Chapter 11

“Universal probe entering Gotham City.”

Velvet drapes muffled the sounds of horse hooves and carriage wheels outside, casting a twilight glow across the drawing room. Adeline St. James, wrapped in soft dove-grey satin, sat with her ankles crossed as she observed the other women. She was still adjusting to the rhythm of Gotham’s upper crust.

The Court of Owls, they called it—a private club of refined women whose husbands were the real muscle of the city: judges, bankers, shipping magnates. Yet here, in this parlor tucked behind stained glass and stone, it was the wives who ruled.

Lady Meredith Vale, elegant in a navy corset with matching lace gloves, sipped her tea with a knowing smile. “Tell me, Adeline,” she said, “have you visited Dr. Victor Fries yet?”

Adeline blinked. “I haven’t. Who is he?”

Laughter sounded among the women like birds. One of them, Eugenia Carrington, leaned in. “Darling, he’s a medical man. Very modern. Very discreet.”

Meredith arched a brow. “He specializes in feminine troubles ... Hysteria, you understand.”

Adeline’s cheeks pinked. Of course she knew the term. The polite label for all the tension, restlessness, and want that few men understood. “Oh. I see.”

“Quite handsome, too,” Eugenia added, plucking a grape from a silver bowl. “Early thirties. Eyes like frost. And his hands...” She left the sentence unfinished, and the room bloomed with quiet laughter.

Meredith passed Adeline a slip of cream-colored parchment. An address written in fine black ink. “You should check him out. Tell him you’re from the Court. He’ll know what to do.”