Page 9 of Miss Ashbury and the Anatomy of Mending a Heart

His mother shrugged. “She’s quite a beauty.”

“I’d rather discuss the young lady living in our house, if you don’t mind.”

“Why? Are you interested?” Her eyes were upon him once more, her expression intent and lively. “You could hardly do better than Vera.”

“I’m not marrying anyone. Why is she here? How long will she be here? Who is she to you?”

“Miss Ashbury is a dear friend who is staying with us indefinitely.”

“Where did she come from?”

“That’s an odd question for a physician to ask his mother, and at such an age, too. But I will endeavor to answer, despite the embarrassment it might cause us both. You see, Stephen, when a man and a woman love each other very much⁠—”

“Mother, stop! You’re being purposefully obtuse.”

“No, dear. I’m being purposefully literal. It’s you who are asking all the wrong questions.”

“What do you know of her family?”

“Enough. She’s a friend of Lady Candace, and now she’s my friend, too.”

He sighed. “Have you grown bored with the frogs and the hedgehogs and whatnot? You’ve stooped to collecting people?”

The pounding at his temples had worsened considerably. It was possible that he hadn’t had enough water that day—it had been a long journey with few stops, but Stephen was inclined to think that his mother’s roundabout way of speaking wasn’t helping in the least.

“Stephen, you look quite overwrought. Would you like a fainting couch? Some smelling salts? I don’t believe we have any in the house, as every lady here is of a firm constitution, not delicate in the least, but we can send someone to town to procure some right away…”

“Mother…”

She tapped her chin. “If only we knew a physician.”

“Mother. Please, just stop for a moment.”

“Very well.” She turned back to her ledger entries as if they’d never started the convoluted conversation in the first place.

Stephen took a deep breath and forged ahead once more. “Why is the lady not at home, with her family?”

The baroness lifted her head slowly and examined him, giving him her full attention. She interlaced her fingers over her ledger. “How would you propose one go about asking such a delicate question?”

“You haven’t even asked?”

“I know enough to understand that if her family home were a kind place to be, a safe place to be, then she would be there. She is not. That’s enough information for me to make a judgement on the subject, and it should be enough for you, too. Do not go prying into piles best left undisturbed.”

“She could be a thief, for all you know. She could be on the run from her husband.”

She exhaled derisively through her nose. “She’s never been married.”

“How do you know?”

The baroness raised her head once more, this time to scowl at him. “Tell me, Stephen, do you think I’m an idiot?”

“Of course not.”

“Then why do you insist on asking me questions that infer that I am?”

“If her family isn’t in the picture, certainly she must have some independent means. Her clothing is fine enough.”

The lady had worn a lovely, light-blue muslin with narrow pleats stitched across the bodice. Stephen shook his head and reprimanded himself for noticing what she wore at all.