Tomorrow's Crimes ll Moriarty the Patriot

Fears and Fascinations

"Forty-seven marriage proposals, and counting," Harrington mused again, his eyes twinkling with barely concealed amusement as he settled into his usual chair. "Though I must amend my previous count – I hear one Lord made quite the dramatic entrance by serenading you with "The Blue Bells of Scotland." Forty-eight then?" He pulled out his notebook with an exaggerated flourish. "Do tell me I haven't missed any others. My scientific record-keeping demands accuracy."

Adelaide bristled at his teasing tone, even as she fought back a smile. "How fortunate that London's most promising young doctor has nothing better to do than track my suitors. Shall I have them send their cards directly to your practice to save you the trouble of your investigations?"

"You wound me, Lady Adelaide." He pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. "Here I thought we had an understanding – you provide the social intrigue, I provide the medical insights, and together we advance the cause of science."

"Ah yes, the great scientific pursuit of cataloging marriage proposals. I'm sure the Royal Society eagerly awaits your findings." She paused, then added with deliberate sweetness, "Though I suppose it makes a change from your usual studies of hysteria and feminine vapors."

His eyebrows rose slightly at her sharp tone. "Touching a nerve, am I? Interesting. Most young ladies would be preening at such attention."

"Most young ladies haven't had the privilege of being analyzed like one of your scientific curiosities," she countered, then immediately regretted the bitterness in her voice. Especially when his expression shifted to that familiar intense focus that made her heart race traitorously.

"Now that's not entirely fair," he said, leaning forward with a disarming smile. "I analyze everyone with equal scientific rigor. You simply happen to be the most fascinating subject I've encountered."

"How flattering," she drawled. "I'm sure that's exactly what you told the last three women you had committed to Bethlem."

His smile faltered slightly, and Adelaide felt a chill run down her spine. She knew what he would become – had read the historical accounts of his later "treatments" for women who didn't conform to society's expectations. Yet here, now, he seemed so different from that man. Almost kind.

"You have a rather dark view of my profession," he noted, regaining his composure with a measured breath. "I assure you, those women were sent to me by their families, often out of desperation. I lack the standing and influence to admit them myself—nor would I wish to take on such responsibility. My aim is simply to help them regain their stability and find a path to healing.

He leaned forward, shadows playing across his features. "That said, I must admit, It's curious how you seem to harbor a genuine fear of being sent to them yourself, despite the countless testimonials we've received from patients who have recovered and spoken nothing but praise for their treatment. They describe the progress they've made, the renewed sense of purpose they've found. Perhaps it's the stigma surrounding our field that clouds your judgment, but I assure you, my intent is to uplift, not to confine. We're not all monsters lurking in the shadows; many of us strive to bring light back into the lives of those who have lost their way."

Adelaide couldn't help but reflect on the cases she had read about in the future, a shiver running down her spine. Perhaps not in this moment, but in some way, this very man could transform into something darker. You speak of healing, she thought, but what happens when the desire to help becomes an obsession? It was all too easy to lose sight of compassion in the pursuit of order.

She struggled to gather her thoughts, the words lodged in her throat, too heavy to voice. How did this charming man—so articulate and earnest—became a monster?