Devil in Spring (The Ravenels #3)(91)

Gabriel sat unmoving while Kathleen and Helen bent to retrieve the pearls, and Cassandra went around the waiting area to pick up the strays.

“My lord,” he heard her say. She was standing in front of him, reaching out her cupped hands. “If you give them to me, I’ll make certain they’re cleaned and restrung.”

Reluctantly he let them slide into her hands. He made the mistake of glancing at her face, and started at the sight of her wet eyes, blue rimmed with black. Dear God, if Pandora died, he was never going to be able to see these people again. He wouldn’t be able to bear looking into those damned Ravenel eyes.

Standing, he left the waiting area and went to the hallway, setting his back against the wall.

In a few minutes, Devon came around the corner and approached him. Gabriel kept his head lowered. This man had entrusted him with Pandora’s safety, and he’d failed utterly. The guilt and shame was overpowering.

A silver flask was thrust into his field of vision. “My butler, in his infinite wisdom, handed this to me as I left the house.”

Gabriel took the flask, uncapped it, and took a swallow of brandy. Its smooth fire seared its way down and thawed his frozen insides a degree or two. “It’s my fault,” he eventually said. “I didn’t watch over her well enough.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Devon said. “No one could watch over Pandora every minute. You can’t keep her under lock and key.”

“If she lives through this, I’ll bloody well have to.” Gabriel broke off, his throat knotting, and he had to take another swallow of brandy before he could speak again. “We haven’t even been married for one blasted month, and she’s on an operating table.”

“St. Vincent . . .” Devon’s voice was edged with rueful amusement. “When I inherited the title, I wasn’t at all prepared to take responsibility for three innocent girls and an ill-tempered widow. They were always heading in different directions, acting on impulse, and landing themselves in trouble. I thought I’d never be able to control them. But then one day I realized something.”

“What was it?”

“That I’ll never be able to control them. They are who they are. All I can do is love them, and try my damnedest to keep them safe, even knowing it won’t always be possible.” Devon sounded wry. “Having a family has made me a happy man. It’s also robbed me of all peace of mind, probably forever. But on the whole . . . not a bad bargain.”

Gabriel recapped the flask and silently extended it to him.

“Keep it for now,” Devon said, “I’ll go back to wait with the others.”

Just before the end of the third hour, a hush fell over the waiting area, followed by a few quiet murmurs.

“Where is Lord St. Vincent?” he heard Dr. Gibson ask.

Gabriel’s head jerked up. He waited like a damned soul, watching the woman’s slim form appear from around the corner.

Dr. Gibson had removed the cap and surgeon’s gown. Her chestnut hair was confined in neat braids that went along the sides of her head and joined in a coil at the back, a tidy style vaguely reminiscent of a schoolgirl. Her green eyes were weary but alert. As she faced him, a faint smile broke through the layers of formidable self-possession.

“We’ve passed the first hurdle,” she said. “Your wife came through the operation in good condition.”

“Jesus,” he whispered. Covering his eyes with one hand, he cleared his throat and hardened his jaw against a rough tremor of emotion.

“I was able to reach the damaged portion of the artery without having to resection the clavicle,” Dr. Gibson continued. At his lack of response, she continued speaking, as if trying to allow him time to recover himself. “Rather than tie it off with silk or horsehair, I used specially treated catgut ligatures that are eventually absorbed into the tissues. They’re still in the late developmental stage, but I prefer to use them in special cases like this. No sutures will need to be removed later, which minimizes the risk of infection and hemorrhage.”

Finally controlling the surge of excess emotion, Gabriel looked at her through a hot blur. “What’s next?” he asked gruffly.

“The main concern is keeping her completely still and relaxed, to minimize the risk of having a ligature give way and causing hemorrhage. If there’s a problem, it will occur within the first forty-eight hours.”

“Is that why none of them survived? Hemorrhage?”

She gave him an inquiring glance.

“Havelock told me about the previous cases like Pandora’s,” he said.

Dr. Gibson’s gaze softened. “He shouldn’t have. At least not without putting it in proper perspective. Those cases were unsuccessful for two reasons: the doctors relied on old-fashioned surgical techniques, and the operations took place in contaminated environments. Pandora’s situation is quite different. All of our instruments were sterilized, every square inch of the operating room was disinfected, and I sprayed carbolic solution on every living thing in sight, including myself. We’ve cleaned the wound thoroughly and covered it with an antiseptic dressing. I’m quite optimistic about Pandora’s recovery.”

Gabriel let out a shaken sigh. “I want to believe you.”

“My lord, I never try to make people feel better by shading the truth one way or the other. I merely relate the facts. How you react to them is your responsibility, not mine.”