Passion and Propriety (Hearts of Honour Book 1) Read Online Free Page A

examined the viscount, speaking softly in case he roused.
    “There’s detritus still in the wound.” Grace scowled. “If the field surgeons had had any sense, they’d have done a thorough search for pieces of shrapnel and cloth.”
    “But you don’t think they did?”
    The two women exchanged a look, having seen the results of such negligence—and ignorance — before. Some surgeons even introduced foreign matter into wounds to promote healing, a theory Grace rejected.
    “The bone isn’t broken,” she said. “But amputation would have been considered inevitable given the severity of the wound.”
    “He must have refused.” Hannah reached to mop the viscount’s brow with a damp cloth. “Foolish man.”
    Grace harrumphed, rummaging through her bag for the medical instruments she kept hidden in a secret compartment in the base. Gasping, Hannah clutched her friend’s arm.
    “You can’t mean to perform surgery. He’s a lord . . . a peer of the realm. You know what will happen if you’re discovered.”
    Grace brushed her aside and washed the instruments in the hot water Mrs Potts had brought in. “It’s hardly surgery. I’m just going to have a look and see if I can find what the butchers left behind . . . and debride the dead flesh,” she added with a shrug.
    “If he dies, you could be blamed.”
    “If I do nothing, he definitely dies. This way, there’s a slim chance he’ll recover.”
    Hannah gave a reluctant nod and helped to prop up the viscount’s head so Grace could administer him an herbal draught.
    With the advent of the scientific age, herbalism and traditional midwifery had fallen into disrepute, replaced by bloodletting, purging, and the use of mercury and other tonics Grace was convinced did more harm than good. Poorly trained physicians, usually younger sons of the gentry, ignored the most basic practices of cleanliness and common sense. In Grace’s opinion, surgeons were little more than glorified barbers, or “butchers” as she bluntly named them. While not necessarily disagreeing, Hannah feared her friend could face severe censure, even imprisonment, for expressing her disparaging opinions, let alone for her actions.
    Worried for her friend, but troubled by more immediate concerns, Hannah studied their patient. “How shall we keep him from fighting us? He tossed Mr Potts and myself aside like we were March flies when we started undressing him.”
    “The sleeping draught should help to keep him subdued, but we may have to tie him down.” Hannah blanched, and Grace eyed her pointedly. “Our only hope of saving him is to clean the wound and stop the poison’s spread. I can’t do that if he’s thrashing all over the place, so don’t go getting all missish on me.”
    “Missish?”
    Hannah had never been accused of oversensitive behaviour before, though she did require a breath to steady her nerves. Her previous nursing experience had been in the order of sitting by patients’ bedsides, wiping brows, and administering herbal tonics. Assisting with surgery was outside her purview.
    “What would you have me do?” she asked, her determined tone masking her fear, or so she hoped.
    “Climb atop the bed and kneel on his far side but nice and close,” Grace said, her tone quite reasonable despite the extraordinary nature of her words.
    “I beg your pardon?” Hannah stared at her friend.
    “You heard me.” Grace readied her instruments. “We can’t both stand on this side of the bed. You’ll get in my way.”
    Bemused, Hannah did as she was told.
    “Now what?” she muttered, aware this was the first and no doubt only time she would ever share a bed with a man.
    “Lean over his body, and press one hand on his shoulder and the other on his elbow. I need you to keep his upper arm still. You can always lie on him if he becomes too restless.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous.” Hannah rolled her eyes, but Grace just gave a slight shrug of one shoulder.
    “It’s either that