Chapter 2 - Stephen #2
“Then why did he attack me?”
“I didn’t attack you.”
“You verbally assaulted me.” The woman’s lower lip jutted—not a pout, not even close. This was a stubborn rebellion. “There’s a dent in the wall from you bursting through the door.”
“Stephen,” his mother chided, a sparkle of mischief in her eye. “I just had that lacquered.”
The baroness crossed the room and hugged him, enveloping him in her unique scent—french perfume and snuff—and a lifetime of memories.
“How was your journey? Are you well?”
“I was better before I became so well-acquainted with the fire poker.” He glared at the lady as she put the poker back in its proper place.
“This is Miss Vera Ashbury. She’s staying with us for a while.”
“What do you mean?” He frowned.
“How was your journey? I had no news of your arrival, but of course I’m delighted you’re here. Have you come to stay this time?”
Her question brought him up short, as did the streaks of silver in her dark hair. Stephen blinked, and the memory of his mother as he’d last seen her disappeared, erased by this six-years-older reality before him.
Though she was easily recognizable, the lines of her face were deeper.
The crinkles at the corners of her eyes spoke of grief and laughter in equal measure.
The smile lines bracketing her mouth were fixed.
She was still an exceptionally lovely woman, but Stephen had somehow forgotten that time had passed in England just as it had in India.
“Yes,” he said. “I’ve come home. To stay.”
Vera stood behind his mother, so Stephen was the only one who noticed her start a little at his words, noticed the momentary appearance of a line between her eyebrows. Who was this woman, and why was she displeased by his homecoming?
“I’ll have the servants open your rooms and bring you a bath. Would you like to eat in the dining room, or would you prefer to have a tray sent up?”
“I’ll have a tray,” he answered, distracted by Vera’s sudden departure through the far door. He frowned at his mother. “Who is that woman?”
The baroness tilted her head. “I told you—she’s a friend of the family. She’s staying with us.”
“I hardly see how she can be a friend of the family if she’s unknown to me.”
“Very well. Vera’s a friend of mine.” She arched an eyebrow and straightened his coat. “Never thought I’d see this terrible tweed again. I’m amazed it made it through, though I suppose the pattern was so awful it put the moths off their meal, hmm?”
His mother moved to the archway and began issuing instructions to the butler and the housekeeper, who hovered unobtrusively in the doorway.
“Give them a few moments, then you can head up.” She peered past him. “Where’s your luggage?”
“I don’t know.” He glanced toward the entryway. “I think I dropped it when…”
“When you attacked Vera?” Her jet eyebrows were raised in censure once more.
“I didn’t attack her. I simply inquired what she was doing here.”
“At such a volume I heard you bellowing all the way in my back parlor?”
Stephen didn’t have a good answer for his behavior, not without explaining how his mind had played tricks on him. He just shrugged.
His mother didn’t notice—she was peering past him again. “Where is your betrothed? I’m eager to meet her, though I confess I’m shocked you were able to find a woman with that otter pelt on your face.”
Stephen reached up and touched his beard self-consciously. “Did you not get my letter?”
“I’ve received numerous letters; you’ll have to be more specific.” She crossed to her desk, sat, and opened a ledger book.
“The one announcing my arrival home. The one telling you I’m no longer betrothed.”
“Oh, dear.” Concern furrowed his mother’s brow. “Is the girl dead, then?”
“What? No. She ran off with someone else.”
“That’s even worse.” She arched an eyebrow and licked the tip of her pen. “You probably wish she’d succumbed to fever.”
“Of course not.”
“Right, otherwise you would have mourned her. Better for you to know who she truly is—it’s an easier break. Now would be the perfect time for the fever to set in. Don’t worry, son. I’ll pray earnestly after her health.”
“Mother.”
He’d forgotten how quick she was—how impossible. Even the old version of her—the skirts-wearing, house-managing, rule-following version—had run circles around him in conversation. On some level, it was comforting to realize she was, in many ways, unchanged.
“Yes, dear?” She blinked innocently up from the ledger she was filling in with deft strokes, using an unfolded letter for reference.
“I don’t wish for Samantha to die.”
“That’s hardly up to me.”
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He didn’t know whether he wanted to yell in frustration or laugh.
“I’m glad it appears you’re quite over her,” she said, interrupting his thoughts. “Obviously she was just a distraction, not your true match.”
