Page 36 of Miss Ashbury and the Anatomy of Mending a Heart

Vera sat on the front board with Stephen and tried to ignore how much she disliked him. Worse, it was like the man didn’t know how she felt—he acted as if nothing unpleasant had ever transpired between them.

He held the reins with a quiet confidence that Vera couldn’t help but envy. She sneaked a sidelong glance at him. Dark hair, curling at the temples, a dark beard that waved and still made him appear like a down-on-his-luck dockworker.

Stephen appeared a bit more civilized than the first time she’d seen him—but only by a small margin. It was the difference that a bath, a trim, and a comb made, nothing more. She tried not to cringe as she remembered the whistle of the fire poker as she’d swung it through the air. If she’d known what he truly was like, she might have tried harder.

He let the horses take the lead down the worn road that wound past the village and over a small river. The cart’s wheels rumbled over the little wooden bridge, and Vera leaned to peer at the gentle eddies of water swirling over pebbles below.

“Milton’s Creek,” Stephen said, as if she’d asked.

Vera nodded stiffly, but she was determined not to relinquish her anger at him before she was ready. When that would be, even she didn’t know.

“We’re going to see Mr. Douglas,” Stephen called, loud enough for even Hortense to hear over the crunch of wagon wheels and the clopping of horse hooves. “He’s a widower who lives on a small farm. Mother says he’s been feeling poorly, doesn’t want to call for a physician.”

“Is he not expecting us, then?” Vera blinked.

The idea didn’t help the disquiet roiling in her stomach. Against all her well-reasoned arguments why she shouldn’t be, she was nervous. She’d never held a position before, and despite the acrimony that lay between her and the doctor, she desperately wanted to do a good job.

It wasn’t just the reference, either, though that was part of it—she longed for the day when she could put this chapter of her life behind her. She thought of it—envisioned a clear, bright morning not too long in the future when Stephen would hold out a letter he’d written that would give her the power to support herself, to never depend on anyone else, ever again.

“Not that I’m aware of.” He shrugged as if the thought didn’t bother him in the least.

Vera held the edges of her shawl even more tightly around her. Not only was it her first day of employment—ever—but they were arriving unannounced, uninvited. What did Stephen intend on doing—barging in and thrusting a tongue depressor down the man’s throat?

She had a sudden, inappropriate image of the doctor and a faceless elderly gentleman wrestling over a thermometer, and she barely stifled a nervous giggle. It came out as a jarring hiccup instead.

Stephen slid those brown eyes toward her, then looked back to the road.

Keep it together, Vera, she chided herself. The man already thinks little of you.

She wished she didn’t give a whit for his opinion—it was he who should be desperate for her good favor, after what he’d done—but wanting the approval of others was an ingrained habit she’d yet to break. Perhaps it was the result of growing up with a mother who was forever unsatisfied with her appearance, her manners, her words. Whatever the cause, Vera cared deeply about what people thought of her.

It was not her appearance or social standing she was concerned for—such petty cares had been eradicated by years of ballroom laughter at her expense. Perhaps it was because she knew she couldn’t compete in those other arenas that made Vera value what people thought of her more important attributes all the more. She wanted to be seen as capable, intelligent, kind, reliable. With Stephen as her employer, it was doubly important he thought so.

Mr. Douglas’s house was a small stone cottage with a freshly thatched roof. The yard was tidy, the fence that bordered the lane in good repair. A tuft of grey-blue smoke wafted from the chimney. Several chickens scattered when their cart pulled to a stop in the drive.

“I’ll go first.” Stephen slid a sardonic gaze toward Vera. “Don’t want the man alarmed, thinking that a herd of noble do-gooders have arrived on his doorstep.”

“Heaven forbid,” Hortense murmured as soon as Stephen alighted from the cart.

Vera smiled to herself. At least she wasn’t alone in this venture. She wasn’t quite sure what Jacqueline had told Hortense, but there’d been an instant understanding between them, an expression Hortense had gifted Vera upon her arrival that told her that the maid was stoutly on her side.

After a moment where Stephen stood upon the doorstep, the front door was opened by a person Vera couldn’t see. Words were exchanged, and Stephen ducked inside.

“Are you quite all right, Miss Ashbury?” Hortense said now that they were truly alone.

“Of course.” Vera blinked with surprise that she actually meant it.

Other than Stephen being unwelcoming—other than him going through her private things, invading her bedroom, and reading her most embarrassing, most personal missives—she had little complaint at all.

“He reminds me of Shelbourne,” the maid said, her tone dark.

“Does he?”

Vera thought for a moment, but she couldn’t find any similarities between the man who’d publicly thrown Candace over and the doctor who’d just returned from India.

“Well, he reminds me of Shelbourne in that I don’t like him very much,” Hortense finally admitted.

Vera grinned and turned halfway in her seat to see her better. “It’s wonderful to have you. Are you sure your husband approves?”