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“I would warn you, however, my lord,” the doctor continued, “Lady Dunsbourne’s situation, although improved, remains precarious. I have advised her to keep to her bed for at least a fortnight. No more balls, long walks, or shopping expeditions. She may find such restrictions challenging, but for the time being, the less exertion she attempts, the better.”

“Of course,” Adam said.

“She shall not lift a finger.” Aunt Millward made the pronouncement with such firmness Emily felt a moment of panic for Phoebe.

“Perhaps you could allow her the use of sufficient fingers to turn the pages of a book or draw a needle through fabric,” she suggested. “I believe Phoebe might go slightly mad if she can do nothing but lie in bed staring at the ceiling for a fortnight.”

“Quite right, Miss Norton,” Dr. Thorndike said, a hint of a smile on his tired face. “She will undoubtedly be in want of some quiet activities. The exercise of a few fingers and thumbs would seem to be a good compromise.”

“Marvelous,” Aunt Millward said. “I shall ensure that Phoebe has whatever sewing supplies she may need. Emily, perhaps you would be good enough to choose her some books from the library.”

Phoebe’s favorite reading material was The Ladies’ Cabinet of Fashion magazines, but given Aunt Millward’s rather eccentric taste in headwear and wide-pannier gowns, Emily considered it unlikely that the elderly lady subscribed to anything of the sort. Indeed, she had a sinking feeling that finding Phoebe a book she might enjoy reading from the viscount’s collection was going to be significantly more difficult than Aunt Millward’s chosen assignment.

“I am grateful to you both,” Adam said. “And to you, sir.” He bowed slightly. “Coming out so late in the evening was very good of you.”

“Glad to be of service, my lord. I have given Lady Dunsbourne’s maid instructions to administer a cold-water bath in the morning, and I shall stop by to check on her ladyship in the afternoon.”

“You have my thanks,” Adam said. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go to my wife.”

Dr. Thorndike inclined his head, and Adam made a hasty exit.

Aunt Millward raised the teapot once more. “Allow me to pour you a cup of tea before you leave, Dr. Thorndike,” she said.

“That would be most welcome.” He lowered himself onto one end of the red sofa and tugged at his finely cut but serviceable jacket.

“Milk and sugar?” Aunt Millward asked.

“A little of both, if you please.”

Shifting the purple cushion at his elbow, Dr. Thorndike accepted the cup and saucer from Aunt Millward and relaxed against the back of the sofa. It was a simple thing, but it brought a sense of calm to an evening that had been fraught with tension. For the first time since she’d left the Tilsons’ ball, Emily allowed her thoughts to move from concern for Phoebe to Mr. Buckland’s stunning revelation.

She might have considered the gentleman’s assertion that he could not distinguish between colors to be some kind of jest had she not witnessed how difficult an admission it had been for him. But in all her reading, she had never heard of anything like this. What could possibly cause so strange a condition?

“What news from the medical community, Dr. Thorndike?” Aunt Millward asked. “I am always anxious to hear of the advancements being made to save lives.”

Emily caught the flash of surprise in the doctor’s eyes. A discussion of medical advancements was not generally considered polite conversation in a drawing room, particularly if the only people present were ladies.

“I agree, my lady. Such news is most heartening.” He was treading carefully, and Emily was quite sure it would not be sufficient to satisfy Aunt Millward. She was right.

“Heartening indeed,” Aunt Millward said. “And most of us do not hear nearly enough of it. Tell me something you have learned recently.”

Dr. Thorndike looked thoughtful. “There is a gentleman from Glasgow by the name of John Hunter who is making quite a name for himself as a surgeon. Unlike most other physicians, he maintains that the enlarging of gunshot wounds should only be done in instances when bone fragments must be removed and attributes most infections to the surgeon’s unnecessary probing of the wound.”

“Do you believe his claim has merit?” Aunt Millward asked.

“I do.” The doctor set down his cup and saucer. “The simple fact that more people die of infection following an injury than of the injury itself tells me that we must make a fundamental change in our approach to such surgeries.”

Emily glanced at Aunt Millward. She showed no sign of queasiness or distaste. Rather, her expression reflected genuine interest and thoughtful consideration. Emily hardly dared breathe for fear that these two remarkable individuals would remember that she was in the room and cease their fascinating conversation.

“Remarkable,” Aunt Millward said. “Of course, it would seem to me that if one could discover the root cause of infections, it would be quite literally life changing.”

“Most certainly. And I pray that one day such knowledge is ours.”

“I have great hope in the future of medicine, Dr. Thorndike. With gentlemen such as you and this John Hunter continuing to pioneer new theories, we cannot help but see improvements.” She turned to Emily. “Do you not think so, my dear?”

Emily startled. She should have known better than to believe Aunt Millward would countenance a silent eavesdropper. But listening to a discussion so far removed from normal drawing room conversations was different from being invited to participate. She grasped her teacup a little tighter. “With the ways our knowledge of the world keeps expanding, I imagine there is a great deal still to learn in every subject, including a better understanding of how our bodies might be healed.” She paused momentarily, and then, clutching her courage as firmly as the teacup, she continued. “I learned of a most unusual ailment recently, and I wonder, Dr. Thorndike, if you might know anything regarding the condition.”

The doctor raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “I am intrigued, Miss Norton. Pray, tell me more.”