Page 10 of Miss Ashbury and the Anatomy of Mending a Heart

“Gifts, I believe, from the duchess.” His mother licked her pen, turned the page. “They’re quite good friends, you know.”

Of course he hadn’t known. But the weight of the implications tugged the corners of his mouth downward.

“Gifts?” he repeated. “Who gives a fine dress as a gift? It’s excessive, is it not?”

“Oh no, dear. The duchess gave her an entire wardrobe. Vera was the only one who stood by her during that whole debacle in London. And then they travelled here, together.”

Stephen didn’t give a whit what the debacle had been. His mind whirred. He’d heard of this type of gambit—where an innocent-looking young lady would single out a wealthy mark, isolate them from family and friends, and bilk them for their money. It took a spectacularly talented actor to accomplish such a con, but if they succeeded… Well, there was hardly a bigger payout to be had.

Though his mother kept speaking—something about a scandal, a broken engagement—Stephen only listened to the broad strokes of the matter. That was quite enough to stoke his astonishment.

Reading through the lines, this Vera character had set her sights on a wealthy, lonely young lady, encouraged her to break her engagement—to a marquess, no less—and had neatly detached the lady from family and friends. Vera had gone so far as to relocate them to Devon, of all places!

This Candace had been culled from the safety of the herd and she hadn’t even realized.

Miss Ashbury had done such a wonderful job with the ruse that Lady Candace had bought her an entire wardrobe—a very expensive wardrobe, by the looks of things—all to thank her for being such a loyal friend!

Why, Stephen thought, running a hand through his overgrowth of dark hair, if it hadn’t been for the Duke of Canterbury’s timely intercession, the lady might even now be destitute, having spent her family’s fortune feeding the insatiable pit of greed that was her “dearest friend.”

But the duke had wisely stepped in and married the girl—out of a charitable, protective nature, no doubt—and this Vera had set her sights on a new mark—his lonely, widowed mother.

Perhaps a dowager baroness wasn’t quite as wealthy a target as this Lady Candace had been, but she would do just fine. Look at the progress Miss Ashbury had already made! Ingratiating herself to the family, moving in… Stephen shook his head once more. He suddenly believed that his arrival home at this precise moment was due to Providence, and Providence alone.

“Dear heavens, are you even listening?” His mother shook her head with affectionate wonder. “I thought you’d grow out of that habit well by now, but I see that hope was unfounded.”

“Apologies, Mother. I was lost to my thoughts.”

“You always did find your own mind the most interesting place to be. What were you ruminating upon this time? A new surgical process, or how to get out of a social engagement?” She waved her hand in dismissal. “The latter is impossible; you haven’t been home long enough to be invited anywhere yet.”

“Are you quite sure about this Vera character, Mother?”

He hoped she’d say no, or at the very least pause in reflection.

Instead, she snorted. “I’m more certain of who she is than of who you are, at the moment. But give it time; I’m sure we’ll reacquaint ourselves quickly.”

Stephen made a low noise of discontent in his throat. Her eyes narrowed. His mother’s discerning gaze always had seen too much; Stephen did his best to clear the disapproval from his features.

She said, “Go see Canterbury if you won’t take my word for it.”

Stephen decided then and there that he would go visit the duke—as soon as possible.

His mother frowned. “Vera is my guest. If you do anything or ask anything that makes her feel the slightest bit unwelcome, it is you who will be thrown out, not her.”

He gaped. “You can’t be serious.”

Dear heavens, Miss Ashbury was further along in the process than he could have believed! His mother was inclined to choose her over her own son!

“Right on your travel-worn derriere. You may test me on this if you like, but you might want to ask the household staff about the last young man who gambled on whether I meant what I said.”

“What young man? Who was he?”

“Really, Stephen, it’s a good thing you’ve come home to give your poor nerves a rest—you sound as shrill and jumpy as Great Aunt Bertian, God rest her soul.”

He gasped. “Aunt Bertian died?”

“It’s not a requiem, it’s a request.”

“Mother!”