“She’s telling me to disregard whatever the”—she stopped to find an equivalent word in English—“fussy doctors say. She says I must forge on because mine is not an occupation, but a calling.” Nora swallowed, holding back the tears. She didn’t translate the next part.
Rimani al tuo posto.
Stand at your post.
It was Magdalena’s call to courage and fortitude, as convincing as any order ever given to a soldier by a general.
Daniel broke the quiet, jarring her from her thoughts. “These models are incredible. But I still think it might be easier for you to attract students if you signed the petition.”
“I think—” She broke off, troubled by the deep furrow between his eyebrows.
Maybe it was better not to answer. If they had been alone, she would have reached out and touched his sleeve, showing she was only opposed to Adams, not him.
“I don’t think a single person in this household considers ease when making decisions.” Harry sighed. “Look at this ludicrous lady, shipped all the way from Italy. We’ll need to name her. Best do it now before Mrs. Phipps overrides you.”Bestowing names on random creatures, living and stuffed, fell typically to her.
“I like Mara,” Nora blurted out. Daniel gave her a baffled frown, and she shrugged. It seemed to fit.
Horace was now probing the vaginal opening, measuring it with his fingers and nodding appreciatively. “It would be nice to make a cloth one to have a bit of stretch. Do you think we could find a seamstress—”
“A London seamstress? To re-create a vulva? No, Horace, I truly doubt we could.” Nora let his daydream shatter into shards as he sulked in disappointment. “But we’ll make some cloth dolls with softer heads to demonstrate births and allow the mi—our students,” she corrected hastily, “to practice turning babies, placing forceps, and delivering different presentations.”
Horace’s eyes lit up, and he and Harry began rattling off ideas about jointed limbs and how to make the dolls slippery. Nora caught remnants that included cod liver oil and vulcanized rubber.
Daniel was quiet, busy sweeping up splinters from the crate.
“Are you worried about Dr. Adams?” she asked quietly, trying to catch his eye.
“He works at St. Bart’s. I have to deal with him.”
“You know I can’t sign it. It’s completely against my principles. I’m right in the middle of trying to train the midwives. I could never lend my support to anything that bars women from birthing rooms.” Until the college decided to admit women (a possibility that seemed more impossible every passing week), working as a midwife was the only option if a woman wanted to practice any field related to medicine. Nora couldn’t rest untilshe made others see the absurdity of the arrangement.
Daniel nodded, refusing to look at her, and untied his apron. “Of course not.”
Chapter 14
Daniel returned to the house on Great Queen Street an hour earlier than usual, knowing he’d need the extra time. He and Nora were expected for dinner at his parents’ home in Richmond. His family was prickly at the best of times, but he felt as much enthusiasm for tonight’s event as the salmon that would grace the table.
Daniel had managed to avoid speaking any more to Harry or Horace about the petition, but he’d soon be confined to a small carriage with Nora, and she was far more discerning.Stupid to have signed it.He needed to explain soon, but if she took the news badly, he didn’t know how he’d manage to socialize for hours in front of all his family, like nothing was the matter. What would they think if she shot dagger eyes at him all evening?
Best to explain to her after the dinner party.
As it was, any exposure to his family put her on edge. Facing his disapproving mother was enough anxiety for one night.
Daniel checked his watch. They must leave by five, and it was already past four. By now, Nora would be in the middle of wrestling with her hair and dress choices. He’d reassure her, calm her nerves, and be a faultless husband the entire evening. It would smooth the blow when he told her he’d signed Adams’s petition. Hopefully.
Upstairs, Nora’s one fine dress—ruffled green taffeta, which she’d worn to meet his parents and to their wedding—hung silent and limp on the door of the wardrobe. No sign of her. Daniel checked his watch again.
“Nora?”
No answer. He crossed the hall, but she wasn’t in the bath. He gritted his teeth. She must have forgotten. He’d meant to remind her this morning before leaving for the hospital, but when he’d checked on the wombat, the creature rooted hungrily against his hand, so he’d spent his last few minutes at home pulling a few tulip bulbs from pots in the conservatory to feed her. When he remembered their dinner plans this afternoon, while writing patient notes for the surgical ward, it was too late to send a message.
Perhaps she’d attended a long case.
On purpose.
Not that he’d blame her. No one could sniff as effectively as his mother. And she possessed a gift for inviting whatever guests made the evening least enjoyable. With her talent, she could very well have invited Mae, his one-time fiancée, no matter that she was also newly married. Or Silas Vickery, who hated Daniel only half as much as he despised Nora but would be an impeccable dinner guest. Daniel closed his eyes, dispelling the thought. It wouldn’t be so bad as that.
Unlike Nora, Daniel didn’t mind time with his family, despite their stuffy mores. Particularly his sister Joan, still without any prospects of marrying, but who refused to quell the wicked humor his mother blamed for her failures in love. And his widowed aunt, who had no children of her own but carriedon several ambitious charitable and social projects. She was fierce but kindhearted, rather like Horace in some ways—not that he’d ever dare make such a comparison aloud.
