Page 57 of Miss Ashbury and the Anatomy of Mending a Heart

“Of course not. Just deciding.”

Did she want bacon?

Did she even like bacon?

Heaven help her, had she ever had bacon before?

Vera was so confused, she could barely focus on the task at hand. In the end, she scooped a huge serving of bacon onto her plate, then blinked at it in surprise.

Eight slices! How on earth was she going to eat eight slices of bacon? What on earth was she thinking?

“Ah, you have an appetite this morning. That’s good.”

A footman fled out the door to the kitchens, presumably to order more bacon.

“Pardon?” Vera blinked at him. Or rather, she blinked at those sharp cheekbones of his.

“Last night,” he prompted, then raised an eyebrow. “Mr. May? Some people cannot eat for days after such a thing. It bodes well that it hasn’t affected your hunger.”

“I hardly think I’ll help the man by going hungry.”

Stephen laughed, shook his head. Vera nearly reared back at the sight of his smile and wondered if it was too late to feign illness and flee to the safety of her rooms.

“I think you’re perfectly suited to the medical profession, if that’s your reply.”

Vera scooped some fluffy eggs onto her plate, proud of herself when she discovered it was a normal-sized scoop and not a heaping one. She stepped closer to him and her eyes slid to take in his profile once more.

“Do you not like it, then?” He slid a hand over his face and chin, wincing.

“What?”

“My beard. Do you miss it?”

“Sort of,” she croaked, then collected herself. “It’s just different. It will take some time to get used to.”

“So you do like it?”

“It’s fine.”

Fine? Fine? There was nothing about this situation that was fine. The word was an insult, for one thing—to his beard, to his face. Besides, Vera did not feel fine. She felt slightly queasy and unmoored, as if she’d been cast out to sea on a tiny raft.

What was she to do? How was she going to work with this man every day, live with him, while he looked like that?

“You and Benjamin planted the rosemary too closely,” Stephen said.

He’d finished piling his plate and took a seat at the table.

Ah, Vera thought, relieved. See? He’s still insufferable.

That was far easier to deal with—a handsome, insufferable man was no trouble at all. Vera took the chair next to him and plucked a piece of buttered toast from the toast rack.

“So I transplanted them,” he added blithely, smearing strawberry jam upon his toast and passing her the jar. “Thank you for planting the herbs, by the way. It was helpful.”

She took a huge bite of toast and nodded, wincing internally.

“You’ve actually been a great help to me these past few weeks,” he continued.

Vera nodded again, but she had a sudden mental image of her throwing her plate in his face and shrieking at him to shut up. Intelligent, handsome, and appreciative? Heaven help her—this couldn’t be happening. Maybe Candace would still take her in.