The Surgeon and the Princess
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Karin Baine
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19,5K
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12
CHAPTER ONE
‘ROBO-PRINCESS. PART MACHINE, part fairy-tale heroine.’
Georgiana could almost hear her squad now, as they’d sat joking around her hospital bed after her amputation. It had been their way of trying to cheer her up. The army way, with dark humour disguising their concern and love for one of their own.
She missed her team and the close relationships she’d forged. Since her op, she hadn’t had a chance to catch up with them again. More from a sense of shame than lack of opportunity. She didn’t want them to pity the person she’d become.
Back then Georgiana had laughed along with the teasing, convinced it was only a matter of time before she’d be back with the others in some capacity as their medic. Now the nickname felt more like a cruel joke. She was neither warrior nor princess. Simply a one-legged failure at both.
There was no way she could go back to the army now, when it was taking all her strength just to live her life unassisted. As for the princess bit—well, she’d never seriously considered that as a career. More of a curse bestowed upon her at birth, being next in line to the throne of Bardot, a small kingdom sandwiched between Liechtenstein and Switzerland that the rest of the world neither knew nor cared about.
The sound of her much-missed squaddies in her head was replaced with the steady thud of her pounding the treadmill. A reminder she was almost back on her feet, even if only one of them was real. At least they were both moving in sync now, so she was no longer walking like an inebriated penguin. Balance was a tricky thing to achieve with only one leg. One and a half if she counted the remaining scarred stump.
She watched herself in the full-length mirror of her home gym. The wounds on her face had faded but she still saw them there, ugly and gaping, like the ones all over her body. Reminders of what she’d gone through and lost.
The explosion rang deafeningly in her ears once more. The safe walls around her were blown away, replaced with clouds of dust and debris, and she was back there. Clawing the dirt out of her mouth and eyes. Trying to stand and falling. Then she was screaming, ‘Medic down!’ while tying a tourniquet around what was left of her leg, injecting herself with morphine and waiting as her team leader called a Medevac to fly her to hospital.
Georgiana increased her pace, closed her eyes and tried to outrun the past. It didn’t work. Nothing did. Even coming back to Bardot, separating herself from that army environment she’d been encompassed in during rehabilitation, hadn’t lessened the pain of what had happened and what it meant for her future. Especially knowing if she’d simply accepted her position here instead of trying to distance herself from the toxicity of the establishment, she’d have remained in one piece.
These were the thoughts she failed to block out day by day in her recovery. Neither the increased heavy pounding of her body on the treadmill nor her laboured breathing could drown them out.
She grabbed the headphones hanging over the handrail and somehow managed to wrestle them on without missing a step. Those tiny, wireless buds were all the rage these days but her old-fashioned padded ones blocked out more of the world. So she was cocooned, safe, surrounded by the familiar music blasting in her ears. It helped her push through the pain barrier, both physically and mentally. If she was to get back any resemblance of her old life she had to keep going. No matter how much it hurt.
Unfortunately, her damaged body couldn’t quite live up to the promises she’d made to herself. This was her new normal and she hated the powerlessness over her physical self. She wasn’t a quitter, she’d proved that to progress as far as she had in military life. There had been no exceptions made for her, no special favours called in, she hadn’t wanted that. She’d worked as hard as any other recruit. Sometimes harder, to prove that she wasn’t simply a pampered princess. Well, she had been until she’d made a stand against the life she’d been born into. Swapping it for something more fulfilling.
Now that she’d been forced to leave that much-wanted military life she was lost again. With no true direction or sense of self when everything had been taken away from her. The danger of being back in the palace was that she’d get dragged back into that superficial existence of personal appearances and mentions in the tabloids. It was that world that had killed her brother, Freddie, and she wanted to do something more substantial and meaningful with her life. She simply didn’t know what that was any more. Not while she was like this. Half the person she used to be.
Georgiana slowed her speed for the cool-down phase of her workout and pulled off the headphones. As she stepped back down onto the gym floor, her good leg was trembling with the exertion of her punishing exercise. It knocked her a little off balance and she had to reach out for the nearby chair to steady herself, before collapsing into it, taking the weight off her unsteady prosthetic leg. She’d suffer for this later, knowing the pressure of the prosthesis rubbing on what was left of her lower limb would leave the skin raw. Not that she would feel sorry for herself when she was lucky to still be alive.
