Page 58 of Miss Ashbury and the Anatomy of Mending a Heart

“I thought we’d go see Mrs. May this afternoon, or tomorrow. Check in, bring a basket. See how she and the children have been faring. If she’s not sleeping well, I have a tonic for that.”

Thoughtful, too?

Vera wondered if it was too early to request a brandy. She looked longingly at the far sideboard, but since the decanters weren’t even out at the moment, she thought it best to refrain.

“Good morning, Stephen, Vera.” Jacqueline paused in the doorway, then offered Stephen a radiant smile. “You finally took my advice. I’m glad to see you’re handsome as ever under all that fur. I will admit, I wondered.”

“Good morning, Mother,” Stephen said.

Vera was momentarily relieved that someone had joined them. Although, on second thought, she wished it had been Benjamin. Jacqueline had notoriously sharp eyes—surely she’d pick up on Vera’s discomfort. Come to think of it, that was probably where Stephen had inherited his powers of observation. Their eyes and hair were the same, but everything else must have been inherited from his father.

“Did you sleep well, dear?” Jacqueline had bestowed a kiss upon Stephen’s cheek and now paused to brush one upon Vera.

“Very well, thank you. And yourself?”

“Like the dead. Oh, pardon me. I’m sorry—I heard about that terrible thing with Mr. May.”

It had been terrible, but Vera still found her first bite of bacon particularly delicious. Perhaps she could manage eight slices, after all.

Jacqueline’s concerned eyes were upon Vera, but it was Stephen who answered her. “Don’t worry—it seems our Vera has a firm constitution.”

“Our” Vera? that stupid, hopeful voice in her head whispered. Vera chewed her bacon and slammed a mental door in the voice’s face. It wasn’t as if the man had said “my” Vera, after all. Not that such a sentiment would have been welcome.

“What are your plans for the day?” Jacqueline asked.

Vera was grateful when the conversation meandered on with very little input from her. She was even more grateful when Benjamin wandered down the stairs, got a plate, and sat next to her—it was far easier to sneak him her extra pieces of bacon without reaching across the table.

It was only later, when breakfast was finished and she stood, that she realized her mistake—she hadn’t been paying enough attention.

“Vera, do you need some time to prepare, or are you ready to go now?” Stephen’s face was expectant.

“Pardon?”

“To the village. To buy the ingredients for Mrs. May’s sleeping tonic.” He frowned. “Are you sure you’re feeling well?”

“Quite well,” she reflexively answered, then berated herself for not taking the opportunity to feign a small illness or headache.

“Do you need a moment?” Stephen took up his tea and downed the last of it in one go.

“Just let me grab my shawl.”

CHAPTER 16- STEPHEN

Stephen gripped the reins and darted another glance at Vera. Her profile seemed backlit by the sun—a line of gold edged her delicate features, that set of overfull lips. In the light, her freckles looked like gold dust sprinkled across the bridge of her nose. Her ash-brown hair shone, several strands glowing like bronze threading fresh from a forge. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand how she’d gone overlooked in all those ballrooms. For years.

Stephen frowned, shifted on the driving board. Perhaps there’d been an outbreak of early-onset glaucoma amongst the male nobles. Or maybe it was ocular presentation of syphilis.

Or perhaps it was as his mother claimed—that the whole lot of English nobility had but a few brain cells, and they used them all upon the wrong thing.

Stephen had told Vera he wished to be friends with her, and that was the truth. The problem was, he didn’t know quite how to manage it. The only question he longed to ask her was an insipid, self-centered one—did she like how his valet had cut his hair? What did she think of how he’d carefully trimmed and shaved his beard?

It had taken him well over an hour to accomplish, and he didn’t want to admit—even to himself—how often his thoughts had strayed toward Vera in the process. He smoothed a hand through his much shorter dark hair and frowned, racking his brain. What did friends talk about?

He and his physician friends spoke of medical things, but such topics would be abhorrent to a lady…wouldn’t they? Then again, Vera had shown a remarkable aptitude for care. Though she lacked Stephen’s education, she had an innate desire to help, to make their patients more comfortable. She hadn’t blanched once—not even when Mrs. Edgar had been sick upon her shoes. Not even when they were tending to Mr. May.

Perhaps he shouldn’t sort Miss Vera Ashbury into the same drawer as other young ladies. She’d surprised him, again and again. Which shouldn’t be that shocking, upon reflection. His mother liked her, very much.

He decided to test his new hypothesis; he cleared his throat. “What are your thoughts on Mr. Cardwell?”