Page 76 of Miss Ashbury and the Anatomy of Mending a Heart

Dahlia turned to Vera, shaking her head. “Do you see why I find reason to escape this house and go riding every day?”

Vera smiled. “Where do you ride?”

“There’s a lovely path out to the garden folly; I usually find myself there.”

Vera frowned. “Oh? I thought you wished to wait and view the garden folly with the baron.”

“Oh, not at all,” Dahlia waved her hand gracefully. “I was only testing a running theory of the household. It proved quite correct.”

“Theory? What theory?” Vera looked around the table, trying to meet the other ladies’ eyes. Unfortunately, they’d found other places to look at the moment. Candace inspected her teacup, a little frown upon her lips. Adelaide was gazing at the chandelier, her cheeks pink.

“What theory?” Vera demanded.

Dahlia sighed and shook her head. “Honestly, you two.” She turned to Vera with a gentle smile. “About you and the baron, of course.”

“What of him?”

“These two pea-hens have a wager going on whether you’ll be married by Christmas.”

Vera felt heat crawling up her neck and suffusing her cheeks. “You can’t be serious.”

Candace plunked her teacup into the saucer, her eyes wide. “We’re not betting on it. There are no stakes.”

“But you’re talking about it?” Vera shook her head. “The entire thing…it’s preposterous.”

“Is it, though?” Adelaide inspected her over the rim of her teacup. “You two are very close.”

“We work together.”

Vera felt a yawning pit open within her stomach. She’d never thought that Candace and Adelaide would be so cruel. Of course such a rumor would mean nothing to them were it to get out—they were both happily settled. Richly settled.

But Vera had to make her own way. If people began to whisper about what was going on between her and Stephen—and there wasn’t anything going on, no matter how she wished the opposite—then she might be cast out of this job, cast out of the baron’s house before she could so much as earn a reference. Then where would she be? Homeless, jobless, with no prospects.

“Vera, dear.” Candace was studying her, a little crease of concern lodged between her eyebrows. “What’s the matter?”

“I’m sure this has been an enjoyable pastime for you all, but there is nothing untoward occurring between me and the baron.”

“Of course not—” Candace said.

“And forgive me for saying so, but you should remember how damaging such a rumor could be.”

“We’d never tell anyone—” Candace began again.

“You told her.” Vera jerked her chin down in Dahlia’s direction.

Vera knew she was now the one being rude, but she couldn’t help herself—she felt tears burning behind her eyes.

So typical of married women to make light of the single state. So typical of them to sip their tea in their comfortable sitting rooms and titter about it, to go so far as to make a wager on it.

She’d thought that Candace would be different, that she wouldn’t so quickly forget the feelings of uncertainty, of trying to navigate society’s tightrope in the fine balance between snobbery and propriety. Apparently she was like all the others—the moment someone slipped a ring onto their finger, she forgot.

“Oh, Vera. I’m so sorry—” Candace began.

Vera saw open compassion on the faces of Adelaide and Candace; Dahlia looked cautious. She was ashamed to feel wetness in her eyes. Vera stood abruptly, jostling the table so that the china rattled right along with her nerves.

“It’s I who must apologize,” she said. “If you’ll excuse me; I’m not feeling well.”

Vera walked briskly out of the room and straight out the front door, not bothering to request the carriage. She set off down the driveway, the crunch of the gravel beneath her boots sounding almost as quickly as the beating of her heart.