“Get him some laudanum!” Stephen demanded angrily.
Peterson nodded and exited quickly. The surgeons were cleaning the injury and discussing what tissue they ought to attempt to save and what ought to be cut away while two footmen tied Flavion’s ankles to the bedposts to limit his movements. Stephen used his own strength to hold down Flavion’s torso.
The worst, however, by far, was the look of terror in Flavion’s eyes. “Stephen…” he said tightly. “Stephen, I cannot live without it. If it cannot be saved, then let me die… let me die…”
“That’s nonsense,” Stephen said into his cousin’s ear. “You shall not have to live without it, and you shall not die. I will not allow it.” He did not know if there was any truth to his promises. He simply wanted to calm his cousin’s fears so that the surgeons could help him. He was not a praying man, but at a time such as this, it did not hurt to seek help from a higher power. For surely, Flavion was going to need a miracle.
“Stephen, tell Daphne I love her. Tell her I am sorry about Alice.” Flave was nearly out of his head from what was most likely a combination of pain and fear. “Please, Stephen, take care of her. She is the countess of my heart. Take care of her for me after…”
As Peterson returned with the laudanum, Stephen assisted Flavion to tilt his head so that he could drink it. Stephen felt a small measure of relief once Flavion had consumed most of it. Especially when he saw that the surgeons both wielded knifes now and looked as though they were ready to begin cutting away at Flavion’s manhood.
“Careful, now,” Stephen felt compelled to order.
The men looked up at Stephen in exasperation. “We must remove the testicles,” one of them said stoically. “Otherwise he will, in all likelihood, perish from gangrene, for the tissue has been damaged beyond any possibility of repair. Our hope is that it shall be enough. But there is then always infection to be considered…”
Oh God, poor Flavion. The laudanum was taking effect quickly, and his cousin’s eyes, so like his own, had drifted closed.
The surgeon then looked to the footmen and ordered, “Keep him steady. Even with the laudanum, he might begin to thrash while we perform the procedure, and we certainly don’t wish the knife to slip, eh?”
“If you slip, good doctor, then the next knife you find yourself looking at will be the one at your throat. I suggest you do all in your power to maintain a steady hand.” Stephen found nothing amusing about Flavion’s situation. He did not appreciate the surgeon’s attempt at a joke.
Looking up at Stephen in horror, the surgeon nodded apologetically and turned back to the other physician who was already poised to carve. “Of course, sir, of course,” he said, realizing too late that any levity at that moment would not be appreciated.
With the first removal of shredded skin, Flavion did his utmost to escape the hands that held him down. But by the time the surgeons set their knives and sutures aside, Flavion had lost consciousness once again. Stephen was enormously grateful at that point. It was devastating to see a loved one suffer — nobody deserved such torture — no matter what his misdeeds had been.
Stephen continued to hold Flavion’s hand as the surgeons cleaned and dressed the awful wound. What had initially been a mangled mess was now nearly unidentifiable in the stark absence of what ought to be there.
With Flavion finally bandaged and covered, Stephen stood and removed himself to the corridor with the younger of the two physicians. He confirmed Stephen’s fears. Flave would never produce his own heir and, in all likelihood, would be unable to perform sexually again. They had completely removed both of Flave’s bawbels, and those were believed to be the origin of most of the male’s sexual urges.
Stunned and grief stricken, Stephen turned toward the stairs. Before he could retreat to the privacy of Flavion’s study, however, he found himself face to face with Cecily.
She was pale as a ghost, and her eyes were shadowed with worry. “Is he alive?”
Stephen rubbed his eyes tiredly with the heels of both of his hands and nodded. “For now, but there is great danger of infection.” He did not wish to go into the details of Flavion’s injury. There were too many issues already clouding his cousin and his lover’s marriage. What now? “He needs prayer, Cecily, if you are so inclined. The surgeons have done their best but with an injury such as this the greatest concern is to follow.”
