Chapter 5 - Stephen
The next morning, Stephen rose before the sunlight had chased away the mist. It clung close to the ground and hovered near the hedgerows visible from his window. Fall would soon be underway, and the weather would require all denizens to wear a coat—not just those recently returned from India.
He took the back stairs at a trot, grateful to see that not everything had changed in his absence—the servants’ stairwell was the same crisp whitewash it had always been, the edges of the stairs bent into smirks from the wear of a thousand feet.
The smell of roasted coffee and crisp bacon sent a wave of nostalgia rolling through him.
His father had always preferred the bitter brew to the more traditional English tea.
His mother had adopted the taste over time, though she still required a liberal dollop of heavy cream and a spoonful of sugar to drink the stuff.
One wondered why she bothered with it at all now.
Habit, he supposed. One couldn’t be wed to another for twenty-odd years without rubbing off on one another.
“Good morning, your lordship,” the cook said, drying her large hands on a soft bit of muslin she kept tied at her waist. “Come for a bit of breakfast?”
“Hello, Mrs. Portence.” He crossed the room to grin up at her. When he was younger, he would have thrown his arms around her thick middle in greeting, but time sorted everyone into their roles, and such a display was no longer appropriate. “Just eggs and bacon, if it’s not too early.”
“’Course. I’m getting your mother’s breakfast ready to send to the conservatory.”
His eyebrow arched. His mother had traditionally been the last one up. It was just another thing that had changed while he’d been taking temperatures in Calcutta.
“Send mine along with it, if you don’t mind.”
The woman nodded. Stephen poured himself a cup of tea from the pot in the cozy on the wooden bench, added cream and sugar as a treat, and went in search of his mother.
The conservatory had once held flowers, but now the narrow rectangular planters ringing the round, windowed room were bare, save for a tuft of red fur that uncurled itself upon his approach. His mother sat at a table, head bent over the ledger open before her. A mug curled steam at her elbow.
“Good morning, Mother.” He dusted a kiss across her offered cheek and tried to ignore the keen eyes of the fox in the planter.
“Morning, Stephen.” She smiled, then blinked. “When did the tailor say your clothes would be ready? I didn’t even like those trousers on your father.”
He smiled and took the chair next to her at the round table, the one facing the fox. He wouldn’t put it past the thing to nip him if his back was turned.
“Should only be a couple of days. Said he had several that could be altered; he’ll send those along directly.”
His mother hummed and turned back to her numbers. “Did you have a nice time at dinner?”
“The food was excellent, but I was confused by some of the company.”
She gave him her eyes, waiting for an explanation.
“That man, Hamish. I don’t like how he looks at you.”
“I don’t rightly care.” She finished her entry and flipped the heavy book shut with a thud. “It’s none of your concern.”
“Of course it is. I’m your son, for one. The rightful owner of these properties, for another.”
“Are you?” She leaned back in the chair and arched her eyebrow.
He glowered at her, letting his silence speak for him. His mother had always been different, but she’d never been difficult—at least, not toward him.
“You’ve been gone a long time,” she finally said.
“Six years isn’t such an absence.”
“It is when both of your brothers and I were grieving. It is when the management of the estate was left to me.”
“You’re a very capable person, Mother.” His brow wrinkled, trying to find the meaning in her words.
“I had no training, Stephen. I had to learn as I went. You might have helped me with that, shouldered some of the burden. You were the one your father taught to take it over, after all. A few months of your time would have been appreciated.”
“I had a life back in India. People who depended on me.” He threw up his hands. “I couldn’t just leave them.”
“Why not?” She tilted her head. “You left us well enough, and we depended on you, too.”
Stephen sat, head bent, thinking. He was surprised at her words, and they rousted a deep shame and not a small bit of grief. He was ashamed to realize he’d thought of them less than he should have, worried even less than that.
Of course they’d been struggling—he had been, too. But he’d been an adult. His brothers were still children, and his mother had loved his father. Deeply. He shouldn’t have left her to shoulder all of those burdens alone.
It had seemed so simple at the time—he’d stayed in India because he’d felt honor-bound to do so. Now, seeing it through her eyes, he wondered if he hadn’t made a grievous mistake.
“I’m sorry,” he said, lifting his head and meeting her eyes. “I didn’t think. I didn’t mean to abandon you—surely you must at least know that.”
“I do. But your motivations hardly matter. It is done, and for better or worse, the experience of losing your father has changed me. I won’t have you waltzing back in here and criticizing the person I’ve become—the person that loss forged me into—not after you weren’t here to help.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry, Mother. I wasn’t…I didn’t mean to criticize.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But please tell me you aren’t cavorting with that secretary.”
She tipped her head back and laughed. “No, he isn’t one of my lovers.”
“Your lovers?”
“And I know better than most the importance of following one’s own heart,” she continued, ignoring his outburst. “If you felt you needed to be in India for this span of time, I’m glad you were there. I’m even more glad you’re home.”
“Wait, Mother. Can we please revisit the fact that you have lovers?”
“We cannot. Besides, you know I just said that to shock you.”
“You did?” he asked, relieved.
“If you like.”
The lift of her shoulder wasn’t convincing, but as the conversation was deeply unsettling, he didn’t wish to pursue it further.
“I might understand your hesitation toward Hamish,” his mother said. “But why on earth are you pestering Vera so?”
“I don’t think she’s telling the full truth about why she’s here.”
“Of course not,” she laughed. “No one is ever telling the full truth about anything. That’s the nature of human communication, dear.”
He frowned. “That’s not correct. I don’t lie.”
