Then she turned, reluctantly, to the letter bearing her father’s handwriting. Richard Jerningham’s letter was like to blister Gabby’s fingers as she read it. Her father had never heard of a request so absurd as hers. Was she aware that no right-minded Englishman would take a foul brew handed to him by a vaidya? What was good enough for an Indian person would kill the delicate constitution of an Englishman. Did she want to kill her husband? Under no circumstances would he allow any person from his village to be involved, let alone help her, with her infernal plans.

And he suggested, rather as an afterthought, that she repent her sins and confess all to her husband.

Gabby was well-aware of her father’s low opinion of her, but this was rather surprising. She wouldn’t have thought he would accuse her of murder!

With a sudden jerky movement, she tore the parchment in half. And in half again. She was staring at a desk covered with small scraps of paper when her husband entered her bedchamber.

“What on earth are you doing?” Quill asked.

Gabby colored and hastily swept up the scraps of paper. “It was nothing more than—”

“Love notes from another man?” he suggested, with just a flash of seductive humor.

“No!” Gabby said, and then, “Oh, Quill—”

But he had turned away, and to her horror, he picked up the small brown bottle she had brought home from the apothecary. She had forgotten to secrete it away.

When Quill looked at her, his face was closed and tight. “Where did you buy this rubbish, Gabby?”

“Abchurch Lane,” she said miserably. “I thought perhaps—”

“But I was under the impression that you had declined to sleep with me,” Quill said with great politeness. “When were you planning to administer this…medicine?” He held it up.

“You said you would visit a concubine,” Gabby said, stumbling.

“Oh? I see. Since you dislike connubial relations, I am to visit a concubine. And then when I incur a migraine due to my labors, you are planning to administer this medicine?”

Gabby felt as if she must be purple with embarrassment. “I saw an advertisement. And it looked—”

“How many medicines have you bought, Gabby?” he interrupted.

She blinked.

“You see,” he continued, “I watched my mother do exactly the same thing. She bought medicine from every quack who placed a false testimonial in the papers. After she almost killed me, I swore not to take any more medicine. And I shall not break that vow.”

Gabby swallowed. “He said it was a most efficacious—”

But he had turned away. “Where are the rest?”

Gabby watched in silence as he started to rummage through her clothespress. Anger was building in her chest, but she kept silent. When he began looking in her desk, she could no longer countenance his actions.

“You have no right!” she said fiercely. “Take your hands out of my things!”