‘You really shouldn’t be so hard on your body.’ A critical masculine voice startled her and she reacted as she would with anyone who dared to trespass on her private training session.
‘Who are you and how did you get in here?’ She stood up so she wasn’t at such a disadvantage against the tall, broad figure walking towards her. Squaring up to this stranger wearing only her racer-back gym top and shorts exposing her prosthetic leg wasn’t as intimidating as she wanted since it didn’t halt his progress towards her.
She was trying not to freak out but wished she hadn’t dismissed all the staff in the vicinity. Her fight back to recovery wasn’t a spectator sport for anyone, including security or whoever this was. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d had an intruder at the palace, thankfully there out of curiosity rather than for any malicious reason. That didn’t make a possible similar situation any less concerning.
He didn’t look like a tourist who’d walked in off the street, dressed in an immaculate charcoal-grey suit, complete with silver silk tie and real leather shoes. She prayed he wasn’t a journalist either. That would almost be worse than someone simply wanting a selfie with a member of the royal family. Her army training had taught her how to defend herself but it was something she hadn’t put into practice since her traumatic injury and she didn’t want to test it now.
‘I’m Edward Lawrence. I was here for a consultation with your mother regarding her riding accident. Sorry for the intrusion. I just happened to see you in here as I was on my way out.’
‘And you wanted a closer look at the freak show?’ She didn’t bother introducing herself. He didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of social niceties if he couldn’t observe them himself.
He frowned as though he didn’t quite understand her meaning and she waited, arms folded, until the penny dropped.
‘Goodness, no. I was taking an interest merely from a professional point of view. I’m a consultant spinal surgeon and physical rehabilitation is one of the specialities at our mobility clinic.’ He reached into his inside pocket and produced a business card for Move, a private clinic, presuming she’d accept it as proof of his credentials. His name did ring a bell.
‘I haven’t been home in quite a while but I remember a Dr Lawrence here as an older, more distinguished gentleman.’ One who would’ve knocked before walking in. He’d been a tall man but with a thinning silver pate and a bushy moustache. A contrast to the sun-kissed swoop of hair this guy was sporting, blond with a matching golden smile on his handsome, clean-shaven face.
‘That was my father, a GP. He’s retired now.’
If she’d wondered how someone who would’ve looked more at home running barefoot across a beach with a surfboard under his arm had wangled a gig at the palace, now she knew. Nepotism. Regardless of whatever capacity her family had acquired his services, it was nothing to do with her.
‘Yes, well, neither you nor your father have any right to be in my personal space so I’d appreciate you leaving.’ She attempted to show him out with a wave of her hand, uncomfortable at being exposed to anyone like this.
Since returning home she’d purposely avoided contact with the outside world so her current state would remain unknown or at least a mystery to those with an insatiable appetite for royal scandal. Unveiling her broken body was something she wanted to do at her own pace, if at all. By barging in here uninvited he’d stolen some of that power from her and now she just wanted him gone.
Yet again he showed a blatant disregard for common courtesy by failing, not only to leave, but to apologise. ‘By overexerting yourself you’re putting your body under more strain. You could be causing more damage. Surely you have some sort of exercise plan drawn up with a physiotherapist?’
His whole lack of manners and apparent knowledge of her circumstances disoriented her. If he knew who she was or had been taken by surprise by her injury he gave no indication of it. His focus remained on how she was potentially abusing her body. Perhaps he was who he purported to be after all. An expert.
‘To put your mind at ease, I completed my rehabilitation at a professional residential facility. I’m quite capable of continuing my recovery at home. On my own.’
‘Georgiana—I hope I can call you that—’ Mystery solved. He knew exactly who he was dealing with and presumably had some idea of how she’d come to be in this position.
He didn’t wait for a reply. ‘Recovery is an ongoing process best served by remaining in contact with medical professionals. It’s a guess but I suspect you haven’t attended any follow-up appointments since leaving the centre?’
