Miss Ashbury and the Anatomy of Mending a Heart (Love from London #4)

Chapter 1 - Vera

Letters were such funny things, Vera thought. A bit of pulp, a splash of ink—the whole thing weighed hardly anything. And yet, the contents could change a life forever.

She hiccuped a desperate laugh and read the words again.

Miss Vera Ashbury,

Since you have abandoned all daughterly duties, I must assume that you are comfortable abandoning the title itself. And if one is no longer a daughter, one can no longer claim any relation or privileges that would be assigned to a daughter. I wish you the best in your future endeavors.

No further contact will be necessary between us.

Sincerely,

Lady Callista Ashbury

Disowned! She’d been disowned with the stroke of a silver pen. It hadn’t even been a new sheet of paper—the bottom half of the parchment contained a scratched-off shopping list. Her mother was in need of lavender soap, gloves, and a new hat. Or, she had been.

Vera wondered—was her father aware? There was no way to ask him. Her mother opened all household correspondence, no matter if it was addressed to her or not.

Vera had known there would be some sort of penalty to pay when she’d left to the countryside with Candace. She hadn’t asked her parents’ permission to go, after all. She hadn’t dared—not when she already knew what her mother’s answer would be.

Instead, Vera had stuffed a carpet bag full of her least offensive dresses, tossed it and her shoes from her second-story window into the back garden, and climbed down the elm tree barefoot.

She’d done it a hundred times as a child, but never in stays and a thick dress.

She nearly tumbled from the branches several times and had scratched her feet terribly.

But she’d made it down without braining herself, slipped on her shoes, and trotted out the rear gate.

Once she made it down the street, she walked briskly, head high, as if she had every right to be headed in that particular direction without the chaperone of mother or maid.

Perhaps it had been cowardly to do as she did—to wait until just before Candace planned to leave London to join her. The idea was that even if Vera’s parents found the note she’d left and sent someone after her, they’d be too late to stop the Salisbury carriage.

Vera had soothed herself with the knowledge that at least she’d left a note, vague as it was. She’d tucked it beneath a vase full of flowers on her mantel. Even if no one saw it when they first searched for her, the flowers were days old and would need to be changed soon.

Father and Mother,

By the time you get this note, I will already be gone. I’ve decided to accompany Lady Candace Waldrey to the countryside for an indefinite amount of time.

Please do not worry—I’m completely safe and well-chaperoned. I won’t behave in any untoward way while I’m gone, and I do plan on returning eventually. In short, there won’t be a scandal unless you make one of my absence, and I’m certain none of us want that.

The only reason I didn’t ask permission to go in the first place is because I believe you would have said no, even though it was a perfectly reasonable request. You may send post to the Marquess of Salisbury’s London townhome; it will be forwarded to our destination from there.

Love to you both,

Vera

Vera thought that it had been a logical, straightforward letter. She’d assured them of her safety, let them know she wasn’t absconding to Gretna Green in some foolhardy match, and assured them of her propriety.

Her mother would doubtlessly find it shocking—her mother was always shocked when someone didn’t do exactly as she wanted them to.

But Vera had never expected this response.

She’d been disowned.

What was she to do?

Travelling back to London was out of the question.

Her mother was stubborn enough that Vera would be turned away at the door—of that she had no doubt.

Even if Vera could get word to her father, he’d never been good at standing up to his wife.

Besides, he might have approved the awful letter before her mother sent it—Vera had no way of knowing.

Perhaps she could appeal to one of her brothers.

She chewed her lip, considering. Would she rather act as governess to Bertrand’s children—who’d chased away a string of governesses by putting honey into their hair while they were sleeping, among other things—or would she rather act as nursery maid to her brother Campton’s squalling twins?

Honey in her hair or several years of changing nappies—Vera couldn’t decide which was less offensive at the moment.

Knowing her mother, neither was an option. Not really. Lady Callista Ashbury was remarkably talented at closing the ranks. That was probably why this letter hadn’t been delivered until now—her mother had been crafting a narrative to shut down any support Vera’s brothers might have given her.

