Page 32 of Deceiving an Earl
Ashland held his hands out to the side in surrender. “Did I say that you should take him under your wing? No. I was just asking.”
Oliver was immediately contrite. “Apologies.”
“Why are you so touchy about this? It’s not up to you whether young Fieldhurst complies with his mother or Eton.”
Oliver didn’t know why he felt this compulsion to help Fieldhurst. Ashland was right. He had no obligation to the young man, nor to Ellen. He needed to move on and maybe, for once, he should take his mother’s advice and seriously look for a wife. A respectable countess who would give him respectable children. Children who would not be expelled from Eton and who would obey all the rules and grow up to marry respectable spouses of their own.
It all sounded very…respectable.
And boring.
Chapter Nine
“Where ye want ’im, sir?”
“Put him on the table.”
Henry and his accomplice huffed and puffed as they hauled their package to the surgical room. With a heave and a ho the package landed with a solid thump that made William wince.
“Watch it, mate,” he said harshly.
Henry didn’t seem to care, and his skittish partner shrank back as if he’d been pinched. For being such a tall, gangly man, he frightened easily.
Henry shifted from one foot to the other as William reached into his pocket, withdrew eight pounds, and handed it with a twist of his lips to Henry.
Quick as the street urchin that Henry probably was, the money disappeared and Henry all but pushed his friend out the door, leaving William alone with the corpse.
This was the part that William loved the most, the quiet moments before the surgery, before the students filed in and took their seats in the auditorium, when William ran through the motions in his mind.
He turned to the ceramic bowl of cold water and dipped his hands in, closing his eyes as his hands soaked in the water. Studies had shown that washing hands was a great way to stop the spread of infection and, while the body was no longer living, William still washed his hands, because he couldn’t abide dirty hands in his operating room. Or in life in general.
William liked things to go according to his plan. That was why Lady Fieldhurst was such a frustration to him. How could she not see that she was his perfect mate? That together they could become an invincible, respectable couple in English Society?
But Ellen was proving difficult. She insisted on keeping their relationship at arm’s length, pretending they were friends, when William knew they were much more than that. It was destined, the two of them. Fate.
He’d been patient, thinking she needed time. After all, her husband had died only three years ago, but William’s patience was coming to an end, and he was ready for the next stage in their relationship—an official betrothal.
Except Ellen refused to consider the possibility. She liked her life the way it was, she’d said. She wanted to remain friends, she’d said.
Friends.
William was beginning to hate that word.
Men and women couldn’t befriends. It went against everything God had decreed.
He would simply have to press his suit more forcefully. He’d given her the time he thought she’d needed. He’d been patient. He’d been solicitous to her every need and had attended those ridiculous salons she insisted on hosting.
Thatwould come to an abrupt end once they were wed.
The students started shuffling in, their voices hushed, as he required. The body might be dead, but it still deserved respect. That was the first thing William taught the young men lucky enough to listen to his tutelage and woe to the person who disrespected William’s rules.
He dried his hands on a towel that he insisted had to be laundered just so and untouched by anyone but his assistant, and turned toward his rapt audience.
He felt a swelling inside him, a pride that took over every time he looked into the avid faces of his students. They had fought and studied and worked hard to be in this room, and he never forgot that these men yearned to learn from one of the best surgeons England had to offer. Their pencils were poised above their papers, ready to write down every word he uttered, and he was ready for them. He took the knife from his dour-faced assistant, paused so his audience could get the full effect, and because William liked just a little bit of drama, he began to cut.
There were murmurs when steam rose from the body. Every person in that room knew it meant that the body was recently deceased, and William silently cursed Henry.
Did these students not realize that dead bodies were hard to come by, since all of the medical schools demanded a steady supply? William had told Henry to do what he had to, in order to give William the bodies he needed.
