Chapter Thirty-Eight

Meanwhile, the morning after the surgery…

"C an I take off the bandages?" Lance asked, sitting up in bed.

"It's only been a few hours," Nick said as he sat on the edge of his bed and laid a hand on Lance's forehead. It was cool. Then he tapped on his temples. Cool. Good. No heat meant little chance of infection. "Pippa sent a missive that she and Isabel spent the night at the Langleys'. Don't you want to be ready when Isabel returns?"

"Yes, please!" Lance pleaded like a child, eager to get just one more piece of sweets.

Nick had never been more terrified. He'd usually operated on patients he didn't know and who hadn't gone blind for years yet. Even though there was no sign of damage to any other parts of Lance's eye, one never knew.

Lance reached behind his head and unraveled the bandage that Wendy had so expertly tied in the evening before Lance had gone to bed. He'd been groggy after the laudanum and had slept for a long time. It was also good because sleep was the best way to heal. Besides, Nick had needed time to think about his own troubles.

"Let me," Nick scooted up and removed the bandage slowly, searching the white muslin for signs of bleeding, pus, or other stains. Nothing.

He took heart. "Keep your eyes closed and let me do an exam first."

Lance nodded dutifully.

The skin around his eyes was a bit dry, but that was to be expected from the many washings and disinfection with alcohol. There was no swelling, however.

"We need to rinse your eyes with cold water first. I don't want any irritation from dried tears." Nick reached for Lance's hands and helped him out of bed. His friend followed, eyes closed.

They reached the wash basin, and Nick picked up the fresh washcloth. Wendy truly had thought of everything.

"I can do this," Lance protested when Nick squeezed the cool water out of the fabric and let the water trickle back into the bowl. Splish splash! Lance washed his face.

And then there was a commotion.

Women's voices.

"She's back!" Lance called out. "Quick, help me!"

Nick reached for a clean shirt and a pair of simple brown breeches; at the same time, Lance found his own clothes, set on the chair in the corner for him by Wendy the night before. In no time, with his eyes still closed, Lance was dressed. Nick marveled at the speed at which he could do it without looking, but then there was a knock. "Enter!" Nick called, and Isabel came in.

She had a solemn look on her face, and she looked dewy. Nick tried to figure out how she had been changed, but all he knew was—she was radiant.

Behind her, Pippa and Wendy stood, a step back.

"Isabel?" Lance turned in her direction as if his every sense had been tuned to her.

"I'm here," she said timidly. Nick was startled at the humility between a wife and her husband.

He watched, mesmerized, but it was as if he weren't there. In the hall, there was the sound of footsteps approaching.

"Is he up?" Alfie's voice.

Feliz and Andre's mumbled responses that Nick couldn't hear. His heart pounded so vigorously in his chest. He knew what Lance was about to do, and if he didn't see… if it hadn't worked…

"I missed you." Lance said in a raw, boyish voice.

"We visited the Countess of Langley. You'd never believe who it is." Isabel chuckled as she came to stand right in front of Lance. "The Earl of Langley had the same surgery you did, and he told me I should leave you to rest." Isabel gave Nick a sideways glance. "Did it work?" Her voice was small and even her posture reminded him of like a mouse about to withdraw in its hole, scared of the enormity of the situation.

"We just took the bandage off and washed his eyes." Nick was still at Lance's side.

"I didn't want to open my eyes without you. I—" But Lance's voice broke. A tear escaped his face, mingled with the water he'd barely wiped off.

The morning sun filtered dimly through the thick drapes into the room, casting elongated shadows on the polished wooden floor. Lance's slim silhouette starkly contrasted against the golden light's backdrop, and he looked like he'd been illuminated for all to see. The question was whether he'd see.

Nick's heart hammered in his chest as he watched the dust particles dance in the sunbeams, each speck a testament to the gravity of the moment about to unfold. His eyes found Pippa's, and she had an air of anticipation as if she waited for a happy end to be revealed between the pages of a book, barely containing her excitement. She clasped her hands together and tucked them under her chin.

Wendy's forehead was tense, a sign of worry and concentration. Felix, Alfie, and Andre kept to the background, but Nick could tell that they were holding breaths when Lance's closed lids twitched. The practice was doomed if this surgery had gone badly, and they were about to find out.

The door to the room was wide open, allowing the simmering anticipation to waft into the hallway, where the rest of the friends from 87 Harley Street had gathered. The murmur of hushed voices and the rustle of silk skirts were like the distant hum of Alfie clearing his throat to announce his presence, barely penetrating the bubble of tension enveloping Nick. His eyes remained firmly fixed on Lance, whose face was a mask of trepidation. This was the moment they had all been waiting for, the culmination of their hopes and fears.

Nick could almost taste the suspense in the air, thick and palpable, like the heavy fog that rolled in from the Thames. With a breath held in check, he gently touched Lance's upper arm. "Try to blink first to lubricate the sclera."

"I know," Lance mumbled.

Nick's hand paused, his fingers trembling slightly at the enormity of what was about to happen. This was not just about restoring sight but about hope, resilience, and the human spirit's steadfast refusal to bow down to adversity. His gaze met Lance's closed eyelids, and with a tap of encouragement on Lance's shoulder, he signaled for his friend to open his eyes. Time slowed, each tick of the clock echoing loudly in the room as they waited with bated breath to see if Lance would embrace the world again as a sighted man.

Lance's hand encased Isabel's smaller ones, their fingers intertwining in a familiar gesture that spoke volumes about their bond. He lowered his head until his forehead touched hers, their breaths mingling in the small space between them. Isabel closed her eyes, surrendering to the moment they had seemingly shared countless times. The familiarity of it all made the room hum with a quiet understanding—this was not just a patient and his caretaker, but a husband and wife.

Then Lance swallowed visibly.

And his eyelids moved.

There was a ripple of silence, and then Lance's eyelids twitched then fluttered open, revealing the deep brown eyes hidden away in the darkness. For a moment, he blinked rapidly, his brows furrowed in confusion as if he were trying to make sense of the world around him. His gaze darted around the room, not settling on anything in particular. Nick felt a pang of dread twist in his stomach. Had the surgery been futile?

Just when despair threatened to engulf the room, Lance's wandering gaze landed on Isabel. His eyes locked onto her, staring at her intensely, leaving everyone in the room breathless. A tear escaped from the corner of his eye, trailing down his cheek. Isabel moved towards him instinctively, her hands resting on his shoulders. Lance mirrored her action, cupping her face tenderly with his hands. There was something profoundly intimate in their shared gaze, a silent conversation that needed no words. It was as if Lance was seeing the love of his life for the first time, which, in truth, he was.

Then, Lance swallowed, a visible movement in his throat that echoed loudly in the silent room. His eyelids fluttered again, this time more slowly, more deliberately. He was taking his time, savoring the moment, letting the reality of his regained sight sink in. And as his eyes opened once more, the room held its collective breath. The journey from darkness into light was not easy, but Lance had taken the first step, and it was a revelation.