He was a man at ease with himself and the world and his place in it. Would Svetlana ever feel that way again or would the revolutionaries strip away that hope as well?
“Doctor, how might we thank you for your services?” Mama reached for her handbag, which contained a few coins they’d managed to trade an heirloom brooch for upon arriving in France.
Wynn held up his hand. “As I told your daughter, there is no charge in wartime.”
For the first time, Mama dared to relax her face into what others might be fooled into considering as a friendly look. “Are all physicians as noble as you?”
“I wouldn’t call it noble, ma’am, but we do what we can for those in need.”
Mama glanced away and touched the bottom slanted bar of her Orthodox cross. “How these times make us all suffer. Some more than others.”
“You’re right about that, but you’ll never hear those Tommies complaining. I think they’re all out for the medal of suffering in silence.”
Mama’s lips pursed at his not taking her pitying bait. “Yes, well, we have seen a great deal of suffering on our travel here.”
“Do you plan to remain in Paris or travel on to a final destination?”
“Any final destination for a Russian is in Russia, though the circumstances do not allow for it at present. Here we shall stay with nothing but our dignity until such a time as we may return.”
“I believe we all feel that way about going home.” The easy light in his eyes flickered.
It was the slightest break in an illusion of well-being that Svetlana felt all too keenly. She didn’t want to believe that of him. Couldn’t allow herself to believe it. No one was to be trusted. Not even kind doctors who pulled glass from her leg.
Svetlana shifted on the hard floor. “Is Mrs. Varjensky comfortable?”
Wynn nodded, looking once more the confident doctor. “She’s resting now, as you should be doing. Keep your leg elevated and only put weight on it if you must. A bit of valerian root or white willow bark in scandal water should help relieve any pain for the both of you. Tomorrow I’ll try to get you proper medicines.”
“What is this scandalous water?”
“Tea. Because ladies often use it as social lubricant for gossip.”
Svetlana’s gaze dropped to the wrapped package in his hand. “What do you have there?”
“Pastry of some sort.” Unwrapping the muslin, he held up a ring of baked dough with cheese in the center. “Mrs. Varjensky insisted.”
“
“
The panic from earlier came swooping back. They didn’t need him returning and drawing attention. “We can make do without and will trouble you no further.”
“As my patient it’s your prerogative to trouble me. Let’s me know I’m still needed.”
“But the soldiers—”
“I should warn you now that I’ve perfected the art of ignoring patients’ gallant notions of martyrdom. Part of a physician’s training.” He sketched a short bow and backed out of the chamber. “Ladies, I bid you all a pleasant morning and remainder of the day.”
Svetlana struggled to her feet in a last desperate attempt. Her leg cramped in protest. “Marina can collect the medicine instead of you coming so far to deliver it.”
Wynn stuck his head back in and cocked an eyebrow at her. “You’re going to be a difficult one, aren’t you? Rest.” With a quick flash of his eye, he disappeared.
Mama gasped. “That man winked at you.”
“No, a mere twitch,” Svetlana said. It was very much a wink, but admitting so brought no favors.
“He could be dangerous.”
“As dangerous as using titles in front of him?”
Huffing, Mama surged to her dainty feet. The fraying hem of her once fashionable skirt swished around her ankles. “Whatever he is, he’s proven the English have nothing of court protocol. Mrs. Dalsky. As if I would answer to such a commoner’s name. Blessed be he’s a simple physician and not expected to circulate within higher society.”
“I think he’s nice,” Marina said, patting Svetlana’s hand. “He took care of you. And Mrs. Varjensky.”
He did. When no one else would.
Mama sniffed and pulled at a loose thread from her shawl. “Hmph. Another commoner. I don’t know why you insisted on bringing her.”
“Her sons were killed in the February Revolution last year and her husband died while they were escaping from the Bolsheviks,” Svetlana said, ignoring the sting that came with her mother’s criticism of her judgment. It came more often than not at Svetlana’s expense. “She has no one left. We couldn’t leave her in that miserable church with people crawling on top of one another.”