Cecily stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his waist. At first, he resisted, for Flavion lay unconscious fighting for his life a mere twenty feet away.
But as he inhaled the scent of her and felt the softness of her hair upon his chin, he gradually gave into the comfort she offered.
“I know you love him. I know that you would have fought the duel yourself if you could have.”
Without thinking, he nodded and wrapped his own arms around her tightly. Being close to her like this, he again thought to himself that she was a refuge for him — a sanctuary. “I would have. In the past, I’ve wondered… but seeing him lying there… He is more than a cousin. He is a brother to me.”
CECILY SOUGHT HIS hand and pulled him into the sitting room outside of her bedchamber.
Once Stephen was seated, she went in search of Sally and ordered tea and sandwiches brought up. As she reentered the room, softly closing the door behind her, she felt her heart breaking. For Stephen sat, slumped forward with his head in his hands. She suspected, even, that he fought back tears.
“Is your head hurting you?” she asked tentatively, sitting down beside him and placing her hand upon his back.
“I’m fine,” he said tersely, not lifting his head — not looking at her. “I have failed my uncle. He raised me as his own, and I have done naught to repay him.”
“You blame yourself for this? But Flavion is a grown man. There is nothing anybody but Flavion could have done to alter the course of his life. Not your uncle, nor your aunt, nor even you can make his choices for him. A person is ultimately in charge of their own destiny — his own character.”
“But I abandoned them. My uncle taught me everything necessary to keep the earldom intact, and I left. I allowed pride to put a wedge between us. And then I decided that if the earldom was not to be mine I had no responsibility to care for it. It was all to be Flavion’s. Flavion would always get the things that he wanted. Despite all of the kindness my uncle showed me, I bitterly resented this.”
“Of course you did,” Cecily said matter-of-factly. “Nobody wishes to be given the responsibility, and the work, without any ownership. And Flavion betrayed you. How could you not have been bitter?”
Sitting back, Stephen shook off her hand. “You don’t understand! It was my duty, and I left. My uncle knew Flavion would not be successful as the earl. That was why he spent so much time with me… training me to do what would be necessary. And at the first conflict with Flavion, I deserted them. My pride, my anger — my selfishness took precedence over the charge my uncle had given me. I owed him so much more. If he had not taken me into his home upon my parents’ death, I would have grown up an orphan. I did not deserve his love, his time. I failed him.”
“It was your uncle’s duty to take you in. And based on what you’ve told me, it sounds as though he loved you very much. Do you not think he understood that you needed to discover your place in the world? Is it not unfair to expect any gentleman to take on the responsibility of another? Flavion was not dimwitted. He had choices in his life. He simply has made many bad ones. That is no one’s fault but his own.” Feeling helpless to alleviate Stephen’s frustration and guilt, Cecily laid her forehead down against his shoulder. “I beg of you not to do this to yourself. You are a good man, Stephen Nottingham.”
But Stephen merely shook his head again. “I am a man who has betrayed his family.” His eyes held an intensity she had not seen before. “If… no, when Flavion is recovered well enough to travel, I think you should take him down to Surrey and spend the rest of the Season in the country. There is going to be a tremendous amoun
t of scandal flying about here, and it would be best for you both to simply retreat for now. Flavion will not give you a divorce. I am certain of this now.” He took her by the shoulders and squeezed them tightly. “You must try to find some peace, Cecily. I — I would do anything if I could change the circumstances, but there is nothing… We must accept what is.”
Something in his tone alerted her to how very serious he was. “Why do you say this? Why do you say that Flavion will never give me a divorce now?”
Stephen winced and closed his eyes. He paused for so long that she thought he was not going to answer her question. But before she could press him further, he put his hands on both sides of her face and explained the horror of the situation. “His injuries have precluded the possibility of Flavion ever begetting an heir. No other woman will have him now, Cecily. It is doubted that he will ever be able to perform the marriage act again.”
At his words, she pulled away, shocked indeed. “His injury was to… He can no longer…?”
