Page 5 of Miss Ashbury and the Anatomy of Mending a Heart

Vera watched her. Could she do the job of a maid if it were required of her? She didn’t know the first thing about housekeeping, other than that it was hard work and plenty of it. But she supposed if she had to, she’d learn.

Vera lifted her chin. She would earn her own way. She may no longer be a daughter in her parents’ eyes, but she still had her pride.

“Then there’s the matter of references,” Jacqueline said, once the maid had completed a circuit of the room and left to check the patio outside.

“References,” Vera repeated, chewing her bottom lip. She had heard of the concept, certainly, but she’d given it as little thought as seafaring techniques or how shoes were cobbled.

Jacqueline nodded. “If I were hiring someone to perform a job, I’d want to see that they had excellent references. Especially if I were entrusting children or the elderly to their care.”

Vera frowned. If one needed a position to have references, but needed references to get a position, how did one obtain that initial reference?

“Are you quite sure all is well?” Jacqueline peered over the rim of her teacup. “I certainly hope you feel you can confide in me.”

“Of course. I’m debating many options, and I want to consider all of them before I make my decision.”

Jacqueline nodded as if deciding something. “I suppose such a discussion of the future leads me naturally to a question I’ve wanted to ask you for quite some time.”

Vera rested her teacup upon the saucer and gave the baroness her full attention.

“It has been a joy to me to have you so near, but I fear I’m selfish, as down the lane is not near enough for my liking.”

Vera’s forehead wrinkled and she tilted her head, trying to ascertain her friend’s meaning.

“It gets lonely here with just Benjamin and the servants. While you’re deciding what to do, would you consider staying here?”

“Here? At Bertforth House?”

Jacqueline nodded. “You were so helpful while we cared for the injured stoat. And you know that Benjamin adores you. Would it be too much of a bother for you to move your things into one of the guest rooms upstairs?”

Vera blinked, her eyes wide. It had never occurred to her that the baroness would extend such an invitation, but now that she had, it was the most marvelous gift. Would Vera rather live here with her friend in true comfort, or share a house with a pair of newlyweds? Newlyweds who hadn’t even asked Vera to stay with them to begin with?

“Of course,” she said. “It would be my pleasure.”

“Very good, though Benjamin and I will be sure to give you your privacy as much as possible. We don’t want to frighten you off too soon.”

Vera shook her head. There was little chance of that.

She had nowhere else to go.

CHAPTER 2- STEPHEN

Stephen held a hand to his nose, but nothing could dampen the smell of the other inhabitants of the post chaise. His mustache bristled against his hand; his beard itched his throat. He hadn’t shaved since Samantha had broken their engagement. He frowned at himself, but it wasn’t his fault he kept thinking of her—the couple across from him were either headed to or from their wedding ceremony, judging by how they whispered and canoodled under her wide bonnet.

Stephen had once been in love like that—or at least he’d thought so. But two weeks after he proposed to Samantha, he’d told her of his intention to stay in India and practice medicine there. She’d balked. She’d wanted to accompany him back to England.

England—where the air was cold, the roads mostly decent, and comforts readily available. She’d envisioned herself as his wife, yes—but as a baroness of a large English manor. Not as nurse to the unwashed masses of Calcutta.

Perhaps it was his own fault—he’d spoken of home so often. He’d described the herds of deer, the summer picnics on the back lawn—he’d spoken of ice. In the sweltering crescendo of an Indian summer, how could talk of berry ices not be tempting? And it seemed that the thrilling thought had translated—to him.

He’d kissed her, heaven help him. Not that she’d been anything but willing. But she was a missionary’s daughter who longed for cold fog. He was a child of England who dreamed of staying in the Indian heat.

After their abrupt parting, within a fortnight she’d married the captain of a schooner and sailed for Italy.

With her departure, Stephen suddenly noticed how his collars chafed with sweat after a day, how his eyes strained in the poor light of the finicky lanterns at night, how thick the swarms of mosquitoes really were. He finally saw India as Samantha had.

A desperate desire to escape had gripped him with an almost panic-inducing intensity.

Stephen finally understood Samantha’s need to flee, and he almost forgave her. He booked passage on the next ship home. Heaven help him.