Vera wondered what lie they’d been told, even as she shoved the letter to the bottom of her basket and walked briskly from the village in the direction of Jacqueline’s house.

Vera desperately needed advice, and the Baroness Winthrop was just the person to give it.

The Devon countryside was at the peak of late-summer beauty, green growth juxtaposed by interesting rock formations that jutted at random from the landscape. On any other day, Vera would have enjoyed the familiar route that separated the village from the baroness’s estate.

As she walked past verdant fields, Vera worried her lip with her teeth. She had never been without a home before. It was a strange sensation—as if she’d been a boat tied safely to a dock, and someone had come along with an axe and chopped through the mooring rope with one strong swing.

Not that she was without a roof—Vera currently resided at the home of Percival Waldrey, the Marquess of Salisbury, though only because she’d been invited there by his sister. Candace was the newly minted Duchess of Canterbury, and had quite rightly moved in with her husband, the duke.

Now, Vera was in this strange in-between—a bog of uncertainty that grew deeper and muckier by the day.

For though she was staying with Percy and his wife, Adelaide, Vera hadn’t been invited by them; she simply hadn’t left.

Candace was too distracted by her new marriage—and rightly so—that she hadn’t invited Vera into her new household as a guest.

Vera would have headed home to London—she certainly had been planning on it, eventually—but she’d put it off in order to delay the inevitable unpleasantness. Call it what she may, Vera had absconded from home, run away like a spoiled child of twelve instead of a young lady of twenty-four.

Now she had no home to return to. Her fingers clenched around the handle of her basket.

Lost as she was in her befuddled thoughts, the baroness’s estate appeared quickly, and before Vera knew it, she’d arrived upon the stone steps of Bertforth House.

It was a large, stately country home—white painted brick, with large arched windows that gazed owlishly at the circular front drive.

Trim decorated the space where the brick and the roofline kissed—a small swath of lace upon the throat of a grand lady.

Vera rapped the brass door knocker that was shaped like a fox and wondered—not for the first time—where the baroness had found such an item. Knowing the lady’s devotion to woodland creatures, Jacqueline had probably commissioned it.

The butler opened the door, his salt-and-pepper eyebrows lifting with his polite smile. “Miss Ashbury, how lovely to see you. Please, come in. The baroness is in her parlor.”

Vera thanked him, relinquishing her basket, gloves, and cloak to his efficient care. She’d been a regular visitor here as of late—a natural consequence of sharing a house with newlyweds who were expecting their first child.

Vera strode past the round table that held a collection of blue-and-white pottery, each vessel planted with different forced bulbs.

Some were well past their peak, but the baroness found beauty in the entire cycle of plant life, not just the part where the plants were green and blooming.

At the moment, Vera felt a special affinity with the papery brown stalks listing to the side.

The parlor wasn’t a parlor at all—at least, not anymore. Vera rapped her knuckles against the polished black door, and Jacqueline’s muffled voice called out, “Hold a moment! Sheldon is behind the door.”

Vera smiled as a gentle scuffling erupted within the room, complete with murmured chidings meant for Sheldon alone.

Finally, the door opened slightly to reveal the baroness in her customary ensemble of slim trousers and a nipped-at-the-waist tunic.

Her dark hair was shot through with silver at the temples and braided back simply from her face.

She clasped a chubby hedgehog to her shoulder.

“Vera!” Jacqueline said, her eyes alight. “I was hoping you’d be by today. Come in!”

Vera returned the greeting, chagrined that the woman always greeted her in such a fashion. Surely Vera would wear out her welcome eventually? But that day had not yet come, and the baroness ushered her in, carefully closing the door behind her and setting Sheldon upon the flagstones.

The baroness fondly called this room her parlor.

Perhaps it had once been one in the traditional sense.

Now, the room was sparsely furnished, stripped down in service of its true purpose.

A set of sofas covered in thick leather faced each other before a fireplace that possessed a unique fire screen made from tightly latticed metal to prevent accidental tragedies.

The fire burned lowly as it always did—the animals preferred it a bit cooler than people would.

A full tea service rested on the table between the sofas—a table taller than was typical. The height helped keep twitching noses and sly little paws away from the refreshments.