Gerard frowned at the clipboard in Wynn’s hand. “Then why are you reading that upside down?”
They stood in the middle of the post-op ward with patients asleep all around them as the lamp from the nurse’s desk glowed softly in the corner. As comforting to a physician as the stitching of skin and mending of bone, the silence worked its healing magic in the lost hours of night.
Wynn flipped the clipboard around. “Lost in thought.”
Gerard peered over his shoulder at the patient notes. “About a fractured tibia? Has married life softened you that much?”
Hardened him, more like. Those thugs looked more than ready to break his legs if given the opportunity. “More like painted a target on my back.”
“What do you mean?”
“A target for bad jokes. Forget it.” Wynn hung the clipboard at the foot of the bed and continued his walk down the aisle with his ear cocked for labored breathing or moans of pain from the recovering men. “Don’t mind if I move back into the bachelor quarters with you, do you? Too quiet rattling around in that old house by myself.”
“Sure. The missus won’t care? Hate for her to think I’m corrupting you back to the days of a single man. It’s a shame you lovebirds couldn’t spend more time together as newlyweds.”
Not having much experience with women for himself, Gerard was always quick to think a mere handshake between a man and woman was akin to a declaration of love. After Wynn sewed up the bare skin on Svetlana’s leg that long-ago day, Gerard had them written together in the stars. Wynn hated to burst his friend’s notion of romance, but he hated him believing a lie even more.
Putting a hand on Gerard’s shoulder, Wynn led him to a quiet corner of the ward away from curious ears of VADs, who were fueled by rumors at teatime.
“It’s an arrangement of mutual convenience. Svetlana needed help, and I couldn’t turn my back on her.”
“Never could ignore the cry for help. Either way, you landed yourself a real lady.” Gerard scratched a hand through his orange thatch. The corners of his mouth turned farther and farther down. “You said it was mutual. What are you getting out of it?”
Svetlana had asked him the same thing, and he’d told her as much truth as he dared. Because he was drawn to her in a way he’d never been drawn to another woman. She challenged him to do more, to be more. How could he not fall for a woman with such strength? Time would tell if he was to fall into her arms or a rocky bed of loneliness. Knowing his preference, Svetlana would be the one to decide his fate. If he couldn’t say all that out loud to her, he certainly wasn’t confessing it to Gerard in the middle of a sick ward.
Stalling, Wynn crossed his arms and stared down at the floor. The once expensive hotel carpet had been trampled threadbare from patrolling nurses and trolleys wheeling about.
“I don’t know yet.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? Did you wake up one morning and think, Gee, guess I’ll get married today. Nothing better to do. You at least like her, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course. Most of the time, when she’s not trying to freeze me out, but if you can get past that you can see how special she is. I’ve never met anyone like her.”
“I do believe that you, Dr. MacCallan, are smitten.”
“Don’t tell my wife. She’s already suspicious of me, and that’s on our good days.”
“Isn’t your wife the one person you’re supposed to tell?”
“I don’t want to scare her off this early in the relationship. I need more time before I spring it on her.”
“A wooing. How perfectly romantic.”
“Have you been reading the nurses’ dime novels again?”
“Sometimes there’s not much to do on these long shifts, and I have to keep myself occupied, but don’t change the subject. How do you propose to woo your wife and capture her heart when you’re in two different countries?” Gerard tapped his pointy chin. “Come to think of it, in Letters to a Sweetheart, Millicent and George find love via writing letters. Like pen pals. Now that was a satisfying read.”
It wasn’t worth the repeated argument to question his friend’s reading taste. Gerard would storm off only to return with an armload of books to prove his point that Lost Together in Venice and Capturing the Untamed Heart were as important to read as any medical journal. Wynn could barely keep a straight face when he started orating on sheiks and lost desert princesses.
“My stint here in Paris is over by the end of the year—a week from now. Then it’s a Blighty ticket for me. I’ve already written to a few hospitals in Glasgow inquiring about a position.”
“Wish I was going with you, but it’s a few more months until I see England again. I suppose you’re eager to get home and set up Svetlana as the new duchess— Oh, I’m sorry, mate. Didn’t mean to sound crass in the wake of your loss.” Gerard ducked his head, berating himself under his breath. “A terrible thing for me to say.”
Pain stabbed Wynn’s chest as Hugh’s ghost flitted before him. He’d written to Wynn at the beginning of summer saying he hoped to find a wife once the war was over. His preference was a brunette. Wynn had written back saying they would scour the breadth of England until he found his brother the perfect wife with a postscript not to discount blondes.
“Svetlana will make a grand duchess. She was born for it.” He swallowed against the tide of emotion threatening to take him under. “One of us had to be.”
“Aw, Wynn. You’re not giving yourself enough credit.”
“That’s because the second son never had to. Not when it comes to running an estate. I’m not a title; I’m a surgeon. I’ve put my entire life into medicine. It’s the only thing I want to do.”
“Who says you can’t?”
“It’s not the way it’s done. Lords of the manor are expected to be just that and nothing more. Overseeing property, collecting rent from the tenants, heading up charities. A lifetime of servitude to duty.” The knowledge of what awaited him at Kilbride extended its shackling weight day by day. By the time he reached his beloved shores of Scotland, would he be able to lift his feet, or would the weight drown him? “If anything good could come of this war, I hope it’s a break in the chains of tradition where men are allowed to carve out their own paths instead of adhering to those laid for them. If a clergyman’s son like you has the right to become a renowned physician, why not a duke?”
Gerard blushed to the roots of his hair. Too many in their profession looked down on him because of his humble roots, but Wynn saw that it kept him grounded and pushed him to work harder than all those who lived life on a silver platter.
“Careful with that talk or they’ll have you pinned as a zealot. Next thing you’ll be campaigning for women’s votes.”
“Women make up half of the world’s population. They should have a voice in how it spins.”
“Come off that talk. Bad enough the entire medical board is buzzing like hornets about your cardiological theories.”
“The heart must be made into its own specialized study if we ever want to achieve proper understanding of its anatomy and physiology for the betterment of treatment.”
Gerard threw up his hands in surrender. “No need to lecture me. I was there when you set them all off.”
“Not all. Dr. Lehr has been sending me case studies of undiagnosed pulmonary—”
“I know. The folders have toppled onto my desk now. Including that request for an interview from the British Medical Journal. You still keep in touch with Harkin?”