Just then, Sally scratched on the door and pushed it open slowly. In one hand, she carried a tray with tea and sandwiches. Cecily gestured for her to set it down upon one of the end tables and then waved her out. Oh, dear God. Were she and Flavion doomed to spend their lives together? Were they destined to live together, frustrated and childless, as husband and wife forever? She felt lightheaded and nauseated at the thought.
Stephen stood up. “Cecily, I need to be away from here for a while. I am sorry… so sorry…” With one last tortured look, he left the room.
She had not thought it possible, but somehow her life had taken an even more dismal turn than before. For she most certainly was going to lose Stephen. Not that she’d ever had him, but she had hoped…
And, God help them all, as long as Flavion lived, she was apparently going to be married to him. In sickness and in health… for better and for worse… Oh, how she wished she had contemplated what these words could possibly mean for her. But Flavion had to live. Stephen would berate himself forever if Flavion died. For he would blame himself.
It was what he did.
NUMB BUT RESOLUTE, Cecily pulled out paper and a pen and wrote out a brief message summoning Flave’s mistress. Thirty minutes later, Sherman announced that Miss Daphne Cunnington awaited her in the front drawing room. Taking a deep breath, Cecily followed him downstairs to meet with the lady who claimed to be in love with her husband.
She did not look forward to this meeting but felt it only right. At the crux of her decision was the thought that she would be frantic with worry had Stephen been injured thusly. Love ought to account for something, after all, especially in the face of Flavion’s condition.
When Cecily entered the room, Miss Cunnington glared at her without moving to rise. Cecily waited in the doorway until the other woman rose and curtsied. No longer would she endure the disrespect that the ton had heaped upon her. If she was to be a bloody countess for the rest of her life, then she would be treated like a proper one, by God!
After Miss Cunnington lifted out of her curtsy, Cecily nodded her head and indicated that the other woman should sit. Cecily took the seat across from her and looked down at her lap. She twisted the ring on her left hand nervously.
“Miss Cunnington,” she said, quite deliberately. “I am not unaware of your relationship with my husband. I would have to be an idiot, in fact, to have remained ignorant as to the nature of Lord Kensington’s and your… attachment.”
The other woman stared at her defiantly but did not respond. Cecily closed her mouth and awaited a response, any response at all. It might have been somewhat vicious of her, but she was not in the mood to make this easy for her husband’s mistress.
“He is alive then?” Miss Cunnington finally asked with scarcely a hint of concern.
Cecily nodded once. “He is injured badly, however. If infection does not kill him, then he will be forced to live the remainder of his life with a rather unfortunate affliction. An especially unfortunate one, might I add, for a man with my husband’s proclivities.”
Cecily watched the other woman. Did she love Flavion? Miss Cunnington’s eyes were somewhat cold and calculating for a woman whose lover lay at death’s door. Why was she not demanding to go to him? Cecily knew she would not be nearly so calm if it were Stephen who fought for his life.
The other woman lifted one brow and then asked, “To which proclivities do you refer, my lady?”
Cecily sighed. “To those which got him involved in these dratted duels to begin with, Miss Cunnington.”
“He is no longer… a complete man?” the dark-haired beauty asked.
Feeling this was a rather demeaning way to describe Flavion’s current state, Cecily shrugged. “I’ll put it this way. Neither you nor I need concern ourselves with him ruining any young lady ever again. He will be incapable in the future of… performing, so to speak. The colonel has effectively insured us of this on behalf of his daughter.”
Miss Cunnington let all of the breath escape her lungs as she realized the ramifications of what Cecily was saying. After a moment, she determinedly began gathering both her reticule and gloves. “Well, then, Lady Kensington,” she said as she rose to her feet. “It seems you shall have a faithful husband, after all. I wish you luck.”
“Did you not wish to see him? I will not keep you from him, and it might do him a world of good to see you. He loves you, you know. He has told me so on several occasions.”
But the other woman was already heading toward the foyer. “I cannot.” Her face was twisted into a combination of disgust and regret. She appeared quite anxious to remove herself from the residence as quickly as possible.
