“Pardon me, Mr. Finch, but I fear I am feeling a little faint.” As these words were in the impossible realm of neither truthnor lie, Violet felt no guilt at having uttered them, for they allowed her to leave the dance. Taking her by the elbow, the gentleman led her to the side of the room, near one of the great windows, which was open to allow in the cool night air.
After giving a bow, Mr. Finch watched her a moment; his brows were knitted together, and there was a tightness to his jaw. “I do not wish to cause you pain, Miss Templeton. I admire you greatly, and I am grateful you’ve been such a good friend to my wife. I cannot bear the thought of having caused you concern, and for that, I am sorry.”
Pausing, he straightened, his voice remaining quiet, though a thread of iron wove through his tone. “However, I will not apologize for seeing that my family is protected. I hope you do not think poorly of me, though I will not fault you if you do.”
Violet’s chest ached as she studied the gentleman. She ought to be angry. In many ways, she was furious with him. Yet how could she fault him? Since Papa’s passing, her brother’s professional behavior had been lax at best, and it was all Isaac’s doing. Not Mr. Finch’s.
“However much I disagree with your assessment of the situation, I cannot blame you for seeing to your family’s well-being, sir,” she admitted. “Just as I hope you will not blame me for doing the same.”
Mr. Finch considered her a moment before bowing to her, giving the movement a bit more flourish than was entirely necessary. “Thank you for the dance, Miss Templeton.”
“You are welcome, Mr. Finch.”
Chapter 11
Mr. Finch turned away, and Violet felt like sagging in place. And perhaps she might’ve done just that or snuck away to enjoy the night air and a bit of quiet once more—but there was something else that required her attention. Turning her gaze to the gathering crowd, she scanned the faces, but Isaac wasn’t there.
And why wasn’t she surprised at that? Now was a perfect time for Isaac to strengthen his standing in the community by dancing and engaging with as many of the townsfolk as he could. Instead, he was likely haunting the card room, fixated more on his game than anything meaningful.
Violet made as direct a route across the room as possible with the crowd pressing in around her and climbed the stairs. The landing emptied the guests into two rooms, standing with their doors facing each other, and she ignored the tearoom and spied her brother with a group of ladies and gentlemen gathered around a table.
Thankfully, he wasn’t playing at present, and Violet felt not the slightest bit conflicted in approaching him and herding him back out the door; she didn’t go so far as to drag Isaac by the ear, but it was a near thing.
“Good heavens, woman, you look thunderous,” he said, dusting off his cuffs as he smiled at his elder sister. “Smile, it is a party—”
“Have you been inflating your patients’ maladies so I prescribe them more medicines?” she asked in a sharp whisper.
Isaac’s brows rose at that. “That is quite the accusation, Vi. Whatever put such a thought in your head?”
Violet placed her hands on her hips. “Are you saying it is untrue?”
Footsteps sounded on the stairs beneath them, and she shifted to allow the ladies to pass into the card room; Isaac moved to follow, but Violet grabbed his arm and pulled him back in place.
“Is it true?” she demanded. “Have you been misleading me?”
Isaac balked, his posture stiffening as he frowned at her. “Misleading? I am no liar, Vi.”
As much as those words ought to have calmed her, she didn’t miss the fact that her brother still had not yet given a definitive answer to the question at hand. Her stomach twisted itself into knots, and she stared at Isaac, uncertain what more to say.
With a sigh, he shrugged.
“I haven’t been lying. Perhaps overstating the issue at times. But only with those who won’t miss a few extra shillings, I promise. And nothing that might do them harm, of course.” Isaac rattled off his response as though it were a matter of course. A little nothing that was hardly noteworthy. Something that shouldn’t stab through Violet’s heart.
“They are your neighbors. Your patients, Isaac! They trust you to be honest with them—”
“I never lied. We need the money, so I simply stretched the truth a bit, and plenty of physicians do the same. Mr. Emerson is the fellow who put the idea in my head in the first place, and Bentmoor isn’t worse off for it. One could argue that it’s a time-honored tradition for medical men to inflate things a touch.”
Violet drew in a deep breath, forcing it out through her nose as another trio slipped out of the tearoom and headed down the stairs to the dancing. When they were gone, she turned on him again.
“Whether or not anyone else does so, how can you think that is acceptable? What would Papa think of such behavior? You have damaged our reputation, Isaac. Do you not realize how precarious our situation is—especially now that Dr. Vaughn is in town?”
“Darlings,” called Mama, scurrying from her place amongst her friends in the tearoom to stand beside them with a bright smile affixed to her face. The lady’s gaze darted between her children and those who were watching from afar. “Is something the matter?”
“I discovered that Isaac has been overstating our patients’ illnesses so we can prescribe them more medicines than they require,” whispered Violet.
Mama’s gaze widened, her mouth gaping, though she quickly covered it and waved to her friends. “I will be a moment.” Turning back to her children, she frowned at her son. “Why would you do such a thing, Isaac? A physician’s reputation is paramount. Your father—”
“I know,” he said with a sigh. “Father would be disappointed, but I am married and am soon to be a father myself. Lilibet deserves a comfortable life.”
