity on him and decide to tell him what’s been happening. “Will you join me? I wanted to give you an update on the Duke. I’m sure you’ll hear from Shelly soon enough, but I figured you would like to know now.”
“Yes?”
“Well, I don’t want you to get too excited, but I have been witnessing the Duke displaying signs of possibly regaining some consciousness.”
He almost drops the tray he’s holding at the news. “What? So, you’ve seen it too?”
“Yes, but it is too soon to get your hopes up. This could mean something, or it could mean absolutely nothing.”
Hugo sets his tray on the table and beelines it up to where I sit planting his hands on either side of my arms, something I’m sure is out of his normal character.
“Please, Ms. Carter. Tell me that you are not joking.”
Placing both of my hands upon his I try to reassure him. “I’m not joking.”
“Oh, this is wonderful news!” He stands back up and runs his fingers through his hair.
I beam at his enthusiasm. “Should I tell someone though—his cousin, maybe?” I don’t want to give him false hope either, but usually families want to know of any progress.
“Uh, no, that won’t be necessary. I will handle any outside communications. You just deal with the Duke and leave all of that to me.”
“Okay. Well, then.” He smiles as if he’s relieved. “In the meantime, I will keep a closer eye on him than normal. Any changes will be reported to you.”
“Thank you, Ms. Carter. I am most grateful for your devotion. The Duke of Warlington will be so honored when he learns that such a nice dear lady as yourself has been taking care of him. You are so good to him.”
“It’s my job,” I say blushing, looking idly down at my food.
“It was theirs too,” Hugo says pointedly as he leaves the room.
I finish up my meal. By finish, I mean I eat just what I had on my plate plus some cheesecake. The leftovers could be saved to eat off of for days. Usually Hugo is back by the time I finish, but he’s not here. Curious, I go in search for him. Heading to the kitchen, I find him putting on a pot of tea.
“Hugo.”
“Yes, Ms. Carter. Is something the matter?”
“Oh, goodness no. I just wanted to let you know that I was finished eating.”
“Certainly, I will have the table cleared immediately.”
I know it’s a kitchen, but it looks very inviting with its olive-green walls and dark cherry cabinets. And the countertops and island have a black, marble, high-gloss finish that accents it nicely. Not to mention, the equipment is top of the line. It’s heaven for those who love to cook—like me, for instance.
“I’d like to cook in here someday if I may.”
He shoots me another odd look.
“Why would you want to do that, my dear?” His eyes show bewilderment.
“I enjoy it. It makes me feel—content—happy.”
“Well, if that is true, then far be it from me to object. Just let me know so that I can inform the staff that their services won’t be needed. In fact…” He goes to the other side of the kitchen and opens a metal door where all sorts of dishes are stacked neatly. It must be where they keep the extra cookware. “Betty, would you come here a moment?”
Betty?
A woman with short, brown curly hair comes out. She’s portly, with light skin and deep red glasses. Her appearance puts me in mind of a grandmother.
“Yes, Hugo. What is it you need?” Her accent is not British. Russian?
Hugo gestures over to me. “This is the lovely young nurse that is here to take care of the Duke. She’s the one you’ve been cooking for these past two weeks.”
Betty gets a huge smile on her face and her eyes light up like saucer plates. “Oh!” She comes over to hug me catching me off guard. “It is nice to have a lady in the house. Don’t you agree, Hugo?” Hugo turns ten shades of red all in succession. I believe I do too.
He clears his throat. “Yes, it certainly is nice.”
“My name is Bohdana, but like Hugo say, you call me Betty.”
“Oh. Okay. Thanks.” Thank goodness because I will never remember that.
“Oh, it has been so quiet in here these past couple months. No one to cook fo
r.” Betty gestures with her hands which I’m starting to see she does a lot. She’s loud and over the top and I love it. I picture an older Italian woman, but with a Russian accent. That’s Betty.
“Now, now, Betty. You still cook for the staff,” Hugo gently corrects.
“Yes, but it not the same.” The teakettle goes off and Hugo removes it from the burner to steep while he carefully selects a teacup. “You know, one time, I was sick. Hugo made grilled sandwich.” I see Hugo actually roll his eyes and I try to refrain from laughing. “It no good—like eating brick between two shingles.”
“You ate it,” Hugo interjects.
Betty scoffs. “Yes, but it practically give me cancer of stomach.”
“Yes, well I’ve never claimed my forte is cooking. At any rate, Adalind would like to use the kitchen sometime to cook.”
“Yes, moya lyubov’. A woman in kitchen is good woman, indeed.”
“I’m going to read for a little and then retire for the night. Shall I pour you two ladies a cup of tea?” Hugo asks while pouring himself a cup.
We both decline and Hugo starts to leave. Before he does though, he and Betty exchange a knowing look. I wonder what it is about.
Once he is out of sight, she turns to me again, happy just as she was a minute ago.
“The Duke is in such wonderful hands.”
“I hope so. I’m doing all I can for him.”
“I am sure you are, moya lyubov’. I have been nothing less than overjoyed these past few weeks cooking for you. The Duke is a man who relishes his meals—a joy to cook for.”
I can’t help but feel giddy as she is telling me this. She’s the first person to speak of the Duke in present tense, without referencing his current condition. It’s giving me some insight as to who the Duke, rather than my patient, really is and I welcome the information. It’s a delight and refreshing to have someone else to talk to in this big place. I realize if I hadn’t been upstairs twenty-two hours a day, I might have met Betty sooner.