Page 70 of Miss Ashbury and the Anatomy of Mending a Heart

Who knew that beets could lend such a depth of flavor to a meat dish? It was a revelation, of sorts. Stephen listed the ingredients to the dish as if it were a tonic that could cure all disease. Lamb, roasted beef, or venison. Horseradish cream sauce. Pickled onions, roasted beets, atop a small toasted square of bread.

But it would be much better if Mrs. Portence could just make him a sandwich with those ingredients. Consuming the thing one bite at a time was unnecessarily fussy.

Stephen turned to Vera, intent on asking her if she liked roasted beets, and noticed a little frown upon her lovely lips. Thankfully, Miss Warrington’s attention had been claimed by the Duke of Canterbury, who sat on her other side.

“Did you not like that, then?” he leaned toward Vera and murmured.

She jerked, her eyes wide. “Pardon?”

“I’m very intrigued, myself.”

“Are you?” She seemed disturbed by the idea.

“Indeed. I’m going to sample that delicacy again, as soon as possible.”

“That’s quite an ungentlemanly sentiment,” she spluttered.

“On the contrary.” He frowned. “It’s how things are done among gentlemen. Once you try something you like—even in someone else’s dining room—there’s no need to wait to have it again. I was thinking of doing so as soon as tomorrow, but if you don’t like it, I can wait for a day where you’re otherwise occupied.”

“It hardly concerns me,” she stammered, leaning away from him.

Had the pickled onions turned his breath sour?

Stephen mimicked her, leaning back to not blow foul air into her beautiful face. “Very well. Perhaps Benjamin will join me.”

“You’re going to introduce Benjamin so soon?”

Stephen frowned. “You act as if there’s some sort of waiting period with these things, but unless societal rules have markedly changed in my absence, I don’t see any point in waiting. Once I’ve decided I like something, I aim to figure out if I want to add it to my regular rotation.”

“Your rotation?” Vera’s mouth dropped open; color rose in her cheeks.

Stephen’s forehead creased. “Every lord of a manor has his preferences. It shouldn’t be a shocking assertion in the least.”

“What about commitment? What about love?”

Stephen frowned and eyed her wineglass, wondering how many glasses she’d had. He knew she felt things keenly, but this was a bit much. “Those are strong words to use for⁠—”

“I think they’re appropriate words,” she snapped.

“Why on earth does this bother you? I assure you—Mrs. Portence doesn’t mind⁠—”

“Mrs. Portence?” Vera hissed, her eyebrows flying upward. “Mrs. Portence?”

“Vera, calm down. Just because I like something, doesn’t mean I expect you to partake. Everyone likes different things. Everyone likes variety⁠—”

He was cut off when he was forced to lean back to let a footman place a bowl of soup before him. Stephen was momentarily distracted by the relief he felt when he saw it was a normal-sized portion.

Vera whispered, “Temperance and steadfastness are important characteristics in a man.”

“You certainly don’t have to join me,” he replied, flummoxed. “Though I think if you just tried it⁠—”

“Certainly not!”

Stephen doubted Vera could have looked any more shocked if he’d suggested she wore a bedpan as a hat. He was stunned dumb by the anger flashing in her eyes.

She leaned forward and bared her teeth, hissing, “This conversation is over. I don’t want to hear anything further on the subject. Frankly, you’ve disgusted me.”

Dear heavens, the lady must be drunk.