She brushed his hand away. “Don’t. Please don’t.”
“Rose. I’m sorry. It was a joke.”
“I know it was a joke.” Her voice shook. “Of course it was a joke. It’s always a joke to you.”
She grabbed her cloak from the floor, found her gloves in the growing darkness.
“Rose.”
Had he not been able to decipher her voice before? He’d not been listening hard enough. Now, now that he’d opened his mouth a moment too soon and spoken just a little too much… Now, he could hear the hurt in her tone.
“Rose. Sweetheart. I never meant to hurt you. You know that. You must know that.”
She pulled on her gloves. “I know that. Stephen, I…” Her voice dropped. “You must know how I feel about you. But I don’t think you understand. This isn’t easy for me, and you aren’t making it any easier. I want to trust you. I am trying to trust you. I even trust your intentions.” Her voice dropped. “I don’t trust your results.”
“Rose.”
She shook her head. “It’s late. I promised my sister I’d be home just after four, and who knows now what time it is. I have to go.”
“Rose.”
“Thank you.” She swallowed. “For bringing me here and arranging for a telescope.”
“At least let me accompany you—”
“I think you’ve spent enough time with me at the moment. Please, Stephen. I told myself I wouldn’t—and look at me. I need to think.”
He rocked back, feeling as if he’d been punched. But he bit back his sharp reply. He’d hurt her first, after all. He’d talk to her when the sting of his ill-timed words had died down, when he was feeling more like himself—less vulnerable and more in control.
She swung down the ladder. He could scarcely see her descending into the gloom.
“Be careful,” he called after her in a low voice.
She didn’t say anything in response, not for a long while. But he heard her reach the top of the turret. She didn’t move for a long time. He wondered if she was looking up at him, if she could see him in the gathering darkness. He wondered what she was thinking.
“I should have been careful hours ago,” she said. “It’s rather late for that.”
THE HOUSE WAS NOT DARK when Rose returned; the lamps on the bottom floor were all lit. Rose could see a silhouette moving against the front window.
She thought back uneasily to the last toll of the clock. It was now…who knew how long after six?
The door was not locked. Her stomach hurt as she turned the handle, but it swung open on easy hinges and she walked into the light.
“Now.” Patricia’s voice was hoarse and ragged.
It took Rose a moment, standing there blinking in the blinding light, to understand that her sister was not talking to her. Patricia sat on the sofa in a robe. Her hands were on her knees; she grimaced as she spoke, her whole body tensing.
Doctor Chillingsworth sat on a chair before her, looking at a watch.
Rose could see the tension in her sister’s face, the grit of her teeth, the faint sheen of sweat at her temples. Rose stood in place, unsure of what she was observing.
The doctor, however, raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Really, Mrs. Wells,” he said reprovingly. “Do you really think that you can falsify a contraction and convince me?”
Patricia’s hands gripped her knees. “Falsify? I wouldn’t lie about such a thing.”
Chillingsworth met this with a wave of his hand. “Exaggerate, then. The too-prominent grinding of teeth, the low noise in your throat—Mrs. Wells, you are a doctor’s wife. It does not behoove you to behave in this fashion.” Chillingsworth stood. “There is no cervical dilation; the, ah, contractions, as you call them, do not seem particularly intense. And the baby still has not turned. You’ve at least three weeks remaining by my estimation. This is false labor once again, Mrs. Wells. Try to sleep, and do make an effort not to bother me with trivialities until it is truly your time.”
Patricia’s face was a mask. Rose stepped forward, all the heat rising to her face. “Doctor Chillingsworth, my sister does not—”
Patricia interrupted this defense with a swift shake of her head. “Thank you for seeing me, doctor. I’m much obliged to you for putting my fears to rest. Now that you’ve explained what I must look for, I shall be sure not to bother you again until it is time.”
“See that you don’t.” Chillingsworth ran a hand through his hair and glanced at his pocket watch once more. “Right in the middle of dinner,” he muttered. He dropped the gold disc into his waistcoat pocket and gathered up his bag.