Rowan continued with his complaints. "I cannot sit there and have conversations. It hurts my brain. It physically hurts."
"You will have to do it," Delaney ordered. She pointed her quill at him like a weapon. "You will sit there. You will smile. And you will try."
Rowan rubbed his temples. "Miss Kingsley…"
"Because if you do not pick one of them," Delaney continued, "your Aunt Margery will come back. And next time, it won't be the history book. She might use the encyclopedia. And I believe the 'B' volume is particularly heavy."
Rowan let out a reluctant chuckle. He looked at her.
She looked tired. The afternoon light was fading, and in the shadows, he could see the dark circles under her eyes. The gray dress looked heavy on her small frame. She was fighting so hard for him. She was fighting for his future, even when he was fighting against it.
He felt a sudden wave of guilt. He was being difficult.
