Page 70 of Prescription for Sin

"That does not excuse your lies."

He moved closer, but she retreated. A weary sigh escaped him. "I acknowledge my fault. But surely you see how the circumstances demanded delicacy."

"Indeed. Just as I see how you remain your father's son first, and my husband second."

“That’s not true.” His voice roughened. "Your welfare has ever been my primary concern. Even when you were but a stranger to me, I stood ready to forsake my father's wishes for your sake. Without you, I am hollow, incapable. You are everything."

She wrapped her arms around herself. “I thought we were partners.”

“We are.” He reached for her, but she evaded his touch.

“Emma, please. Try to understand my perspective.”

“I need space. I can’t… I can’t look at you right now without wondering what else you’re planning ‘for my own good.’”

Later that evening, alone in her study, Emma found herself reaching for pen and paper. Her hands still trembled with emotion as she began to write to Helen:

18 February 1841

Dearest Helen,

I write to you with a heart both heavy and angry. Welcome back from Sussex, though I fear my news will dampen any rejuvenation your time away has brought.

Remember how I feared trusting Everett too quickly? It seems even marriage vows cannot guarantee honesty. I discovered today that my husband has been plotting with his father to manipulate me away from London. All those casual mentions of opportunities in Edinburgh, those careful suggestions about country practices... They were orchestrated to make me choose exile of my own accord.

I found a letter, Helen. Hidden in a secret compartment of his desk (yes, I was snooping. I don’t regret it). His father urged him to "use his husbandly authority" to remove me from London, suggesting that women in love are "remarkably tractable." The words make me sick even as I write them.

Everett claims he resisted, that he merely presented options while letting me choose. But don't you see? The very act of concealing their scheme makes mockery of choice. How can I trust any suggestion he makes now? How can I know which words are his and which are his father's?

The most infuriating part? He still believes he was protecting me! As if I were some delicate flower needing shelter rather than a physician capable of making my own decisions. I thought I'd married a man who saw me as an equal. Instead, I find myself wed to someone who, despite all his progressive words, still thinks he knows better than his wife.

I shall sleep alone tonight for the first time since our marriage. I cannot bear the thought of lying beside him, wondering what other "protections" he's planning for my own good.

Tell me honestly, Helen. Am I being unreasonable? Sometimes I think I should be grateful he at least gave me the illusion of choice, unlike his father who would simply command. But then I remember that true partnership requires trust, and how can there be trust when he's plotting behind my back?

I miss you desperately. I wish you’d return from Sussex very soon. I need your sharp wit and sharper insights. You owe me all the Sussex gossip you promised.

Your bewildered friend,

Emma

4 March 1841

Dearest Emma,

I'm trapped in a tedious round of visits with various aunts who seem convinced my widowhood has rendered me incapable of managing my own household. However, your letter demands an immediate response, so here I am, writing between Aunt Margaret's interrogation about my choice of new curtains and Aunt Beatrice's lectures on proper fish sauce.

Now then, my brilliant but occasionally thick-headed friend, have you considered that perhaps your husband is just like you? The tendency to overthink, to plan seventeen steps ahead, to believe one must control all variables... Sound familiar? Why, it's a family trait!

Yes, he should have told you about the scheme. Yes, men are idiots who think they know best (my late husband once tried to explain childbirth to me. To ME!). But darling, the man is trying to protect both you AND your work while defying his father. Not very successfully, I grant you, but with rather endearing determination.

You're sleeping alone to punish him? Nonsense. You're sleeping alone because you're afraid. Afraid that loving him means losing yourself, afraid that trust means vulnerability. Well, let me tell you something about marriage that no one tells young brides: It's not about finding someone perfect. It's about finding someone whose mistakes you can forgive.

Your Everett schemes to protect you. You scheme to protect your independence. You're both rather terrible at honest communication, and quite masterful at self-righteous sulking. In short, you're perfectly matched.

Go to him. Tell him you understand why he did it, but that his protection isn't worth the cost to your trust. Then perhaps demonstrate exactly how "tractable" you can be. (That's not scandalous advice. That's strategy. Sometimes the best way to prove you're not easily manipulated is to take control yourself.)

Your dear friend who loves you enough to be brutally honest,