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Grabbing the lantern, she kept on the small table next to the entrance, she raised the wick and opened the door. She held it up but saw no one. Frowning, she raised the lantern higher and looked left and right but saw nothing except a carriage racing away and rounding the bend at the end of the street.
Foolish people racing around this time of the night.
Stifling another yawn, she shrugged and began to close the door when she heard a low groan. She looked down at the body of a man lying on her front steps. Well, hell and damn, someone just dropped the poor soul on her doorstep and took off.
She placed the lantern on the cement step and rolled the body over. She sucked in a breath at the condition of the man. He had cuts and scrapes on his face and a swollen eye. Had he been in a fight? It would have been nice if whoever left him on her steps stayed long enough to give her an idea of how he received his injuries.
She made a cursory examination of him through his clothes, and based on his groans, she assessed he had possibly suffered a broken leg and some injuries to his ribcage in addition to the injuries to his face.
With a sigh, she climbed to her feet and walked the corridor to the back of the house where her footman slept. Although titled a footman, Walter was really a man of all work. Big and strong, he would be able to move the mystery man from his place on th
e step to a bed in her infirmary.
“Walter,” she called through the door to his room as she tapped on the wood.
Within a few minutes, the door opened, and Walter dragged his palm down his face. “Yes, doctor.”
She looked up at the rumpled man who stood a good foot and a half above her head. “There is a man on the front steps who looks to be in poor shape. I hated to wake you, but can you move him to one of the beds and help me undress him so I can do an examination?”
He nodded. “Just give me a minute to dress.” He closed the door, and Rayne returned to the front step to check on the man. She shivered and wrapped her dressing gown tighter around her. The damp night air was quite chilled. She hurried to the drawing room to pull a wool blanket off the settee. She threw it over the man and headed to the infirmary to start the stove up since the ground floor of the house had grown cold.
Ordinarily, there would be a small fire in the infirmary stove if there were patients, but right now her infirmary was empty. Her last patients had been two young girls she treated for influenza, and thankfully they had recovered. Being in the infirmary had most likely helped keep the illness from the rest of their family.
Once the fire had warmed up the room a bit, Walter entered carrying the man. “Lud, doctor. This man weighs less than a lass.”
The man in Walter’s arms was tall, but even through his clothes she could see he was frail. Yet, his face—despite the injuries—appeared to be somewhere in his thirties. She waved to the bed closest to the stove. “Put him there, please.”
His clothing was of the finest fashion, proclaiming he was a man of means. As much as she hated to ruin such lovely clothes, she had no choice. “Walter, bring me the scissors, please. Since I’m not absolutely sure what all his injuries are, I want to move him as little as possible, so I’m afraid these dandified garments are going to have to be cut off.”
Rayne winced as she removed the man’s clothes, one layer at a time. He was seriously bruised, and she confirmed the broken leg and bruised ribs. But more upsetting was the skeleton of the man. He looked as though he hadn’t had a decent meal in months.
He did reek of spirits, though. An alcoholic. No doubt. Slowly drinking himself to death. She reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small stack of calling cards.
Edwin Sterling, Baron Sterling of Plaistow
Rayne sucked in a breath. So, this was Lord Sterling? She had certainly heard enough about him from the gossip sheets—her one indulgence in triviality—and from what her friends, particularly Lottie Westbrooke, told her about the wastrel. He was the one who had discovered Lottie was the daughter of a well-known courtesan and publicly insulted her so that Lottie’s husband, Carter had to make Sterling a visit and ‘convince’ the man to leave his wife alone. She was certain fists were involved in the convincing.
She studied his features. Aside from the hollowness of his cheeks, he was a nice-looking man. Blond hair, a bit too long for fashion, a fine aristocratic nose, strong chin, and slight lines on either side of his mouth. His skin was blotchy, with the puffiness present in those with alcoholic addiction.
What a waste of what should be a superb, sought-after man. He had a title, money, connections, and fine looks. Why would such a man throw it all away? As a firm teetotaler herself, she could never understand the draw of spirits. But then, Father never approved, so she never even tried it.
It took a few hours, but she finally got his leg set, all the cuts cleaned and bandaged, and with Walter’s help, his ribs wrapped. He would be laid up for some time. No carousing for a while.
Luckily, he never awoke the entire time she worked on him. She would have been unable to give him laudanum for the pain she inflicted by moving his broken leg into place before encasing the break in a cast since his body was saturated with some sort of spirits.
Before returning to her bed, she washed up, checked her patient one more time, made sure there was enough coal to keep the stove going so he wouldn’t catch a chill and sent Walter back to his room. It was nearly five in the morning when she climbed the stairs to the first floor and collapsed on her bed.
* * *
Edwin opened his eyes and winced. Bright sunlight shone into the room, hurting his eyes. Before he ever wondered where he’d awakened this time, he noted the pain in various parts of his body. Aside from the usual pounding headache, he picked up his hand and frowned at the bandage on his wrist. When he tried to sit up, it was apparent his leg was also in some sort of a cast.
He moved his head around as little as possible. It appeared he was in an infirmary or hospital. “Hello?” He groaned as that little bit of effort made the pounding in his head worse.
Time must have passed because the next time he opened his eyes, the sun was in a different position, and a woman with her back to him stood in the room, writing something as she leaned her elbow on a counter.
“Hello?” The effort this time wasn’t as hard as the first time.
“Oh, you’re awake?” Her voice was like smooth brandy. Something he could use to help clear his head. She laid her pencil down alongside the pad she’d been writing in and walked over to him.
