Chapter Two
June 12, 1818
Doctor Royce Marsden—oldest son to the Earl of Worchester—looked about his small clinic for wounded military men with a pleased grin. All ten cots were currently empty, and that meant he and his brother Trey had successfully healed ten soldiers. Hopefully those men were able to acclimate themselves into being back in civilian life and could reinvent themselves.
When his brother came into the large room, Royce raised a hand in greeting. “Good morning. I didn’t see you come in.”
“You were busy cleaning specimen jars. I had an early patient, so I left you alone.”
Trey was his middle sibling. He’d lost his left arm in the Battle of Waterloo, but he never let that bother him or hold him back from chasing his dreams. It was one of the reasons he’d consented to open the clinic with Royce. Additionally, he was quite skilled in assisting wounded military men with the wellbeing of their minds and emotions. Between them, patients at the Marsden Clinic had the best odds of regaining respect for themselves and moving forward in life.
“Ah.” Royce took a clean cotton apron from a cupboard, snapped it open, and then fit it around his body, tying the strings about his waist. “It seems I’ll have an hour to catch up on my paperwork, then.”
“Not quite, Brother. Speaking of patients, Major Storme is here. Says he’d like an examination.”
“Oh? That’s odd. I’m not scheduled to see him as a patient for another month.”
Major Phineas Storme began a relationship with him as a patient with a spinal cord injury. Then, last year, Finn married Royce’s sister Jane—a wedding which shocked and delighted both families. To say nothing of the fact the man helped out two days a week in the clinic. Now, whenever a Storme needed the services of a physician or surgeon, they adamantly demanded that he attend them. His friendship with the family had earned him the title of an honorary Storme, and that was about the highest title a man could achieve.
“Who can say? He seemed a trifle worried.” Trey waved his hand, presumably to encompass the whole of the clinic. “I told him to wait in one of the exam rooms and that you’d be in directly.”
“Thank you. And don’t bedevil the nurses while I’m occupied.” Trey could play quite the rogue when he wanted to, yet most of his time was devoted to the clinic. It was doubtful he’d ever settle down or marry.
“Can I help it if one of them is gorgeous enough to set London on its ear if she wanted?” he replied with a cheeky grin.
“Behave.” Then Royce set his thoughts upon his patient.
Knots of worry formed in his belly as he strode through the room to the short corridor beyond. There was always the chance something had gone wrong with the nerves in Finn’s spine, or the original complaint had worsened, which would leave the man in a dire situation. Damn if Finn’s life hadn’t improved greatly since Royce began treating him, and he’d do everything in his power to keep it that way. Finn deserved everything good.
When he entered one of the two cozy examination rooms, he uttered a sigh of relief. Finn didn’t show signs of trauma or emotional distress or even pain. “Good morning. How’s my favorite brother-in-law?”
The dark-haired man in the Bath chair snorted but offered a wide grin. “I’m your only brother-in-law.” Upon closer examination, Royce noted gray feline hairs clinging to Finn’s charcoal jacket and gray-and-black striped trousers, for Finn had a rather friendly cat.
“That doesn’t mean you can’t be my favorite.” He ran his gaze over Finn’s body. Nothing appeared disturbed. “Trey told me you wished for an examination.”
“I did.” The peace in his expression soon faded beneath a veil of concern. “I’d like you to take a look at my spine again as well as other portions of my anatomy.” There was no embarrassment in his tone or face, for they’d both left that emotion on the wayside long ago.
“Is there a problem?” One never knew when dealing with nerve damage in the spinal column.
“I’m not yet certain.”
“Very well. Let me call Miss Clark in to assist with your undressing.” Out of the two nurses the clinic employed, she was the one with the most experience, especially in caring for men with Finn’s unique wounds.
Thirty minutes later, the major lay on the cot watching as Royce scribbled notes into a notebook that contained everything pertinent about Finn’s rehabilitation and injury. A fabric diaper of sorts covered his privates, for he didn’t have control over his bowels. As a last matter of course, Royce then held the narrow end of a hollow wooden monaural tube to Finn’s chest and placed the funneled side to his own ear. The stethoscope allowed him to listen to a patient’s lungs in a process called mediate auscultation. After a few seconds, he nodded and straightened, removing the instrument before laying it on a nearby table.
“There is absolutely nothing untoward I can see. No further nerve damage in your spinal region.” He tapped a forefinger to Finn’s right knee. “Can you move the leg?”
“There are still limits, of course.” An expression of concentration filled the major’s face, but his right leg slid a few inches over the cot. “It depends on the day.”
Royce nodded. “It’s good work, so keep doing the strengthening exercises. You might not walk but using the leg as leverage at times is fantastic. It’s enormously more mobile than you had when I first began treating you.” Again, he made a notation on his paper. “How is your depression?”
“It’s a constant, daily battle. I’ve found if that’s all I focus on, my wellbeing declines, but if I choose to dwell on all the good currently in my life, it’s kept at bay.” But shadows lingered in his eyes.
“Many soldiers struggle with the same. You’re not alone.” In any given month, Royce might treat twenty men with various injuries, but the mental toll those wounds left behind were often the most difficult to heal. He and Trey tried, but it depended on the individual. “But if you need someone outside of a blood relation to talk privately and candidly with—as well as a fellow solider—I’m here.”
“I appreciate that.” The sadness in Finn’s eyes intensified. “When my mind plays tricks on me, I bury myself in writing. That helps.”
The major’s first book with a London publisher came out two months prior to moderate success. It was an adventure novel in a fairy tale setting with a touch of romance. The princess in the story heavily resembled his wife—Royce’s sister. From all accounts, the publisher was pleased and asked Finn to write another book, which would be for sale in the shops next spring.