Devlin slid one hand beneath Therese’s shoulder and spread his other palm beneath her head and carefully eased her up.
“That’s enough.” Quickly, Sanderson thrust the more thickly folded towel beneath her head and shoulder, on top of the single thickness already spread there, then nodded. “Set her down.”
Devlin did, then watched as Sanderson, after adding some tincture to the water and stirring it in, dipped in a cloth and started gently sponging the blood from Therese’s head.
Sanderson worked slowly and methodically.
A gentleman’s son, Sanderson was about ten years Devlin’s senior and had attended Eton, where he’d met and become firm friends with Lord Ryder Cavanaugh. Sanderson had gone on to medical school and had eventually hung up his slate in Harley Street as a specialist in births and ladies’ health. Regardless of his specialty, Sanderson had also become known as an excellent, no-nonsense, all-around family physician, his easy manner working as well with children as with their parents. He’d remained a close friend of Ryder, now the Marquess of Raventhorne, and courtesy of Ryder’s marchioness, Mary, who’d been born a Cynster, using Sanderson’s services for her confinements, he’d become a sought-after doctor to the ton and was now the physician of choice for all the Cynster ladies. Therese had insisted on engaging Sanderson for her confinements, and Devlin had been glad he’d agreed.
Even in this instance, he doubted Therese could be in better hands.
With Parker assisting, Sanderson washed, dried, and anointed the gash on Therese’s head. All Devlin was called on to do was help lift her when Sanderson changed the soiled towel beneath her.
As, apparently finally satisfied with his handiwork, Sanderson straightened and reached for the bandage Parker held ready, he met Devlin’s gaze. “I removed as little of her hair as possible.” He waved at Therese’s long locks, now spread in a golden mass over her shoulder and across the pillow. “Given her mane is so bountiful, I seriously doubt it will show.” He glanced at Parker and smiled. “And I’m sure Parker will know how to dress her mistress’s hair so the bare patch won’t be visible.” Sanderson unrolled the bandage and bent again to his task. “Of course, in time, it’ll grow back, but she’s bound to notice and wail—they always do.”
Devlin saw Parker prim her lips, but she didn’t—probably couldn’t—contradict Sanderson.
At last, Sanderson straightened and stepped back from the bed.
He walked to where another bowl sat by the pitcher of warm water and proceeded to wash his hands. Parker took him a clean towel. Sanderson accepted it, dried his hands, then handed the towel to Parker and walked back to the bed, this time to stand beside Devlin.
Devlin watched Sanderson study Therese’s face, then he bent over her, raised one of her lids a fraction, and let it fall.
As Sanderson straightened, Devlin asked the question he’d been waiting to ask since the doctor had arrived. “Will she be all right?”
Sanderson glanced at Parker.
Devlin raised his voice. “Parker, please take the bowl and the soiled cloths away. I’ll ring when we’re ready for you to return.”
The dresser threw him a look, all worry and concern, but did as he’d asked. After collecting the cloths and putting them in the bowl, she carried the bowl to the door.
When the door closed behind her, Devlin returned his attention to Sanderson. “Well?”
His gaze on Therese’s face, Sanderson folded his arms. “I can’t say I’m pleased that she’s remained unconscious for so long. Against that, however, I know for a fact that she’s in excellent health overall.”
He paused as if searching for words in which to explain his thinking.
Devlin didn’t speak, and eventually, frowning slightly, Sanderson went on, “I wouldn’t have expected such an injury to send her into so deep a faint. Not in any usual circumstances. I can only conclude that the physical effort she expended while helping at the crash site plus the effect of the blood loss—and on top of that, it must have been chilly, and the cold wouldn’t have helped—combined to send her into what we term ‘shock.’ In her case, I suspect she was in shock and feeling the effects for some time before she succumbed.”
Sanderson nodded as if satisfied with that explanation. “If that’s so, then her remaining unconscious is her body’s way of ensuring she rests enough to properly recover.”
Devlin stirred. “So what’s your prognosis? When will she wake?”
Sanderson’s lips tightened, and Devlin’s blood chilled, then he firmed his jaw and stated, “The truth, please. I would rather know…”
Sanderson briefly met Devlin’s eyes, then blew out a breath. “All right. The worst prognosis first. Her skull might be fragile, and if that’s so, it’s possible she will never wake. But,” he rushed to say, “in my view, that’s highly unlikely.” He paused, studying Therese, then went on, “That’s the very worst prognosis I can imagine. At the other extreme, which is the outcome I would wager on, if her skull is half as hard as I’ve always thought it, she’ll wake soon enough and, other than having a sore head for a few days, will suffer no lasting effects.”
He exhaled, then in what seemed an afterthought, added, “Sometimes, with injuries such as this, there’s some underlying trauma that means the patient doesn’t actually want to wake up—to return to life, as it were—but”—he glanced again at Devlin—“in Therese’s case, she has everything to live for—her children, her marriage, her households, and more. On that score, I’m confident that she won’t choose to slip away.”
Still regarding his patient, Sanderson lowered his arms. “That leaves me with my original prognoses, and I’ve told you which I strongly favor.” Sanderson turned from the bed and, smiling faintly, met Devlin’s eyes. “I’d place money on her waking later today—although possibly not before midday. More likely, she’ll sleep deeply into the afternoon.”
Devlin dragged in what felt like his first breath in hours. “And once she awakes?”
Sanderson grinned. “Knowing her, you’ll have to work to keep her resting. And she’ll be hungry, but she should only have broth to start with. Parker and your housekeeper will know what to send up for her.”
“So she should remain abed?”
“I would prefer that she rest quietly for the remainder of the day, but again, knowing Therese, I suspect that’s too much to hope for, but do your best.” Sanderson walked to the end of the bed, collected his black bag, then arched a brow at Devlin. “The children?”
“Entirely unharmed and sleeping—I hope, soundly. As Parker said, they were on the seat opposite Therese, and her being flung forward protected them. I didn’t see so much as a bruise.”
Sanderson snorted and hefted his bag. “That will make her happy.”
Devlin managed a nod; he needed some time to decide what to make of Sanderson’s predictions. He waved toward the door. “I’ll see you out.”
He rang for Parker before following Sanderson into the corridor. They passed the dresser in the gallery as she hurried to return to watching over her mistress.