Page 12 of Miss Ashbury and the Anatomy of Mending a Heart

As she’d quit the room that first day, she’d heard the baron ask, Who is she? His question rolled around in her mind like an untethered barrel in the bottom of a ship. What he’d really been asking was: Why is she here?

When the baroness had swooped in to the rescue, inviting her to stay, Vera had gratefully accepted. Her intention was to trespass upon Jacqueline’s good will just long enough to secure gainful employment. However, that had been weeks ago, and Vera was no closer to finding a suitable position for work than when she’d started.

With the baron returning, it was only a matter of time before Vera wore out her welcome and truly had no place to go. Perhaps she could ask Candace if she could stay with her, though her pride balked at the thought. That would be a temporary solution, unless she wanted to live off the charity of others for the rest of her days. No—this was no one’s problem save her own.

Vera inhaled a shuddering breath, buried the letter from Mr. Bratton at the bottom of her market basket, and shoved away from the wall. She lifted her chin and stepped back into the sunshine.

Perhaps she might have asked Mr. Harris, the town shopkeeper, if he had a position available, but Candace’s former maid, Hortense, had just married the man’s son. Besides, it had taken Vera some time to acquaint herself with the reality of taking employment—she’d rather not serve the people she’d once considered equals.

Vera didn’t have much pride, but she was loathe to release the little she had left. Surely, there had to be something else.

“Miss Ashbury, wait a moment.”

Vera paused, glancing over her shoulder. As if her fears and doubts had conjured him, the Baron Winthrop strode up the street behind her. Instead of the ragged clothes that had made her think he was some rambling vagabond, today he wore dark trousers and a charcoal coat. Though of fine quality, the trousers were belted tightly round his waist and the coat appeared to pinch his shoulders.

Vera pursed her lips, but if there had been a moment where she might have pretended not to hear him, it was long past.

“What are you doing in town?” he asked, gaining her elbow and peering down at her.

She longed to roll her eyes but settled for shaking her head. She’d never met a more boorish man than the Baron Winthrop.

“Good morning, Lord Winthrop.” She gave him a sugary smile that she hoped would contrast his own frown and impress upon him how rude he was being.

If anything, his frown deepened. His silence demanded a response to his initial question.

“I was getting fresh air,” she said. “And checking the post.”

“Did you get any? Post, I mean?” He peered at her basket, and Vera barely refrained from pulling it behind her back.

“What are you doing in town, Lord Winthrop?”

At her obvious refusal to answer his question, his frown ripened to something adjacent to a glower.

Pity, Vera thought. If the baron weren’t stomping about, frowning like some terrible villain in a penny dreadful, he might be good-looking. He was tall with broad shoulders. Though his form was lithe and muscular, the hollows in his cheeks spoke of missed meals, and the dark smudges beneath his eyes inferred that he either had a drinking problem or hadn’t slept well in over a fortnight.

However, even one night in a civilized house had served him well. His beard—though still far too long for the current fashion—had been trimmed a little, as had his hair. He no longer looked like a complete wastrel—he only appeared like a man with no concern for fashion or grooming.

Vera firmly told herself she didn’t care what the churlish man looked like, and scolded herself for noticing any detail about him.

“I’ve come to order some trousers.”

His words confused her momentarily—her thoughts had scampered well past the question she’d asked him.

“Ah.” She nodded and turned to be on her way. “Best of luck to you.”

“I’ll walk with you.”

She frowned. “What about your trousers?”

“I’ve already ordered them. Are you headed back to my house?”

The way he said it—my house—had Vera stiffening. She jerked a nod.

“Very well.” He extended an arm toward the street with a mocking tilt to his head.

Vera suddenly wished she’d made up another errand to separate them. She set a brisk pace up the main street of the village, toward the road.

“How long have you been staying with my mother?”