Stephen sighed and rubbed his temple. There was an ache beginning there, and he mentally ran through the process of making a tincture to soothe it if it got any worse.
His mother continued, “A shame you didn’t come earlier. Lady Candace moved in next door, but she’s already married to the Duke of Canterbury, so that won’t do. Unless…” She glanced up from her book. “How are you with pistols? A decent shot?”
“I’m not going to duel the Duke of Canterbury for his wife,” he grumbled.
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.
“Gifts, I believe, from the duchess.” His mother licked her pen, turned the page. “They’re quite good friends, you know.”
Of course he hadn’t known. But the weight of the implications tugged the corners of his mouth downward.
“Gifts?” he repeated. “Who gives a fine dress as a gift? It’s excessive, is it not?”
“Oh no, dear. The duchess gave her an entire wardrobe. Vera was the only one who stood by her during that whole debacle in London. And then they travelled here, together.”
Stephen didn’t give a whit what the debacle had been.
His mind whirred. He’d heard of this type of gambit—where an innocent-looking young lady would single out a wealthy mark, isolate them from family and friends, and bilk them for their money.
It took a spectacularly talented actor to accomplish such a con, but if they succeeded…
Well, there was hardly a bigger payout to be had.
Though his mother kept speaking—something about a scandal, a broken engagement—Stephen only listened to the broad strokes of the matter. That was quite enough to stoke his astonishment.
Reading through the lines, this Vera character had set her sights on a wealthy, lonely young lady, encouraged her to break her engagement—to a marquess, no less—and had neatly detached the lady from family and friends. Vera had gone so far as to relocate them to Devon, of all places!
This Candace had been culled from the safety of the herd and she hadn’t even realized.
Miss Ashbury had done such a wonderful job with the ruse that Lady Candace had bought her an entire wardrobe—a very expensive wardrobe, by the looks of things—all to thank her for being such a loyal friend!
Why, Stephen thought, running a hand through his overgrowth of dark hair, if it hadn’t been for the Duke of Canterbury’s timely intercession, the lady might even now be destitute, having spent her family’s fortune feeding the insatiable pit of greed that was her “dearest friend.”
But the duke had wisely stepped in and married the girl—out of a charitable, protective nature, no doubt—and this Vera had set her sights on a new mark—his lonely, widowed mother.
Perhaps a dowager baroness wasn’t quite as wealthy a target as this Lady Candace had been, but she would do just fine.
Look at the progress Miss Ashbury had already made!
Ingratiating herself to the family, moving in…
Stephen shook his head once more. He suddenly believed that his arrival home at this precise moment was due to Providence, and Providence alone.
“Dear heavens, are you even listening?” His mother shook her head with affectionate wonder. “I thought you’d grow out of that habit well by now, but I see that hope was unfounded.”
“Apologies, Mother. I was lost to my thoughts.”
“You always did find your own mind the most interesting place to be. What were you ruminating upon this time? A new surgical process, or how to get out of a social engagement?” She waved her hand in dismissal. “The latter is impossible; you haven’t been home long enough to be invited anywhere yet.”
“Are you quite sure about this Vera character, Mother?”
He hoped she’d say no, or at the very least pause in reflection.
Instead, she snorted. “I’m more certain of who she is than of who you are, at the moment. But give it time; I’m sure we’ll reacquaint ourselves quickly.”
Stephen made a low noise of discontent in his throat. Her eyes narrowed. His mother’s discerning gaze always had seen too much; Stephen did his best to clear the disapproval from his features.
She said, “Go see Canterbury if you won’t take my word for it.”
Stephen decided then and there that he would go visit the duke—as soon as possible.
His mother frowned. “Vera is my guest. If you do anything or ask anything that makes her feel the slightest bit unwelcome, it is you who will be thrown out, not her.”
He gaped. “You can’t be serious.”
Dear heavens, Miss Ashbury was further along in the process than he could have believed! His mother was inclined to choose her over her own son!
“Right on your travel-worn derriere. You may test me on this if you like, but you might want to ask the household staff about the last young man who gambled on whether I meant what I said.”
“What young man? Who was he?”
“Really, Stephen, it’s a good thing you’ve come home to give your poor nerves a rest—you sound as shrill and jumpy as Great Aunt Bertian, God rest her soul.”
He gasped. “Aunt Bertian died?”
“It’s not a requiem, it’s a request.”
“Mother!”