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“I can safely promise you will never have another chance to witness my wife play battledore and shuttlecock,” James said wryly.
I was in wholehearted agreement.
Motion sounded in front of the house, and I rose and crossed to the window. “I believe the doctor has arrived.”
Lady Edith released a relieved breath. “One never does know if Dr. Settle will be in town or not.”
The doctor was soon after let into the room, and I kept my distance, watching the man set his leather bag on the floor near James. “Does the patient wish for privacy?” he asked, looking to Lady Edith.
“My wife may remain,” James said.
Lady Edith and Benedict rose to leave, and I stood my ground near the window, watching my mother-in-law analyze me as she left. Her stony mask was impeccable, and I could not tell whether she was angry with me or suspicious. I put it from my mind.
I had done nothing wrong.
Well, except for hitting my husband in the eye with a feathered ball.
The doctor appeared similar in age to my father, his brown hair liberally sprinkled with gray and white. He requested that James lie back on the sofa and knelt at his side, asking all manner of questions about the event which led to his injury and how his sight had been impacted.
“When do you feel pain?”
“When I apply pressure,” James said. “Though the coolness of the cloth was a minor relief.”
“Mmm.”
“And I can see through the eye, but it is blurred.”
“That could be a result of the pressure and the cloth. We will not know if your vision is impacted permanently until you remove it for a length of time.”
Impacted permanently. My fears were being realized. It had been a relief to pass jokes with James, but the situation was potentially as dire as I’d feared, and that drained the humor from me at once.
“Remove the cloth and tell me how it feels,” Dr. Settle requested.
“As though sand is in my eye.”
Dr. Settle continued his examination, first flushing James’s eye and then inspecting it with a large magnifying glass. I paced behind them, some distance away so as to remain out of the way.
My anxious steps had apparently grown too much for the doctor, for he raised his head and looked to me. “Your husband’s sight will likely recover, madam. Would you like me to call for a servant? It seems to me your nerves could benefit from a dram of sherry.”
I had never before used alcohol to calm my racing nerves, and I did not wish to begin now. The idea of having less control or awareness over myself did nothing but further fray my delicate nerves.
“I do not require anything of that nature, but I can send for tea if you would like, Dr. Settle.” I remembered Mrs. Hutton offering James brandy after we were discovered in the library at her ball. “Or something stronger, if James would like?”
“No, but I thank you, ma’am. Mr. Bradwell?”
The weight of James’s stare was no less powerful for being reduced by one eye. “Remain, please. I need nothing else.”
“Of course.” I sat on the chair opposite them and funneled my focus into stilling my anxious feet and appearing the picture of poise.
The remainder of the examination passed quickly until the moment Dr. Settle looked up, held my gaze, and asked, “Mrs. Bradwell, how adept are you at sewing?”
