He did not want to hurt her.
He didn’t even shake his head. He just turned back to his telescope and said, “Go home, Charlotte.”
He placed his eye to the eyepiece and brought his fingers to the focusing knob, even though it was already exactly where he wanted it to be. He needed to pretend that he was busy. She would leave. She would not see the expression on his face.
But she did not leave, not as quickly as he thought she would. He was forced to stand there, eye to the telescope, pretending that he was not painfully aware of her presence.
Was she watching him? Judging him?
He looked at the stars. Located Venus.
Prayed she would leave.
Finally, she did.
Kew Palace
The Observatory
The following morning
“Your Majesty,” Reynolds said, “Doctor Monro has arrived.”
“Show him in.” George shuffled his papers as he stood. He did not like to receive people in the observatory. The doctor would be his second guest in as many days, but desperate times and all that.
“Thank you for coming so quickly,” George said as Reynolds led the doctor in.
“Of course, Your Majesty.” Doctor Monro cast several admiring glances at the observatory’s equipment. “A most impressive scientific collection. I do not know that there is another to match it in England.”
George offered him a self-deprecating smile. “There are a few advantages to being a monarch. One of them is you get the best stuff.” But for once, George did not want to talk about his philosophical table or his microscope. He took a breath. He did not like asking for assistance. But he knew he must. “Monro, I, ah—I need your help.”
“Of course. I am near at hand for whenever Your Majesty feels a fit coming on.”
“The thing is, that is not enough.” George raked a hand through his hair. His mother was always telling him this was not a regal habit, but right now he couldn’t be bothered to care. “Look, I have learned a thing or two about science, and one thing I have learned is this: Scientists keep the best of it to themselves. Am I right, Monro?”
“I am not sure I understand, Your Majesty.”
“It can be years before the public learns of the newest discoveries. And I do understand—there is good reason for this caution. Say a doctor is brought in to treat a king.”
“We speak in hypotheticals?” Monro murmured.
George was willing to play this game. For now. “Of course,” he allowed. “It is merely an example. This doctor—who is treating a king—he could not risk failure, or God forbid, harming his sovereign. So he would employ only his safest, most proven treatments. He would keep the cutting edge of his methods to himself until they are proven beyond a doubt.”
George fiddled with the lodestone on his philosophical table before bringing his eyes to the doctor’s. “Do you understand me now, Monro?”
The doctor slowly nodded. “I may begin to.”
“It is not enough to cure the fits once they start. If the Queen were ever to see me like . . . that, I could not—” He could not imagine it. He could not allow himself to do so.
“May I assume the Queen does not know of your condition?” the doctor asked.
“She does not.” George fought the urge to pick up an instrument. It was hard to keep still, but he needed the doctor to see how deadly serious he was. “If God forbid I were ever to hurt her . . . Surely there must be something you can do? Something to end the fits before they begin.”
And then he said the one word he’d never allowed himself to dream. “Forever?”
Monro took a moment to consider his request. “I have been experimenting with something more . . . proactive.”
“Please. I want to be well.”
“I would require rooms in the Palace. Full access to Your Majesty. At any time. And license to pursue rather more”—he cleared his throat—“extreme measures.”
“Anything,” George said eagerly. “Whatever you have to do. We have the time and privacy of my honeymoon.”
Monro glanced about the room. “This is your honeymoon?”
“You see my problem. I do not dare spend it with my bride. I cannot risk her seeing me when I am not myself.”
Even as he spoke the words, though, George wondered if he was a fraud. What if that was what he was? What if the man who lapsed into nonsense, who lost hours of his time to fits and twitches he did not remember the next day . . . What if that was the real man?
Maybe this was the mirage. Farmer George, Scientist George. The man who wanted to love his wife. What if he was the false king?
“I am ready, Doctor Monro,” he said. It was time to learn the truth.
“We can start today,” Monro suggested.
“Excellent. What do you need?”
“Ehrm . . . nothing to start. We will simply speak. But I will need to establish a laboratory on-site. Can you provide men to move my equipment to Kew?”
“At once,” George said.
“And an ice bath for later this afternoon.”
“You wish to take an ice bath?” George couldn’t imagine much that was less pleasant, but if the doctor liked his waters cold . . .
“You shall do so.” Monro regarded him with a sharp expression. “If I am to treat you, you are not my king. You will do whatever I say, whenever I say. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” George whispered. Because he wanted to be well. And for the first time in months, he felt a whisper of optimism. It felt good to have made a decision, to have finally taken the reins of his own care, even if he was then placing those reins into the hands of another.
“Can we begin right now?” George asked.
Monro blinked in surprise. “Yes,” he said, a look of satisfaction—or maybe delight—flitting across his face. “Yes, we can. Take a seat.” He pointed to a straight-backed wooden chair. “Right there will do.”
George followed his direction and sat.
“Do not move while I speak to you,” Monro said.
George gave the tiniest of nods.
“The problem in your case is clear. You are a king.”
George wanted to nod again, but he didn’t. He was determined to follow the doctor’s orders.
“As such, you are used to the obedience of others.”
George watched as the doctor began to slowly pace in front of him. Three steps one way, three steps the other.
“You yourself have not learned to obey.”
George wondered if this was true. It quite possibly was.
“Above all, you have never learned to submit. Your mind ranges, undisciplined. Unbound, it tests the limits of reason. That is the origin of your fits. Do you understand?”
George did not speak. He did not know if he was supposed to.
Monro stopped short and then brought his face close to George’s. “Do you understand?” he roared.
George startled. “Yes,” he said. “Yes. I understand.”
“Your Majesty!” Reynolds came skidding into the room. “What is happening? Are you all right?”
“We require solitude,” Monro said. He flicked barely a glance at Reynolds. “You are dismissed.”
Reynolds looked to George. Clearly, he would not leave without his King’s say-so. George swallowed and nodded. He had to do this. It was his only chance.
Reynolds did not look happy, but he moved to the door.
“Wait!” Monro barked.
Reynolds turned. “Sir?”
“My patient requires a change of diet.”
“You mean the King?” Reynolds’s voice was edged with insolence. George couldn’t help but be gratified by it.