Glaring, she balled her good fists and turned toward the man, itching to best him in whatever fight he was picking.
After his daughter exited the kitchen to hopefully go to and stay in her bed, Roger turned back to Miss Adler, and all the strain, all the frustration of the past few hours, past few days—truly, the past few months and possibly the past few years—rose again to the surface, like they had at the last Lira ball back in May.
Except this time, there was no chance that his irritation would change into anything else. No, now he was merely mad. At everyone responsible for tonight’s debacle and beyond. Including the woman who stood before him, fair or not, as he was not in the mood to be reasonable.
Roger glared at Miss Adler. “How dare you.”
“How dare I what?” the woman countered, placing her hands on her hips as she took a step toward him. “Prevent your daughter from bleeding or developing an infection? What a crime.”
“You’re a midwife,” he reminded her, taking a step forward of his own, the anger now flowing freely through his veins.
“A medicinal profession. I’m often required to stitch wounds in order to stop bleeding and prevent infection,” she had the nerve to argue.
“Wounds upon what part of the body?” Roger’s blood heated as they argued.
Miss Adler rolled her eyes. “Do you truly believe that an entirely different set of rules applies to vaginas?” she asked, pausing tosearch his face, as if she expected him to flinch at the word or swoon or some such nonsense. As if she’d forgotten how many words he knew. Nor his facility and comfort with that part of the anatomy.
When she didn’t receive whatever reaction she sought, she wagged a finger at him. “I promise you, they’re made of substances present in all parts of the human form.”
In other circumstances he might have found the comment amusing, but he was not in the mood—in any sense of the phrase—as evidenced by the continued tension in his shoulders.
“Moreover,” she continued, her voice rising. “Would you have wanted me to force your child to continue to bleed, putting herself in harm’s way until, what, a doctor could be fetched? Instead of acting upon my knowledge, experience, and above all, superior judgment?”
“Without my consent,” he reminded her.
Raising a finger, the woman opened her mouth and paused, her eyes growing wide. Silent for once.
“Beg pardon?” she asked after a beat.
“You acted without my consent,” he repeated, as that, he realized, was what truly enraged him. And that he’d not been there to give it. “I’m her father. She’s my responsibility. My duty to protect.” Roger shook his head. “I should’ve been the one to make the decision of how to proceed. To use my judgment of facts so if matters fail, it would be on my head.”
Fannie was his daughter. His child. What if it hadn’t only been her hand? What if she’d cut something more consequential? Or been injured more gravely?
What if she had not stayed in the house? What if she’d wandered outside, in the snow? What if someone had taken her?
A thousand horrifying possibilities now haunted his mind, as well as the clear knowledge that he’d failed his child.
That he was not enough to prevent disaster.
That despite all his toil, all his perseverance, all his control over his person, he still had none over anything else. Not really. Not when it mattered.
“I am sorry,” Miss Adler said, breaking his thoughts. “I assessed the situation and did what I thought was necessary, given the circumstances, but I—” She pressed her lips together. “I concede your point. You deserved to be notified and could’ve been in this case. At least before I stitched her up,” she said firmly. “I’m sorry for that.”
Roger searched her face, studying it for any hint of insincerity. Except none was present.
His shoulders slumped.
Mercy, he had made a mess of matters, hadn’t he?
Especially as Miss Adler had the least culpability in the matter and most certainly did not deserve the brunt of his anger.
“Thank you,” he told her, and her eyes grew wide once more. As if such was shocking. Perhaps it was.
Something he needed to rectify. He inhaled. “I’m sorry that I snapped at you,” he continued. “That was bad form.”
“Most assuredly.” A ghost of a smile flickered on her soft pink lips. “I seem to bring that out in you.”
Roger swallowed, unable to even smile at the joke. It was not funny. Not in the slightest.