The truth burned her skin. ‘Look, you obviously know who I am, so you’ll understand why I’m not keen on continuing my recovery in public. I’ve got everything I need here. I’m fine.’
He gave her gym equipment a cursory glance. ‘No offence but this looks like it’s been commissioned by an interior designer, not by anyone who knows what they’re doing.’
She should’ve been offended by the comment. He had absolutely no right to be in her private gym, much less mock it. However, she could see his point. It was the most expensive gym furniture on the market but she had wondered if it had been chosen primarily for decorative reasons. Rehabilitation wasn’t meant to be pretty, but the area that had been commandeered for her recovery had been set up before her return. She’d had no input and there had been no consultation with regard to her individual needs. Most likely because her mother didn’t trust her judgement over an outsider’s on the matter. As a result, she’d been greeted with a room befitting a princess with a gym habit rather than a wounded soldier.
The full-length mirrors she needed to watch her gait were gilded with golden frames. The walls were brilliant white, the floors bleached oak. Perfect for a glossy magazine photo shoot. While she enjoyed the anonymity provided by being in the farthest corner of the palace, it was stark with no natural light coming in. A window wouldn’t have gone amiss.
There was a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, dappling the plump, upholstered armchairs with teardrops of artificial light, but none of the aesthetics were of particular benefit to her. Although, the upside of the space here was that everyone knew to leave her alone. Except for the nosy doc who’d know for the next time he happened by.
‘I’m grateful my parents made the adjustments for me.’ That was diplomatic. She was thankful and she knew they wouldn’t hesitate to provide her with anything she might need. It was the atmosphere around the place, silent accusations and the air thick with recriminations, that was more difficult to live with. A matter that was no one’s business outside the family.
‘It’s fine for a normal home gym but you need specialised equipment. We have everything you’d need at our medical facility, including hydrotherapy pools.’ He was tempting her. With the pool idea, not his good looks and charm.
She’d used water a lot to strengthen her core during her rehabilitation and missed that feeling of weightlessness. Sometimes she even managed to forget the physical part of her that was missing when she was swimming, but it wasn’t as though she could tuck a towel under her arm and head to the local swimming baths any time she wanted.
‘It’s a very kind offer but, as I’ve told you, I want to keep my appearance and recovery private for now.’ Ed could see she was wavering. He hadn’t expected it would be an easy task to convince her to accept help, but he’d promised her mother he’d at least try. If there was the slightest opening in her defence, he was willing to take advantage of it for her own good.
‘We could arrange completely private sessions. You have my personal guarantee on that. If you decide you want to avail yourself of any of our other services, our physios or counsellors, that will be on a strictly confidential basis too. A lot of our clients are in the public eye, so we’re used to being discreet. It’s one of the reasons your mother came to me for her consultation.’ Along with his father putting his name forward when she contacted him for his valued opinion on her condition.
Apparently, she’d had an ulterior motive in having a home visit. The queen had been insistent she didn’t want Georgiana to know she was interfering but it was clear she was worried about her daughter. It wasn’t any of his business what was going on but there was a blatant lack of communication between mother and daughter. A parent should be able to demonstrate concern for a child without fear of losing them. It was the close bond he had with his own parents that had saved their family. Even if it sometimes felt as if he’d sacrificed his freedom to keep everyone together.
Meeting Georgiana himself, he could understand her mother’s reticence to be seen as interfering. She was a force to be reckoned with. Defensive and self-assured, and someone who could totally do this on her own if she had to. It simply made sense to use the services available to aid a faster recovery process. If only her body language didn’t scream, ‘Stay away from me if you value your life!’
Despite her obvious disability she still had that in-built alertness that came with being a soldier. One false move and he had no doubt she’d battle anyone or anything that threatened her. She certainly looked like a warrior, as well as having that defensive attitude that emanated from her in waves. Her slight frame was toned with defined muscles that would put most people to shame. Eyes blazed with green fire in her heart-shaped face, her defiant chin tilted upward. The flowing brunette locks he’d seen in newspaper features had been shorn into an edgy cut. One side of her head was shaved close to the scalp, while the other was choppy and non-conformist. He wouldn’t be surprised if she’d done it herself in a fit of pique. It made her look like the rebel she was reputed to be. The addition of a prosthetic right leg only added to that intimidating impression of someone who was not to be messed with.
