Page 72 of Prescription for Sin

"Beautiful creatures, debutantes," Dr Moreland's voice came from beside her. "So eager to please. So compliant. Unlike you. Though I must say, my son has made remarkable progress in managing your...wilfulness."

Emma didn't respond, keeping her eyes fixed on Everett as he extracted himself from his admirers.

"I must commend his scientific approach." The elder Moreland withdrew a folded paper. "Listen to this observation: 'Subject responds well to praise of her medical innovations, particularly after physical affection.' Quite the methodical study of his wife."

The wine glass nearly slipped from Emma’s nerveless fingers. The words struck deeper than any surgeon’s blade; clinical, detached descriptions of their most private moments. Her husband had documented her like a specimen, noting which approaches made her most compliant.

“There are volumes more,” Dr Moreland said softly. “Every treatment, every patient, every tender moment carefully catalogued. He’s quite thorough, my son. A true scientist.”

Emma couldn’t speak. Her throat had closed around the betrayal, choking her with its magnitude. The room felt suddenly airless as possibilities spun through her head. She needed space to think, to sort truth from lies without either Moreland's influence.

"I'll leave you to consider things," Dr Moreland drifted away, satisfaction evident in his voice. "Though do try not to cause a scene. Appearances, you know."

Emma fled. Her feet carried her to a darkened conservatory, where exotic flowers perfumed the air too sweetly, making her feel ill. The diamonds at her throat felt like a collar, marking her as something to be studied and controlled.

“Emma?” Everett’s voice came from the doorway. “I saw you flee. What’s the matter?”

She turned, wordlessly holding up the paper, her fingers trembling against the damning words. Everett took it from her, his eyes scanning the page with urgency.

"Emma, I swear I never discussed our marriage with him. I only spoke of treating you as an equal physician."

"Then explain this." Her voice caught. "These references to... intimate matters."

His eyes met hers, dark with anguish and bewilderment. "I don't know what you mean. He's twisting something innocent into..." He broke off, running a hand through his hair.

Tears spilled down her cheeks, hot and bitter. "Can't you see how impossible this is for us? Every word, every moment between us—I question it all now. What was real? What was calculated?"

"Everything between us is real," he pleaded, crossing to her with unsteady steps. His hands trembled as he reached for her, but she backed away. "Emma, please. This is exactly what he wants—to make you doubt us, doubt me."

His voice cracked on the last word, but she forced herself to stand firm. "Perhaps. But I cannot live in this madness anymore." She squared her shoulders, though each word felt like glass in her throat. "Goodbye, Everett."

She left him standing among night-blooming flowers, her heart turning to stone with each step. Let his father win. Let society gossip. Any pain was preferable to wondering if her husband’s love had been a result of puppetry.

By morning, she would be gone. Back to Rochester, to her practice, to a life where at least she knew who she was. And where her life was her own.

Chapter twenty-one

The Warning

Everett’s footsteps echoed through the Royal College’s empty corridors as he squinted at the afternoon light slanting through tall windows. His head pounded from over imbibing the night before and falling asleep in Emma’s bed. Bless his valet for making him look presentable despite his bloodshot eyes.

He’d received an urgent message from his father’s secretary, who had been reporting on the senior doctor’s movements, something about Emma that couldn’t wait until morning. His heart had been hammering since the note arrived, though he maintained an outwardly calm demeanour.

He found his father in his office, not behind his imposing desk as usual, but standing at the window. The evening sun cast his shadow long across the floor, and something in his stance made Everett’s skin prickle with unease.

“This is unexpected,” Dr Moreland said, approaching the plush chairs. He gestured for Moreland to sit. “It’s as if you’ve read my mind. I’ve just had a most interesting report from my spies in Rochester.”

Everett’s pulse quickened, but he kept his voice steady. “Your spies?”

“Of course, I had my people spy on your estranged wife since she returned to Rochester for good. It seems she hasn’t heeded your warning.” His father met his gaze, and the iciness in his eyes made Everett’s stomach sink. “Still investigating cholera cases. Still trying to prove her ridiculous theories about contamination.”

“She’s a physician. Of course she treats cholera patients.”

“Don’t play naïve, Everett. It doesn’t suit you.” His father leaned back in his chair. “She’s building a case. Gathering evidence. Even from fifty miles away, she’s becoming…inconvenient.”

“What are you planning?” Everett fought to keep his voice level despite the fear clawing at his chest.

“Nothing she hasn’t brought upon herself.” Dr Moreland’s smile was frightful in its gentleness. “Anonymous reports to the medical board. Questions about her qualifications, her methods. Suggestions of improper treatments, stolen medicines, perhaps even…negligent deaths.”