Page 23 of Miss Ashbury and the Anatomy of Mending a Heart

“Oh?”

“You don’t have to choose, Stephen. It doesn’t have to be ‘India and being a physician’ or ‘England.’ I can think of several people right now who could use a physician in town.”

“What about Dr. Stanley?”

“He moved to be closer to his daughter, nigh on three years ago.”

“And Dr. Roy?”

“That old drunk? I wouldn’t trust him to treat a dog, let alone a person.”

“In your case, you’d probably trust him to treat certain people before you’d allow him to treat your dog.”

“True.” She smiled affectionately. “But you get my point all the same. He isn’t fit for practice. People have to call all the way to Exeter if they want a good doctor.”

Stephen grunted, but only because his mind was too busy processing her words. Perhaps she was right. He’d always loved being a physician, loved helping people, but he knew his title would get in the way. Most nobles thought that being a gentleman precluded one from being anything else. But perhaps the average citizen wouldn’t care one way or the other.

“I’ll think about it.”

“And how are you planning on spending your day?”

“I thought I’d ask Benjamin to go fishing.” He scratched at his chin. “I haven’t spent any time with him since I’ve returned.”

His mother nodded. “That’s an excellent plan, but it might have to wait until tomorrow. Vera is taking him to Canterbury’s this afternoon to visit Arthur and Seamus. He’s been looking forward to the visit.”

“Do you think it wise to allow her to spend so much time with Benjamin, when we don’t really know her?”

“I know her, Stephen. That’s enough for me. I hope it’s enough for you, too.”

CHAPTER 6- VERA

Sometime during the dinner last night, Vera’s wariness of the baron had solidified into firm dislike. And she could pinpoint exactly when that happened.

One might think you have naught but charity to live on. His words stung her more than she wanted to admit. Perhaps it was because there was truth to them.

The animosity was clearly mutual, though Stephen didn’t seem the type to be able to leave well enough alone—he insisted on pestering her with insipid questions that he’d already asked and she’d already answered. Vera wondered if the man was trying to catch her in a falsehood.

She’d answered his questions as politely as possible—a difficulty, as the scowling man could try a saint’s patience—and exited the conversations quickly. Vera tried to remember that she was a guest of the baroness and that Stephen was her son.

The following morning, she did her utmost to avoid the odious man altogether. Vera had tucked herself into an alcove in the library, an encyclopedia of flora and fauna open on her knees. It was a very convenient spot, as it was nearly hidden behind the open door. If one glanced into the room, it would appear empty.

The pedantic tread of Stephen’s boots had passed the door several times already. Each time, Vera’s shoulders twitched toward her ears and she hoped her hiding place would hold.

This time, the boots stopped. They entered. Vera sighed and turned the page. By now, she knew what to expect.

“What are you reading?”

Why hello, Vera, she mentally amended. Lovely weather, isn’t it? I confess I’m looking for a distraction—what’s caught your interest?

It was a game she’d taken up—trying to see if she could rewrite his words into some semblance of politeness. So far, she’d met with middling success. Vera couldn’t even quite bring herself to like the pretend version of the man, let alone the real one.

“A collection of flora and fauna,” she answered, then turned the page as if she were still focused on the book.

Every time he entered a room, she felt hunted, harangued. Vera suddenly had great compassion for a rabbit shivering in its den while a wolf dug at the entrance to the burrow.

He grunted to indicate he’d heard her. For one shimmering moment, Vera thought that might be the end of it.

“What of your parents?”