He looked up with a smile. He seemed to enjoy when she interrupted his work. “Actually, it happened in June of last year.”
“What? And you didn’t tell me?”
“You weren’t here.”
“Yes, but it’s obviously very important to you. I would have thought you’d have told me about it.”
He gave her a dry smile. “For much of the time, I was otherwise engaged.”
“I don’t know how you can joke about that monster,” Charlotte said. She wanted to have Doctor Monro arrested for his treatment of George, but he convinced her that it would only create more problems.
He shrugged. “Sometimes humor is the only way to cope.”
“If you say so.” She walked over to the telescope, idly trailing her fingers along the long tube. She was careful not to touch any of the knobs or buttons or anything that could be knocked out of place. George tended to have everything set very precisely.
“How was the Transit?” she asked. “Was it glorious?”
“Unfortunately, we were not able see it in its entirety from here. It’s a shame. I wouldn’t have had to travel far. Just up to Norway.”
“Why didn’t you go?”
He gave her an indulgent look. “I am King. I cannot just traipse up to Norway to view the stars.”
“I would think that is exactly what a King could do. Are you allowed none of life’s pleasures?”
He smiled wickedly. “I have you.”
She waddled over to his side. “That you do. More of me, every day.”
George touched her belly. “When will he come? Our little King.”
“Soon, I fear. Very soon.”
He leaned down and spoke right up to her belly. “Hello, Little King. Hello.”
Charlotte laughed when she felt a kick. “I believe he just returned your greeting.” She took his hand and laid it upon her. “Just wait a moment. He’ll do it again.”
“Are you sure?”
“He never stops.”
George smiled. “A good, healthy lad.”
Charlotte walked back over to the telescope. “May I look?”
He followed her. “Of course, although I’m not sure what there is to see right now. Middle of the day, and all that.”
“Clouds, perhaps. I like clouds.”
“I like that you like clouds.”
She rolled her eyes. He was incorrigible. And she loved him.
She peered up through the telescope, which, as he had warned, did not reveal anything terribly exciting. “Will you be able to see the next Transit of Venus?” she asked.
“If our calculations are correct, we will again have a partial viewing.”
She pulled her face away from the eyepiece to look at him. “Can you travel to a better location? I think you should.”
“Alas, we are even less well-suited than last time. I would need to head to the Americas. Or the South Seas.”
“Goodness. You should have gone to Norway.”
“Perhaps. But we are lucky that we shall have partial viewings for both transits. Not many geographical areas are so fortunate.”
“What will happen for the next one. In . . .” Charlotte did some mental calculations. “1787, correct?”
“Incorrect, I’m sorry to say.”
“It’s not every eight years?”
“I’m afraid not. It’s actually a two-hundred-forty-three-year-long cycle.”
Charlotte stared at him, certain she must have heard incorrectly. “And yet we went eight years this time?”
“Yes, it makes perfect sense, actually. It goes a hundred and five years, then eight years, then a hundred and twenty-two years, then eight years again.”
“Perfect sense,” she echoed.
“Well, it’s actually one hundred and five and a half years.”
“Of course.”
“Right,” he said, completely missing her sarcasm. “And one hundred twenty-one and a half years, too.”
She could not help but smile. She loved seeing him so passionate, even if it was regarding a subject about which she understood little.
“What does it look like?” she asked.
“The Transit?”
“Yes. You say that it can be observed. What does it look like?”
“A black dot, traveling across the sun. Here.” He moved to his piles of charts and began shuffling through them. “I’ve got a diagram somewhere. Just give me a moment . . . Here we are!” He pulled out a large sheet of parchment and spread it flat on a table.
Charlotte looked down. It was exactly as he said. A small black dot traveling across a large orb.
“It’s more impressive in real life,” George said.
“I imagine so.” She sat down, suddenly weary on her feet. “I should like to learn more about astronomy.”
“Yes, you’d mentioned.”
“But I think I’d rather learn more about different sorts of sciences. Things that aren’t quite so far away.”
“Like what?”
She thought about that. “Medicine, perhaps. No,” she decided, “locomotion.”
“Locomotion?” He looked surprised. In a delighted sort of way. “What do you mean?”
“Think about how long it takes to travel from one location to another. I would like to visit my home again someday. I have very fond memories of Schloss Mirow, and I would love to show it to you. But it is most impractical. You are King. If you do not have time to visit Norway to view the Transit of Venus, you do not have time to travel to Mecklenburg-Strelitz to see my childhood home.”
“Perhaps your childhood home is more meaningful to me than the Transit of Venus.”
“Now I know you’re simply trying to be a romantic poet,” she scolded. “But think about it . . . What if there were a way to move faster than we already do?”
“Better roads,” he suggested. “They make a great difference. Expensive, though.”
“I suppose. I don’t know that I have any answers. In fact, I’m quite certain that I do not. But I think it would be an interesting topic to read about and study.”
“Then we shall find you books. I have a man who does that for me all the time.”
“How convenient it is to be King.”
He gave her a look. “Most of the time.”
It wasn’t exactly the opening she was looking for, but she decided to take it, anyway. “How are you feeling lately, my love?”
He motioned to his head, his finger pointing rather like a gun. “You mean this?”
“I might have used a different motion to indicate,” she said.
“Better.” Then he seemed to change his mind and instead said, “Improved.” He went to his desk and shuffled some papers. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I wish you felt that you could.”
He sighed. “It is too difficult to explain.”
“You could try.”
“Not when I am feeling so well. Why would I want to remind myself?” He held out his arms, motioning to the glorious round room of his observatory. “I have all this. I have you. My mind is behaving. Why would I want to think about the unpleasantness of when it is not?”
“To learn how to avoid it?”
“It is unknowable,” he said with harsh finality. “Trust me. I have tried. I can create a peaceful world, and that does help a bit, but it is not infallible. There is no knowing, and there is no stopping. And that is why I am so dangerous.”
“George.” She reached out for his hand, but he did not let her take it. “You are not dangerous. You are sweet. And you are kind. You are a wonderful King, and you will be a wonderful father. We will just keep ourselves in this lovely cocoon. You, and me, and soon the baby. We shall be happy.”
“I have never been so happy as I am right now,” he told her.
She reached out her hand again, and this time he took it.