Page 59 of Prescription for Sin

Emma’s eyes met Everett’s before she turned back to her sister. “Trust isn’t simple with us…” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “I trusted him absolutely once, and he broke that trust. Now… Now I trust him differently. I trust his dedication to healing. I trust that when faced with choosing between family loyalty and saving lives, he would choose lives. I trust that he loves me.”

Everett covered her hand on his arm with his own, stroking lightly. Her voice strengthened as she regarded him. “But most importantly, I trust myself to see him clearly now. Not as the perfect man I imagined, nor the villain I feared, but as someone who made difficult choices in an impossible situation. Someone who, like me, is trying to do what’s right despite the cost.”

She turned back to face them. “So yes, I trust him. Not blindly as before, but with open eyes and full understanding of who he is, flaws, complications, and all.”

Tears shimmering in her eyes, Alexi turned to her husband. “Arthur, do you remember your mother’s reaction when you announced our engagement? How she declared I could never be worthy of a marquess?”

“That was different—”

“Was it?” Alexi’s voice softened. “Society threatened to ostracise us. You stood to lose important allies and business dealings. But you chose love.” She turned to Emma. “If Dr Moreland lost everything—position, fortune, respect—would you still marry him?”

“Yes.” Emma didn’t hesitate, her fingers tightening around Everett’s arm. “We need little to be happy. I have my practice; he has his surgical skills. We’ll manage. My work is what matters. Our work,” she corrected, glancing at Everett.

Arthur studied them for a long moment, then sighed deeply. “I cannot stop you from obtaining a special licence. Though I cannot help with that either. I’m sure as the son of the Royal Physician, the Archbishop of Canterbury would be more than willing to issue the licence to you. It demands a handsome price, however.”

“The worthiest things usually do,” Everett said quietly, drawing Emma closer.

“Then may God help you both,” Arthur muttered, though his expression had softened. “You’ll need all the help you can get.”

Alexi embraced Emma fiercely, whispering, “You’ve chosen love over security, passion over prudence. I am so proud of you.”

After her sister released her, Emma turned to Arthur. “What can you do to stop the spread of cholera?”

“I have begun the process to shut down the water supply in the East End and deliver clean water to them. I shall do this without exposing London Water Works for the time being. Snowden and Moreland wield tremendous influence in Parliament, not to mention with Her Majesty.” Arthur smiled warmly then. “Enjoy your new beginning, Emma. Celebrate your love. I shall look after things from here. Do not involve yourself any longer.”

“Everett has promised to continue on my behalf,” she said proudly.

As they left the morning room, Emma felt lighter despite Arthur’s warnings. They had each other, their medical skills, and a determination to face whatever came together. It would be enough.

Behind them, they heard Alexi ask softly, “Shall we go skating, my love?”

“In a moment,” Arthur replied, his voice gentle. “Let me hold you first and remember why some risks are worth taking.”

Emma squeezed Everett’s hand as they stepped into the winter sunshine, their hearts full of love and their future uncertain but united.

The sounds of the house party—laughter, music, the clink of glasses—faded as Everett and Emma approached his father in Lullingstone’s conservatory. Dr Moreland stood amid exotic orchids, examining a particularly rare specimen with feigned fascination. The glass walls reflected candlelight, creating multiple shadowy versions of them all.

“The Cattleya labiata,” his father observed without turning. “Remarkable how it thrives in captivity, given the proper incentives.” His fingers brushed the purple petals. “Though one must be careful not to overfeed it. Too much nourishment can be as dangerous as too little.”

Everett stiffened beside Emma, catching the metaphor. Before either could respond, Lady Winona’s voice carried as she passed by the conservatory entrance. “Dr Moreland was so attentive during our walk! Such fascinating theories about proper breeding, of horses, of course.”

His father’s lips curved slightly at the young lady’s obvious hints. “Ah, Lady Winona. I had such hopes there.” Now he turned, his eyes finding Emma’s ring immediately. “Though I see other arrangements have been made.”

“Father—” Everett began, but Dr Moreland held up a hand.

“No need for explanations. Love is like these orchids. It blooms where it will, regardless of our careful planning.” He moved closer, studying Emma’s hand. “My wife’s ring. How fitting. She too had a habit of disrupting carefully laid plans.”

Through the glass walls, Everett saw Lady Salisbury watching them intently while pretending to admire a marble statue. The whole party seemed to orbit this moment, waiting to see how the Royal Physician would react to his son’s impulsive match.

“Your mother wore it beautifully,” Dr Moreland continued. “Though her fingers were shorter. More delicate.” His smile held perfectly calculated warmth. “But then, she never had to wield a scalpel.”

Emma met his gaze steadily. “Some flowers thrive best with thorns."

His father’s laugh echoed off the glass. “Oh, very good. You’ll need that sharp tongue to survive in our family, my dear.”

“We’ll seek a special licence,” Everett said, painfully aware of the watching eye through the glass door.

“Of course you will.” His father turned to him. “Young love brooks no delay. Though speaking of delay…” His eyes hardened slightly. “Your medical licence application may take some time to process. Bureaucracy moves at its own pace.”