“Yes.” She followed Martin and the footmen as they carried Garrett inside. He moaned twice, still wandering in and out of awareness. Abbie slipped out of her coat as the footmen did the same for Garrett. “Remove his shirt as well; tear it off, if you must.”
“Gordon, if you please,” Martin said.
The young footman unbuttoned the waistcoat and removed it, then did the same with the white shirt. Part of it stuck to the wound and Garrett moaned as it was pulled away. They sat Garrett upright partway, and Abbie took the opportunity to inspect his back. An exit wound, which meant that the bullet had passed through. Thankfully, the blood escaping there was a mere trickle. But what damage had it wreaked in its journey? She moved in beside Garrett and placed further pressure on the wound, which had bled profusely while he was being situated.
“What can we do until the doctor arrives?” Martin asked, worry clear in his tone.
Heavens, what to do? “Fetch hot water, clean rolls of cloths to use as bandages, scissors, and—blast it! I have no idea what else.”
“Gordon, go to the kitchen directly. Mrs. Barnes is there and will collect what we need. Hurry now,” Martin instructed.
The young man sprinted from the room, and he’d no sooner departed when another footman announced, “Dr. Phillips from Sevenoaks.”
“Ah, Doctor. If you please. Master Garrett has been shot. If you would attend him posthaste?” Martin asked.
Abbie glanced up. An older man with a white beard came to her side and rudely bumped her out of the way. “This is no place for a lady. See she is removed.”
Fury colored her vision and her blood boiled. Regardless of what this man said, she would persist and hold her ground. “See here, Doctor. You may address me directly; in any case, I will not be leaving this room.”
He finally met her indignant stare with a sniff of disdain. “Suit yourself, but do stay well clear.” The doctor roughly lifted Garrett, causing him to groan in protest. “Ah, the bullet passed through. He is losing too much blood. All that remains is removal of the arm to stem any infection. At the shoulder should do it.”
Even the ever-dispassionate Martin could not keep the look of horror from his face at the doctor’s wild diagnosis.
“This is hardly the seventeenth century, Dr. Phillips. I suppose you’ll be bringing out the leeches next,” Abbie snapped.
“I will not be spoken to in such a tone from a woman,” he sniffed. “And leeches still have their place in today’s medicine. Besides, who are you to be giving such decided opinions?”
“I am the widow of a doctor; I know a little of the profession.”
Dr. Phillips laughed mockingly.
Abbie chose to ignore it and soldiered on. “There have been great strides in treating wounds such as these. Removing appendages is no longer the first option. You must do all you can to save the arm.” She bustled past him and applied further pressure to Garrett’s shoulder, which had started to bleed profusely once again.
“Ma’am—”
“The lady’s name is Mrs. Hughes, Doctor. I apologize for not introducing you,” Martin interjected.
“Mrs. Hughes, then. You see how the wound is seeping. He will bleed out if we do not remove the limb and cauterize the wound. Removing it will also lessen the chance of infection.”
My God, this man had stepped out of the medieval age. Abbie protectively stepped in front of Garrett. “Listen to me, all of you. We will not proceed with this butchery until the earl’s doctor arrives from London. I demand a second opinion.” Abbie pressed harder on the wound. “I will stand here and apply pressure until he does make an appearance. I am most determined, and nothing will shift me from Garrett’s side unless you drag me kicking and screaming from this room.” It took all her self-control to stem her anger. Abbie kept her tone respectful, but firm.
“There is no call to be dramatic,” Dr. Phillips replied in a clipped tone. “It could be another two hours before this London doctor arrives.”
“I will stand here all blasted night if that is what it takes!” she cried.
“Doctor,” Garrett coughed. “I…I would listen to her.”
“Is this what you want, Mr. Wollstonecraft?” the doctor asked.
“It…is.”
The doctor pursed his lips. “As you wish. We wait for this London doctor.”
Garrett gazed at her, pride and admiration reflected in his beautiful eyes. And love. Oh, always the love. “My angel.”
The overwhelming urge to cry nearly swamped her, but she would save the tears for later. When she was alone. Garrett needed her, and Abbie would not leave his side.
Fight, my Scottish warrior, fight.