Georgiana Ashley was unlike anyone he’d ever met, though he’d come across many other wounded veterans unwilling to appear helpless or weak by accepting help.
‘Even if I did agree to scoping the place out, there’s the small matter of leaving here unnoticed. It’s impossible. I’m sure you’ve witnessed the crowds of tourists and press assembled outside waiting for a glimpse of life beyond the palace gates.’ She clutched her hands to her heart in mock dramatic fashion. Ed was sure the deprecating humour was an attempt to undermine the high esteem the family name drew rather than making fun of those who looked up to them.
‘You are the country’s main tourist attraction.’ He couldn’t help adding fuel to the fire and wasn’t surprised to receive her narrow-eyed glare in response.
‘My point exactly,’ she said, letting him get away with the insolent comment that could have seen him lose his head a few centuries ago.
‘If you were serious about attending the clinic, I’m sure we could find some way to get you there.’
‘I don’t see how, unless you’ve got an invisibility cloak on you.’ She turned her back on him to retrieve a garish set of pink headphones from the treadmill, losing interest in the conversation. Clearly underestimating the heights of his own determination.
‘If you’re serious, I could sneak you out in my car. No one seems interested in my comings and goings. It shouldn’t be too hard to smuggle you out under cover of darkness. That way you could be sure to have the facilities to yourself too, if you attended in the evening.’ It might sound like the plot of a farcical movie but Ed was a problem-solver and this seemed the easiest way out of her predicament. If she wasn’t simply making excuses.
‘Are you joking?’ It did manage to grab her attention again and when she faced him, he could see the trace of a smile on her lips.
‘I never joke about my work,’ he replied in complete seriousness. This wasn’t about having a little excitement in his life. Goodness knew he had his hands full already, taking care of his parents and his little brother.
‘You would actually try and sneak me out?’ She was openly laughing at him now but he didn’t care. He would do whatever it took to get her to agree to some sort of aftercare. Not only had he made a promise to her mother but, having spoken to Georgiana, he knew she needed this. A space away from the pressures of her life here and somewhere she could be comfortable in her own skin. To reach the limits he knew she could be capable of now he’d seen her in action. It was their job at the clinic to encourage patients back to full health physically and mentally. Shutting herself off completely from the rest of the world wasn’t conducive to that recovery.
‘Sure. It’s not as if I’d be kidnapping you. If we got stopped, I’d expect you to say as much. I’m not getting locked up for attempted regicide or treason or whatever trumped-up charges they’d come up with.’
‘What are we talking here? A blanket over the head or full trench-coat-and-moustache disguise?’ At least she’d stopped scowling at him as the idea seemed increasingly to amuse her. It shouldn’t be this hard for a person to leave their own home.
‘Wear what you want. I’m not your stylist.’ He shrugged, unwilling to make such a big deal of things that she might become wary.
‘You have no idea, do you? I mean, why should you? You can just swan around the place as though you’ve every right to be here simply because your father got you this job.’
‘That’s not—’ His father had mentioned his name for the consultation but he was sure his reputation and experience would have secured the queen’s trust in him regardless.
‘It must be nice to go where you want, do as you please, with no one expecting anything from you.’ She was unleashing some of her frustration on him. It was good, he supposed, for her. Except she knew nothing about his life or the demands upon him. He had no more freedom than her, the princess imprisoned by her own privilege.
If she had the first clue about his situation, she’d never accuse him of having any sort of liberation from family. Not now and especially not when he was growing up. As the eldest of his six siblings, including a brother with spina bifida, he’d shouldered a lot of responsibility. That family loyalty hadn’t lessened with age. Most of his brothers and sisters had moved on or married and started families of their own. Things most people took for granted when they pictured their future. Not Ed. He’d stayed close to home, remained in that role of carer, so now he was the one looking after their elderly parents and checking in on his kid brother. That didn’t leave room for whatever fun and games Ms Ashley seemed to think he got up to. It had already cost him a relationship of his own.
‘That’s a lot to assume about someone you don’t know.’ He was the one getting defensive now.
