During the war he was perfectly in line with his calling. There was no time for lords and manors. All that mattered was the shattered soldier on the table in front of him. Wynn had never felt more alive, more purpose coursing through his being—a purpose he could use to alleviate pain and suffering. A duke’s days were spent crawling through piles of estate accounts, tenant rents, commissions for this, speeches for that. Father had the diplomacy for handling those responsibilities; doing so breathed life through his every fiber. He was born to the title. As had been Hugh. Now Wynn was expected to cast aside everything he’d built his life toward and fall into a role he was never equipped for.
His only solace was that times were changing. The war had forced it. Could he not look after Thornhill and its people while also serving his medical oath? Oversee the larger issues and plans while entrusting the day-to-day business to Mackie? Or Svetlana. His wife had grown up in a palace, and he had the fullest confidence in her abilities. Was it naïve to believe it could work? He wanted to believe. Only time would tell.
“I see no reason why one should interfere with the other,” Wynn said. “My priority is to those in need.”
Apparently it was the correct answer. Dr. Neil bobbed his head in approval. His entourage nodded along. “Delighted to hear you say that. Now, shall we return to my office? I’d like to speak with you more about this heart theory regarding electrophysiology.”
Leaving the theater, the other doctors allowed Wynn and Dr. Neil to carry on alone. The two retraced their steps back down the corridor as nurses in starched aprons bustled by. Wynn peered at the surgery schedule posted by the doors, eager to see his name on rotation.
“We have the ancient Chinese to thank for laying the foundation of arrhythmia theories,” Wynn said, “but only recently have machines been created to detect the electrical phenomena of the heart. Disorders can be identified—”
An orderly popped up in front of them like a jack-in-the-box. He held out an envelope. “Dr. Neil. A letter for you.”
Dr. Neil waved him off. “Put it on my desk. I’m in conference with Dr. MacCallan.”
The boy’s nervous gaze flickered. “I was told to hand it to you with urgency, sir.”
“Very well.” Dr. Neil snatched the envelope from him and tore it open. “Excuse me a moment, Dr. MacCallan.” Scanning the letter, his eyes widened until they looked ready to fall out of his head. He refolded the letter and tapped it against his palm for several seconds. Finally he cleared his throat and looked at Wynn, his face pinched with displeasure. “I do not know how to say this but right out. You are familiar with a Lieutenant Harkin?”
Uneasiness curled in Wynn’s belly. Why would he ask that? They’d been speaking of Harkin only an hour before. “My patient in Paris.”
“The one whose heart you rotated for object extraction. It seems he has died due to surgical complications.”
The unease balled into a fist of shock and socked Wynn square in the middle of his chest. Harkin. The scared soldier who was nothing more than a lad. Who had trusted Wynn to keep him safe. Dead. It was always a possibility. Anytime a person went under the knife was a gamble with death, but the rationale was lost in a flood of guilt. Each death left a jagged crack through his Hippocratic oath.
Wynn pushed a shaking hand through his hair. “I was going to visit him in London next month. He’d written to me a fortnight ago saying how well he was doing.” The shock of the news spread numbly through his veins until his mind could only focus on a single thought. “It’s more important than ever to advance the cause of cardiology so incidents like this can be avoided. If we have the tools in place, patients like Harkin—”
“Yes, something to consider in future. I’m afraid we must part ways here. We’ll be in touch should we decide to continue the prospect of you joining our hospital.”
“I don’t understand. Minutes ago you offered me a trial position.”
“Your Grace—”
“Dr. MacCallan.”
Dr. Neil sighed through his nose. A common physician’s reaction when a patient refused to comprehend the diagnosis. “In light of this unfortunate development, the hospital’s president feels it would not be in good taste or standing to hire a doctor with a besmirched reputation. We were quite willing to listen to your newfound theories, but seeing as they cannot be considered safe—”
“No surgery is safe.”
“Be that as it may, we have our patients to consider. No one will wish to be operated on by a physician who is already under the displeased eye of the medical profession at large.”