Chapter 16
There were not many places in Riordan’s small townhouse where Oliver could steal a few private moments with Mary Tuttle, but he had managed it right after afternoon tea. The visit to Riordan and Sabrina’s home in Carrbury had been bittersweet. After informing Riordan of Aidan being found, and the circumstances surrounding it, there were plenty of recriminations to go around. Why hadn’t we seen the signs? Why hadn’t we done more? Considering they prided themselves on being a supportive family, they had failed miserably with regards to Aidan.
But the men soon moved past such self-indulgence and concluded that they would give Aidan time and space to heal. When he was ready, they would be there for him—in whatever capacity.
Oliver and Julian had decided they would return to Wollstonecraft Hall on Sunday. In the meantime, Oliver was enjoying the visit regardless of the situation. Yesterday afternoon he had sat in on Riordan’s class, completely caught up in the lesson, bursting with pride and admiration for his grandson’s skills.
Then there was Mary. Oliver had not believed that he would see her quite so soon after their emotional parting, but he welcomed her company and the diversion from worrying about Aidan. Alone in the small library-study, Oliver closed the door, then turned and faced Mary. His heart banged furiously in his chest. By God, to have such a rush of passion at his age proved that he still had plenty of living to do. And loving.
Their gazes caught, and Oliver strode toward her with a decided purpose. To hold her. To kiss her deeply. As if reading his mind, Mary started toward him and they met in the middle of the room and shared a kiss so devastating Oliver thought his heart would burst. She tasted sweet. Enticing. As he trailed his mouth across her cheek and down her soft neck, he murmured, “Is it terrible that I wish to forgo all propriety and make love to you here and now?”
Mary moaned. “Oliver, what are we to do? For I feel the same. It has been so long.”
Mary had informed him last night, when they managed to take a short walk, of her sailor fiancé and his tragic death on the same ship as her father. How she had not been with a man since. Hell, he was tempted to suggest they go away together, find some isolated cottage by the sea. Revel in each other’s company, make love whenever the mood struck them. It would be impetuous and scandalous, but certainly in line with being a man of Wollstonecraft Hall.
He cradled her face. “All my talk of a correspondence and deciding what we want…what damned nonsense. I know my mind. I know what is in my heart.”
Mary smiled. “And I know what is in mine as well. You are a sinfully handsome man who has aged well—like a fine wine. I want you, Earl of Carnstone. I want you to make love to me until we are completely spent and I—”
Oliver kissed her fiercely. How he adored this lovely woman and her plainspoken ways. Aching, he took the kiss deeper, then moaned when Mary trailed her fingers across his stiff prick. Bold as well. As he nibbled on her lush lower lip, he said, “I don’t want some brief dalliance, Mary Tuttle.”
“I am to be your mistress, then?” she teased as she squeezed him.
“No. Much more than that. My companion. My friend. My lover. Perhaps more, as—”
There was a sharp rap at the door and they sprang apart. Oliver buttoned his coat as he called out, “Come in.”
It was Julian, and he looked pale. “Gordon has arrived from Wollstonecraft Hall with disturbing news: Garrett has been shot.”
The news hit Oliver as a forceful blow to the solar plexus and he staggered from the shock. Mary immediately came to his side and held his arm. All at once, he felt like an old man.
“It happened when he was out riding with Megan and Mrs. Hughes. He was shot in the shoulder—not deemed fatal, but serious nonetheless. The doctor from Sevenoaks has been summoned, along with Dr. Faraday from London. I suggest we depart with all haste.”
“Yes, of course,” Oliver murmured, still trying to process the news. Hell and damnation, what else was going to happen to this family?
“Riordan was there when Gordon relayed the news. He and Sabrina will be coming as well, as soon as he makes arrangements for his students.” Julian slid his worried gaze to Mary. “I believe, Miss Tuttle, that he will be asking you to stay and assist in his classroom.”
“Yes, I will do anything to help,” she replied.
“Are you all right, Da?” Julian asked.
Julian had not called him that since he was eighteen. Once Garrett was old enough to talk, he’d always called Oliver “Da,” and for a few years, Julian had followed suit. It touched him, hearing it again from his oldest son. At times, Julian could be too self-contained. But not here. “Yes, just give me a minute.”