Free A Distant Shore by Kate Hewitt

Harvard Medical School. His surgical skills were unparalleled.
    Warren smiled wryly. “Thank you, Campbell, but such flattery is not necessary.”
    Ian flushed again. He wished he had not risen to Wells’s juvenile challenge, accusing him of cowardice. To think he might have just jeopardized his entire future by putting forth such a bold suggestion...
    “I am willing,” Warren said abruptly, “to consider it.”
    Ian blinked. “You... you are?”
    “Do not sound so incredulous. I did not, you will appreciate, say that I thought this idea would have a successful outcome.”
    “No, sir,” Ian said quickly. His mind reeled with the implication of Warren’s words. He realized he had never truly expected the Chief of Surgery to consider allowing Wells, an unheard-of dentist, to experiment in the revered Bulfinch Theatre.
    “In fact,” Warren continued, his tone turning censorious, “I have every belief that it will be a dismal failure. The idea that any substance could completely numb the human body to excruciating pain—it boggles the mind.”
    “That it does, sir,” Ian agreed, and Warren favored him with the faintest flicker of a smile.
    “And it is that possibility that makes me agree to your preposterous suggestion,” Warren finished. “Write me a formal proposal, Campbell, and I will put my stamp upon it.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Warren nodded his dismissal. “It will not be I who is the fool when this all turns out to be a humbug,” he said, and Ian swallowed.
    No, he would be the fool.
    Still Warren’s warning could not diminish his ebullient mood as he returned home that night, intending to send a letter to Wells in the next day’s post.
    He whistled as he hurried up the walk, throwing off his hat and cloak before coming into the drawing room and sweeping a bemused Caroline into his arms.
    “What is the meaning of this!” she exclaimed, laughing, after Ian had kissed her soundly.
    “John Collins Warren, the Chief of Surgery, has agreed to allow us to perform a surgery with the use of ether—and in the Bulfinch Theatre, no less!”
    Caroline drew back a little from him. “Us?”
    “Wells and me, I mean,” Ian clarified, and Caroline slipped from his arms.
    “Odd,” she said, her hand to her throat, “I thought you meant you and—and me.”
    Ian stared at her in bewilderment. “Surely you could not think—the Bulfinch Theatre—”
    “Of course I did not think I would be present,” Caroline said, her voice sharpening. “I am not quite so deluded. But I did think, for a moment at least, that the successes in your research were mine also, as your wife. That—that you wished to share them with me.” Her voice trembled and she turned away. “How foolish of me.”
    This was about Riddell’s money, Ian thought with a pang of both irritation and guilt. Again. Caroline could not let go of the fact that he refused to use it and in consequence she saw everything to do with his research as a slight.
    “The success belongs to both of us, Caroline,” Ian said. “Of course it does. No matter what funds I use.”
    “I am afraid I disagree,” Caroline replied softly. She turned back to face him, her lovely face pale, her eyes wide and sad. “You have never shared your research with me. You have never really wanted to.”
    He let out an annoyed huff of breath. “If you mean, do I keep you informed of all the particulars, then, as a woman—”
    “Don’t tell me that as a woman I could not countenance it!” Her eyes flashed a warning. “I think you know I am made of stronger stuff than that, no matter how silly and foolish I was as a young girl.” She took a deep breath and shook her head. “No, Ian. I fear this is something you will never understand, and that makes it all the harder. In our marriage, in your research, I thought—I hoped we would be… partners, of a sort. At least in heart and mind. But ever since I offered my inheritance you have withdrawn from me with both. And it