Not willing to let the other woman depart quite yet, however, Cecily reached out and grasped her arm firmly. “Then there will be no more… gifts left in my bed? No more tampering with the soup, and I needn’t worry about being pushed into oncoming traffic while I am out on the streets?”
The woman’s eyes opened wide before narrowing again. “What would I know of these pranks?”
Cecily narrowed her own eyes. “All I ask is that you desist.”
Miss Cunnington looked off to the side for a moment before returning her eyes to glare at Cecily. “He is such a dimwitted idiot. Miss Findlay, my lady, You are alive today because of his stupidity. An adder! Can you believe it? I instruct him to bring a poisonous snake and he brings a harmless adder!” she spoke in a hard, vicious tone, before shrugging off Cecily’s hand and rushing toward the door. “My felicitations. You need not worry about me any longer. I concede to you your husband…”
And on that note, the love of Flavion’s life disappeared out onto the streets of Mayfair as quickly as she’d arrived. Apparently, she was not quite as enamored of him as he with her.
Allowing a longsuffering sigh to escape her, Cecily could not help thinking that it served him right. And then, the magnitude of what Miss Cunnington had said swept over her. Thinking that the woman had placed the snake in her room was one thing, hearing the woman admit to it, quite another! And Flavion had helped her? Is that how they entered so easily? Of course!
But the snake had not been poisonous. Had Flavion known this? Had the mistake been intentional?
She’d like to think Flavion had been unwilling to participate in murdering his wife. She’d like to think he’d intentionally brought an adder, rather than a snake whose venom would have been deadly.
But perhaps she’d never know.
Perhaps Flave would take this knowledge to the grave.
On that thought she realized that none of it truly mattered right now. Unwilling to dwell on this, Cecily went upstairs to sit with her husband. She, unlike his lover, was not willing to allow him to fight for his life alone.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE SURGEONS HAD been thorough. They had done their job well.
In the ensuing days, infection did set in, as had been feared. Cecily, Patterson, and Stephen all shared nursing duties, each taking measures to do what they c
ould to alleviate Flavion’s alternating periods of high fever and sudden chills. But Cecily seemed to bear most of the burden.
It was not only that she cared for his physical needs; she showed concern for his emotional state as well. On more than one occasion, Stephen watched as she crooned words of comfort and encouragement while wiping Flave’s brow or spooning liquid between his dried lips.
Cecily had told Stephen about her meeting with Miss Cunnington. The woman was as fickle as a sunny day in April. It was known throughout the ton, that the Baron of Griffin had taken his wife and daughter away from London. It was said that they were to take a year-long tour of the continent.
Cecily also told him Miss Cunnington had implicated Flavion in the snake incident.
The choice of snake could not have been a mistake. Stephen did his best to reassure Cecily of this.
Flavion had spent most of his childhood in the country. In fact, Stephen knew that Flave had once been bitten by an adder himself.
No, as ignorant as his cousin was about some things, Flavion would not have mistaken the adder for a deadly snake. It had been the only noble thing he’d ever done where Cecily was concerned.
Cowardly, yes.
But Flavion had not participated in a murder attempt. When Stephen told Cecily this she’d shrugged. She’d said she herself had concluded as much; it no longer mattered, anyhow.
And then she had somehow found it within herself to nurture and tend to a man who’d used and treated her atrociously. In spite of all Flave had done to her, she cared for Flave with unwavering diligence and dedication. It was as though she’d detached herself completely from her own needs, her own emotions.
Stephen understood this. He recognized the same within himself.
Throughout the night hours, Stephen insisted he be the one to sit with his cousin. Flavion’s spirits were low. Although nobody spoke it out loud, those who cared for him feared that he would not fight to live. The nights were long, and the chair was hard, but Stephen would be with him in these dark hours. It was the least that he could do.
Hell Hath No Fury (Devilish Debutantes Book 1) Page 22