‘We’re taught in the army to make quick, detailed assessments of every situation.’ She looked him up and down. ‘I stand by every word I said.’
Ed bit the inside of his cheek lest he say something he’d later come to regret when he was locked away in a tower somewhere as punishment. ‘Thankfully, my offer isn’t conditional on your knowledge, or lack thereof, about my personal life. So, if you could set aside whatever preconceived notions and ill-judged prejudice you have against me and focus on yourself, you’ll see how you could benefit from our state-of-the-art facility.’
‘Uh-huh, and what’s in it for you?’ Georgiana stripped off her shirt, so she was standing there in only her black sports bra and shorts. He knew it was a move to make him uncomfortable and at the same time display her own confidence. It worked on both levels but he wasn’t a man to give up easily.
‘Nothing except the satisfaction of giving someone else the best chance of a full recovery. It’s what I do.’ He knew he sounded glib but he didn’t think sincerity was going to do him any favours with her. Those barriers she’d put up weren’t coming down any time soon and he could tell straight away she wasn’t the sort of woman who’d respond to a softly-softly approach.
She rolled her eyes as she patted a towel around her neck and her décolletage where perspiration from her workout was glistening on her pale skin. If they’d met at a gym or anywhere other than a royal palace, he would never have believed her to be a princess. He was just as guilty of having preconceived notions of her before meeting. Of course, he’d seen and heard mention of her in the press but assumed the stories were either fiction or she was simply another rich kid feigning rebellion. Now he knew different. Georgiana was very much her own person.
He watched as she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her shorts, tugging them down slightly so the flat plane of her impressive abdominal muscles was visible. It showed she was a hard worker, motivated in the hardest of circumstances to keep up her fitness regime, and boded well for her future despite her life-changing injury.
She cleared her throat and he lifted his eyes to meet her querying gaze.
‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to shower and change in private.’
‘Yes. Sorry.’ He bumbled around, trying to avert his gaze and regather his composure.
‘Close the door on your way out.’ She was ending the conversation and the meeting without agreeing to anything. Ed had to admire her tenacity. It could be the very thing to get her back to the person she used to be. If that was different from the woman standing before him now, he had no idea.
‘She’s going to be okay, by the way. In case you were wondering.’ It occurred to him she hadn’t referenced the reason he was in her home in the first place.
‘Who?’ She looked genuinely puzzled as to who or what he was referring to. It said a lot, nothing good, about her relationship with her mother. Either she didn’t care or there had been a complete lack of information shared with her about the accident. Perhaps even both. The concept was alien to someone who was constantly in contact and, indeed, worried about his own parents. His family was always foremost in his thoughts.
‘Your mother. Very badly bruised after the fall from her horse but no long-term damage,’ he reminded her, in case the details had slipped from her memory during the course of their discussion.
‘Oh,’ was all the response she mustered. He couldn’t help but wonder what had caused their relationship to become so strained. Especially at a time when she would need the support of her family more than ever. He didn’t know how she’d got this far without them.
‘Anyway, I’ve checked all the scans and X-rays to put her mind at rest and she’s going to be fine,’ he assured her again. Although nothing in her tone suggested it had caused her any concern thus far.
If Georgiana, by any miracle, did agree to attend the clinic, he’d be advising her to seek the services of one of their counsellors. In case the psychological trauma had in some way caused this apparent lack of empathy towards the very person who’d come to him for help. Families were a complicated business and no one knew that better than he did.
‘I never doubted it. Now, if you don’t mind...’ She dismissed him again with a nod of her head towards the door. Clearly, social etiquette wasn’t as important to her as it was to her mother. Unless this was another side effect from her accident. Sometimes patients had no filter after such an ordeal. She’d been through a lot and he was prepared to make allowances for someone he really knew nothing about. He could only hope she would do the same for him, since he didn’t seem to be making a great first impression.
‘You have my number should you decide to use our clinic. Goodbye, Miss Ashley.’ He turned to take his leave, only to have a pair of shorts land on top of his head.
Unwilling to give her the satisfaction of going back to confront her, clad now only in her underwear, he pulled them off his head and kept walking.
She really didn’t know him at all if she thought he wasn’t up to a challenge.
