Page 33 of Miss Ashbury and the Anatomy of Mending a Heart

He winced as he reviewed all the suspicions he’d had about Miss Vera Ashbury.

“Is it the fish?” his mother asked, peering over at him. “I keep asking Mrs. Portence to use more salt. Roland, please bring him the salt cellar.”

The stoic butler did as she asked; Stephen had no choice but to sprinkle a small spoonful of salt over his already delicious fish.

“Have you given any more thought to what I said, Stephen? About going back into medicine?”

Stephen finished his bite and gulped water from his glass. “I have, actually. I ordered some supplies today, and I’m going to start replanting the greenhouse. Are you sure that there’s truly a need in the village?”

“Once word gets out, you’ll have more work than you know what to do with.”

Stephen couldn’t help it—his eyes slid to Vera, who was studiously ignoring him. “Well, I might have some assistance in that quarter. I’m thinking of hiring a nurse.”

“Oh?” The baroness tilted her head. “Do you have someone in mind?”

Vera nodded at her plate as if coming to the decision right then. “Me, actually. I’ve accepted Doctor, er, Lord Winthrop’s offer of employment.”

Relief sliced through him—quick and pure, as if he’d jumped into a cool lake on a hot summer’s day. It was all going to be all right. He could make up for his momentary lapse, for the injury he’d done the lady. This would work.

“Good heavens, Vera. Why on earth would you want to do that?” Jacqueline scrunched her face.

“Excuse me—” Stephen began, affronted.

His mother waved her hand at him, never once glancing away from Vera’s face. “Yes, yes. You’re excused. From this conversation, from the table altogether, whatever you like. Vera?”

Vera lifted her head, and for the first time since the blasted dinner began, she met his eyes. Hers were hazel, he realized, the colors the same as a canopy of fall leaves just turning color. Browns and greens, flecks of orange—all the colors of autumn collected in her pupils.

She swallowed deeply and Stephen was momentarily distracted by the motion of her throat. “It’s a wonderful opportunity.”

Jacqueline kept her eyes on Vera but said, “Benjamin, go to the kitchen and have Mrs. Portence cut you a big slice of cake. But you must eat it there.”

The boy whooped and pushed back from the table so quickly his chair nearly toppled. The second the oiled hinges of the dining room door swung in his wake, the baroness turned to Stephen.

Her eyes narrowed; her lip nearly curled. His eyes widened in response—he couldn’t remember his mother ever looking at him with such seething ferocity.

“You did this. You made her feel she had to earn her keep. Didn’t you?”

Stephen leaned back. Guilt threatened to swallow him. He had done that. That, and worse.

“Not at all,” Vera said calmly, surprising him. “He offered me an opportunity for gainful employment, and I took it. This cannot be such a surprise to you—I told you I was thinking of taking a position.”

“As a governess or a lady’s companion. Not as a nurse.”

Stephen wrinkled his nose at the way his mother had spat the last. “What’s wrong with being a nurse? It’s an honorable thing to do, a wonderful way to be useful.”

“Vera doesn’t need to prove herself to you. She’s my guest. She’s already useful.”

“I think it will be an interesting endeavor,” Vera said.

“There’s going to be blood, Vera. Other bodily fluids. Viscera.” Jacqueline threw up her hands.

“It’s rarely as dramatic as all that,” Stephen said, his eyebrows high.

The ladies at the table both ignored him. His mother stared at Vera, eyes wide as if trying to impress her thoughts through expression alone. Vera’s face was calm, but a tightness at the corners of her mouth spoke of her discomfort.

“It isn’t a position a lady typically takes,” his mother pressed. “It will be difficult for you to overcome such a thing when it comes to society.”

Vera’s face flickered in understanding. “You’re exceptionally sweet to be worried about such a thing, Jacqueline, but I fear such concerns are far behind me.”