“Of course you do. Don’t forget, Stephen—in order to be fully truthful with others, first one must be fully truthful with oneself.”
He rubbed at his temple. “And you’re saying I’m lying to myself, is that it?”
“I don’t know. Are you?”
He sighed and closed his eyes. “Please stop being purposefully difficult.”
“Very well. Please stop hassling our guest. Vera may not have told you her entire life story, but it is the prerogative of a lady to have some secrets.”
“Not if they’re potentially damaging to you or Benjamin.”
“She’s a wonderful person, and my very dear friend. I trust her. Isn’t that enough for you?”
It wasn’t—not by a long shot. But he didn’t know how to explain it to her, so he nodded.
Her eyes narrowed slightly, as if she read his falsehood. “At least tell me this…why do you think she’s lying? Why do you think she’s concealing something important?”
“I don’t know.”
It was the truth—Stephen had no clue where this sudden obsession with the young lady’s past had come from.
All he knew was that it plagued him, day and night.
He’d puzzled it from every possible angle while he’d weeded his old herb beds yesterday afternoon in the greenhouse.
He’d ruminated on it at length while soaking in a steaming bath before dressing for the evening.
He’d studied the lady in question the entirety of that strange dinner.
He was no closer to finding out who she was or why she was there. But the fact of the matter was, he believed with his entire heart and mind that she was hiding something—something big.
It was written in the small wince she gave when specific topics were brought up. There’d been a certain tone to her words yesterday when she’d spoken to Benjamin. Something was wrong with Miss Vera Ashbury, and he was determined to find out what.
“Are you sure you’re not interested in the lady for other reasons?” his mother asked lightly, breaking the silence.
Stephen exhaled with the force of his derision. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“She is quite pretty. And unattached.”
A flash of ash-brown hair shone briefly in his mind’s eye.
He leaned forward. “You forget that I was recently engaged to a young lady that fit those parameters exactly. She also was hiding something, and I took it on faith that her concealment wasn’t harmful. I’m not keen on repeating that experience.”
“Ah.” She hefted the word as if it held all the weight of a mother’s understanding.
Stephen found he didn’t like the sound of that ‘ah.’ It was as if his mother had discovered something about him that he was trying to hide, but for the life of him, he couldn’t suss out what.
She couldn’t believe that what had happened with Samantha was the sole cause of his suspicion of Vera… could she?
Stephen clenched his jaw. He wasn’t crazy for thinking something was off with their houseguest. His suspicion wasn’t because he was damaged. He was going to find out what she was hiding, from him and his mother, both.
He would do whatever it took.
His mother watched him with narrowed eyes, and Stephen had the inkling that she could read all his thoughts upon his face. He’d learned as a young boy that if in doubt, distraction was the best option where parents were concerned.
He pointed at the animal across the room. “Is that your fox?”
She clasped a hand to her elegant throat, her dark eyes wide. “There’s a fox in here?”
Stephen refrained from rolling his eyes, but just barely.
“You truly have changed—you used to recognize humor.”
“People grow up.” He shrugged, trying not to let on that she’d echoed one of his own thoughts—it felt as if, since Samantha, the part of him that had once smiled and laughed easily had withered and curled in on itself like arthritic hands.
“I hope that you find that part of yourself again, Stephen. I truly do.” She pressed her lips together, then asked, “What are your plans now that you’re home?”
He was grateful for the change of subject, but the question caught him by surprise, like a cuff to the back of his head.
“I don’t know what you mean. I’m going to run the estate, of course.”
She frowned. “Very well. What else?”
“I imagine that will take the bulk of my time.”
“What about medicine? Are you giving up the practice altogether?”
“I hadn’t thought about it.”
It was a lie. He had thought about it. All the way back from India, he’d thought about it. The truth of the matter was that he was tired. Exhausted. There were so few doctors and too many people to help. He’d run himself ragged until pieces of him frayed off at the edges and were just…lost.
She was studying him again, in that keen eye way of hers that made him think of falcons. “You know, India doesn’t contain all the poor people who need a good doctor. England has plenty of those, too.”
“Oh?”
“You don’t have to choose, Stephen. It doesn’t have to be ‘India and being a physician’ or ‘England.’ I can think of several people right now who could use a physician in town.”
“What about Dr. Stanley?”
“He moved to be closer to his daughter, nigh on three years ago.”
“And Dr. Roy?”
“That old drunk? I wouldn’t trust him to treat a dog, let alone a person.”
“In your case, you’d probably trust him to treat certain people before you’d allow him to treat your dog.”
“True.” She smiled affectionately. “But you get my point all the same. He isn’t fit for practice. People have to call all the way to Exeter if they want a good doctor.”
Stephen grunted, but only because his mind was too busy processing her words.
Perhaps she was right. He’d always loved being a physician, loved helping people, but he knew his title would get in the way.
Most nobles thought that being a gentleman precluded one from being anything else.
But perhaps the average citizen wouldn’t care one way or the other.
“I’ll think about it.”
“And how are you planning on spending your day?”
“I thought I’d ask Benjamin to go fishing.” He scratched at his chin. “I haven’t spent any time with him since I’ve returned.”
His mother nodded. “That’s an excellent plan, but it might have to wait until tomorrow. Vera is taking him to Canterbury’s this afternoon to visit Arthur and Seamus. He’s been looking forward to the visit.”
“Do you think it wise to allow her to spend so much time with Benjamin, when we don’t really know her?”
“I know her, Stephen. That’s enough for me. I hope it’s enough for you, too.”