Page 64 of Prescription for Sin

Inside, Emma found a delicate gold chain supporting a small heart pendant, rendered with anatomical accuracy, yet somehow beautiful. A note in Everett’s bold hand read,

For the physician who quite literally holds my heart. -E

Tears pricked at her eyes as Mrs Miller fastened the necklace around her throat. The delicate gold heart seemed to pulse against her skin with each breath, a reminder of everything they were about to undertake together.

Within the hour, she found herself approaching the small chapel. Though it held just their two witnesses, the space felt intimate rather than empty. When Emma entered and saw Everett waiting for her, his dark eyes warming at the sight of her, the rest of the world seemed to fade away entirely. He wore a deep blue coat that made his shoulders look impossibly broad, his cravat tied with elegant precision, but it was his expression that caught her breath, a mixture of joy, pride, and something deeper that made her heart flutter.

As she reached him, he leaned close to whisper, “I had an entire speech prepared about how beautiful you look, but I find myself rather speechless.”

“That’s a first,” she murmured back, making him grin.

The ceremony passed in a blur of ancient words and solemn promises, but Emma found herself focused on small details, the warmth of Everett’s hand holding hers, the slight tremor in his voice as he spoke his vows, the way his thumb traced circles on her palm as the priest pronounced them man and wife.

When Everett kissed her, it was gentle yet full of promise, proper enough for their witnesses yet charged with everything left unspoken between them. Emma felt herself blushing as Mrs Miller dabbed at her eyes and Bailey cleared his throat awkwardly.

The short journey to Everett’s London home gave them their first moments alone as husband and wife. Emma found herself studying his profile in the carriage, marvelling at how this brilliant, complicated man was now hers.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, catching her gaze.

“That I’m rather proud to be Mrs Moreland,” she admitted. “Though I shall continue using Dr Brown professionally.”

His smile held such tenderness she felt a lump form in her throat. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He lifted her hand to his lips. “Though I must warn you, being proud of me may prove challenging in the days ahead.”

“I doubt that very much,” she said softly, remembering his promise to fight for what was right, to use his position to save lives rather than protect reputations.

As their carriage approached his London residence—another impressively large house—Emma felt none of the uncertainty that had plagued her earlier.

She was no longer just Emma Brown, the unconventional nurse who dared to practise medicine. She was Mrs Everett Moreland, wife to a man who saw her strength as an asset rather than a liability, who challenged her mind, even as he captured her heart.

Emma had thought Everett’s Kent “cottage” impressive, but his London home left her momentarily speechless. The entrance hall alone spoke of generations of wealth; crystal chandeliers, priceless artwork, furniture that probably cost more than her entire medical practice.

But like his country home, this one revealed Everett’s true character in subtle ways. The library she glimpsed was clearly well-used, medical journals scattered across a massive desk. A consultation room had been set up adjacent to it, equipped with everything a practicing physician might need. Fresh flowers brightened windowsills, and there was none of the stuffy formality she’d expected from such a wealthy residence.

Still, walking these halls, Emma felt the weight of what Everett stood to lose. This wasn’t just a house; it was a legacy, a foundation built on centuries of privilege and respectability. All of it could crumble if they pursued the truth about London Water.

As if sensing her thoughts, Everett caught her hand. “Stop worrying.”

“I’m not.”

“You have that little crease between your eyes.” His thumb smoothed over her forehead. “The one that appears when you’re overthinking things.”

“It’s just…” She gestured at their surroundings. “All of this. What you could lose because of me…”

“Because of my father’s failings, his choices,” he corrected gently. “Not yours.” He drew her closer, his hands warm on her waist. “The only thing in this house that truly matters to me is standing right here.”

The tenderness in his voice made her throat tight. “Everett…”

“Would you like to rest before dinner? It’s been rather an eventful day.”

Emma nodded, suddenly aware of her exhaustion. “A short rest would be lovely.”

He led her up a sweeping staircase to what was the mistress’s chamber, though he’d clearly had it modified. A small writing desk had been added, along with shelves for medical texts. Fresh flowers filled the room with the scent of roses.

“I’ll have tea sent up,” he said, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Take all the time you need.”

Once alone, Emma sank into the chair at the writing desk and pulled out paper and a pen.

29 December 1840