Page 31 of Miss Ashbury and the Anatomy of Mending a Heart

He wouldn’t blame Miss Ashbury if she went straight to his mother and told her what he’d done. He might, if he were in her delicate little shoes. And his mother would be right to side with her against him.

Stephen collapsed into his desk chair and tried to think clearly.

He’d been correct in one aspect—Miss Vera Ashbury was hiding something.

But it was nothing close to what Stephen had suspected. She’d been disowned by her parents, for something as trivial as joining her dear friend in the countryside for a matter of months.

He’d found the stack of letters Vera had written to her parents—all of them drafts, all of them unsent. Stephen wondered if they were just for her own edification—some had begged for forgiveness, others had enumerated the terrible treatment she’d received at the hands of her own mother.

He’d also found neatly organized business correspondence. Vera was trying to find employment. She’d kept detailed records of every job she’d written about. There’d been dozens—she’d started out only inquiring about companions for the elderly and governess positions, but lately had been writing for all manner of jobs—maids, shop girl postings, everything.

A slimy thread of shame worked its way though his stomach. He groaned softly, dropping his head into his hands.

When he first decided to be a physician, it was because he wanted to help people. He’d prided himself on making the world better for those around him. He knew he’d done good for many people.

But not for Vera Ashbury.

For her, he’d made the world more difficult, made an already impossible situation far worse. He’d been all the things he prided himself on never being. He’d acted the part of the brute. He’d been terrible.

What could he possibly do to fix it?

He strode to the door, then jogged down the stairs. The housekeeper stood in the hallway.

“Miss Ashbury requires a hot bath and a full tea tray sent to her room.”

“Very good, my lord.” She nodded toward the door. “Does that mean she won’t be returning to Montclare today?”

“I don’t believe so. Will you send a servant back to wait on Benjamin and accompany him on his return? Please give the Duchess of Canterbury Miss Ashbury’s sincere apologies. Tell her Vera isn’t feeling well enough to return.”

“Indeed, my lord.” She hurried to do his bidding.

Stephen took the stairs to his bedroom two at a time and shut himself in once more. As far as apologies went, offering a hot bath and some tea wasn’t much, but it was a start.

By that evening, Stephen was surprised he hadn’t worn a path into the thick rug in his bedroom with his pacing, but he had a plan. One that he’d already put into motion, as much as he could by sending off several letters.

He dressed for dinner far earlier than necessary and went to stand outside Vera’s door. If he were her, he wouldn’t come down for dinner that night. But he wanted her to. He’d been surprised to realize, sometime during that long afternoon, that he wanted her forgiveness.

He raised his fist and rapped it against the door.

“Yes?”

Her voice was clear, at least. It didn’t sound as if she had been crying all day. That was something, he supposed.

“It’s Stephen.”

Her response was a whip crack. “Go away.”

He’d expected as much, but it still made him flinch. He deserved it.

“I came to apologize. I’m going to stand here until you’re ready to speak with me.”

He jerked in surprise when the door flew open to reveal her scowling face. “This is your plan, is it? To hound me into accepting an apology, just to make you feel better?”

Stephen shook his head and handed over the letters, which he’d refolded. “Here. No. I need to speak to you. I…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone through your things. I shouldn’t have gone into your room.”

He kept his voice low in case someone was down the hallway, out of sight.

“No, you shouldn’t have. But are you truly sorry that you did?” She lifted her eyebrows in challenge.