What was he going to do if she didn’t come?
He had letters to give her before he left, and he had to be on a ship in less than twenty-four hours. That wasn’t exactly something he could delay.
So where was she? And how long was he supposed to wait?
One hour? Two? Until supper?
He trudged across the sand, his boots sinking into the wet softness, and headed to where a log had fallen at the edge of the beach. He sat and stared out at the horizon, rain pummeling his hat and coat.
She was nearly an hour late at this point. Common sense told him she wasn’t going to come, that he should get up and make the long walk back to town.
But for some reason he didn’t quite understand, he couldn’t force himself to leave.
Fear thou not;for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God.Rosalind pressed her lips together and squeezed her eyes shut against the pain radiating up her arm.I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the?—
The grandfather clock standing against the far wall of her father’s study let out a small chime. Another quarter hour had passed, making her forty-five minutes late to meet with Yuri.
“Does that hurt, dear?”
At the sound of Dr. Hollis’s voice, she forced her eyes to open, but that only allowed her to see her father standing next to the doctor, glaring at her as though it was somehow her fault that her arm had been injured.
In fact, he probably did blame her for the injury. She could almost hear him telling her that her arm wouldn’t have been hurt had she not flung it out to protect her face from his hand Saturday night after she’d returned from spying on Bryony’s wedding reception.
Perhaps she shouldn’t have tried to protect herself, but it had seemed like a good idea at the time. A bruise on her face meant her father wouldn’t allow her to leave the house until it was healed. A bruise that could be concealed by gloves and long sleeves? She could at least go about town with that.
Still, she hadn’t been prepared for just how hard her father would strike her, or for him to get even angrier and strike her wrist multiple times when she shielded her face from his attack.
Her ribs were bruised as well, but Dr. Hollis didn’t need to know about those.
The damage to her wrist was bad enough. Deep-purple marks wrapped around the joint with faint yellow marks trailing up her forearm. And the swelling made it hard to bend her wrist and even some of her fingers.
If only she’d held her whimper at breakfast, when Father asked her to pass the bowl of potatoes. But the bowl had been so heavy, and the pain in her wrist had only grown worse over the past day and a half.
“Miss Caldwell?” the doctor asked again, a touch more firmly. “I asked if your wrist hurts when I press here?”
Rosalind blinked and refocused her gaze on the older man kneeling beside her chair. His fingers were pushing just below the joint, but even the gentle pressure was enough to send sharp stabs of pain slicing up her forearm.
“Yes. It hurts.”
Dr. Hollis shifted, his wire spectacles sliding lower on his nose as he studied her wrist from a different angle. “The good news is I don’t believe the bone is broken, but the joint is certainly sprained. I recommend using a sling for at least two weeks, perhaps three.”
Two weeks? “No.” She pulled her wrist away from the doctor and cradled it against her chest.
“No?” her father barked.
She swallowed, her heart thudding against her ribs. She could feel the eyes of both men on her, and she dropped her gaze to her lap. “Surely it’s not that bad. I’ll just rest it.”
“A sprain that isn’t immobilized properly can take far longer to heal.” Dr. Hollis ran two fingers lightly over the swelling. “You don’t want that, do you? I’ll wrap it and provide you with a sling. With any luck, you’ll have full use of it again within a few weeks.”
But Father wouldn’t let her out of the house if her arm was in a sling. He never let her out of the house when she had an injury that others could see. “Surely the sling doesn’t need to be on for that long if I’m careful. I promise I’ll keep it still.”
Dr. Hollis adjusted his glasses. “Miss Caldwell, I’m sure you will try your best to protect your wrist without a sling, but I really must insist?—”
“She’ll wear it,” Father snapped. “Wrap her wrist, bind it, do whatever is necessary. I won’t have her injuring herself further with foolish behavior.”
“But Father?—”
“Do not try me, Rosalind.”
