Chapter 9 - Stephen
Oh, no.
He’d been so wrong.
In fact, the only time he’d possibly been more wrong about a person was when he’d asked Samantha to be his wife.
His hands shook as he strode toward his bedroom. He needed to be alone. He needed to think. A crisp fluttering at his sides made him aware that he still gripped the terrible letters.
One from Vera’s mother, disowning her.
The other from a man who’d offered a very improper position of employment.
Stephen had told himself he had no choice but to find out what Miss Ashbury was hiding.
He’d read everything—her letters, her journals, even the start of her response to the odious Mr. Audel—which Stephen couldn’t help but notice had been dated only that morning.
Which meant that Miss Ashbury had held off answering for weeks, but only started to agree once her position became truly untenable.
He’d done that.
Stephen ran a hand through his overlong hair. He had been the one who’d made her feel so unwelcome that she thought she had no choice but to write to that terrible man. Stephen doubted the man even had daughters—he’d certainly glossed over them in his letter.
It hardly mattered now. Vera certainly wouldn’t stay, now that Stephen had invaded her privacy so thoroughly.
He closed his bedroom door behind him and leaned against it, letting his breath out in a huff of a sigh. He shook his head.
He wouldn’t blame Miss Ashbury if she went straight to his mother and told her what he’d done. He might, if he were in her delicate little shoes. And his mother would be right to side with her against him.
Stephen collapsed into his desk chair and tried to think clearly.
He’d been correct in one aspect—Miss Vera Ashbury was hiding something.
But it was nothing close to what Stephen had suspected. She’d been disowned by her parents, for something as trivial as joining her dear friend in the countryside for a matter of months.
He’d found the stack of letters Vera had written to her parents—all of them drafts, all of them unsent. Stephen wondered if they were just for her own edification—some had begged for forgiveness, others had enumerated the terrible treatment she’d received at the hands of her own mother.
He’d also found neatly organized business correspondence.
Vera was trying to find employment. She’d kept detailed records of every job she’d written about.
There’d been dozens—she’d started out only inquiring about companions for the elderly and governess positions, but lately had been writing for all manner of jobs—maids, shop girl postings, everything.
A slimy thread of shame worked its way though his stomach. He groaned softly, dropping his head into his hands.
When he first decided to be a physician, it was because he wanted to help people. He’d prided himself on making the world better for those around him. He knew he’d done good for many people.
But not for Vera Ashbury.
For her, he’d made the world more difficult, made an already impossible situation far worse. He’d been all the things he prided himself on never being. He’d acted the part of the brute. He’d been terrible.
What could he possibly do to fix it?
He strode to the door, then jogged down the stairs. The housekeeper stood in the hallway.
“Miss Ashbury requires a hot bath and a full tea tray sent to her room.”
“Very good, my lord.” She nodded toward the door. “Does that mean she won’t be returning to Montclare today?”
“I don’t believe so. Will you send a servant back to wait on Benjamin and accompany him on his return? Please give the Duchess of Canterbury Miss Ashbury’s sincere apologies. Tell her Vera isn’t feeling well enough to return.”
“Indeed, my lord.” She hurried to do his bidding.
Stephen took the stairs to his bedroom two at a time and shut himself in once more. As far as apologies went, offering a hot bath and some tea wasn’t much, but it was a start.
By that evening, Stephen was surprised he hadn’t worn a path into the thick rug in his bedroom with his pacing, but he had a plan. One that he’d already put into motion, as much as he could by sending off several letters.
He dressed for dinner far earlier than necessary and went to stand outside Vera’s door. If he were her, he wouldn’t come down for dinner that night. But he wanted her to. He’d been surprised to realize, sometime during that long afternoon, that he wanted her forgiveness.
He raised his fist and rapped it against the door.
“Yes?”
Her voice was clear, at least. It didn’t sound as if she had been crying all day. That was something, he supposed.
“It’s Stephen.”
Her response was a whip crack. “Go away.”
He’d expected as much, but it still made him flinch. He deserved it.
“I came to apologize. I’m going to stand here until you’re ready to speak with me.”
He jerked in surprise when the door flew open to reveal her scowling face. “This is your plan, is it? To hound me into accepting an apology, just to make you feel better?”
Stephen shook his head and handed over the letters, which he’d refolded. “Here. No. I need to speak to you. I…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone through your things. I shouldn’t have gone into your room.”
He kept his voice low in case someone was down the hallway, out of sight.
“No, you shouldn’t have. But are you truly sorry that you did?” She lifted her eyebrows in challenge.
He thought about it, and his mouth twisted, giving away his honest answer before he could speak it.
“That’s what I thought.”
She went to slam the door, and he jammed his foot in the way. “Please, wait. Just wait a minute. Ow!”
Vera Ashbury rhythmically slammed the door onto his foot. Had he once thought this lady shy? She was disproving every part of that notion now, color high on her cheeks, her eyes flashing with fury.
Still, he kept his foot in the way. “You can’t accept that horrible man’s offer.”
That was enough to get her to pause her relentless assault on his boot.
“You are not my father, or my brothers. You don’t have any say in what I do, or for whom I work.”
She pulled the door back, her face screwed up with the preliminary effort of her next slam, which looked like it was going to be a doozy.
“I’d like you to work for me.”
“What?” Her hands dropped from the door in her shock.
Stephen tried to keep the relief from his face—his foot was throbbing. “You need references; I can give you one. As long as you earn it, I mean.”
“Are you in need of a governess?” she snapped, rolling up on her tip-toes to jam her face closer to his. “Perhaps someone to teach you basic manners, fifteen years too late? It’s too large a task for me, I’m afraid. Seek out someone with a bullwhip—that ought to do it.”
Stephen couldn’t help it; he grinned at her impertinence. Her eyebrows flew higher on her face; she gripped the door and wound it back once more.
“Wait!” He held up his hands. “I’m serious. I’m offering you a legitimate position, away from that dreadful Mr. Audel. Work for me for three months, and I’ll give you a glowing reference. You’ll be able to have your pick of any posting after that.”
“What, pray tell, would the position entail? Say all you want about Mr. Audel, but there’s only one man who’s actually let himself into my bedroom uninvited.”
Stephen’s cheeks grew hot with his embarrassment. He prayed his beard covered most of it.
“Stop hitting me with your door for a moment, and I’ll tell you.”
“…And we had a picnic, and Seamus ate a plate of cheese when we weren’t looking, and they’re going to make him sleep in the stables tonight, for the smell.”
The baroness looked heavenward. “Really, Benjamin. We’re at the dinner table. If you want to eat with us, you must observe some propriety.”
Stephen personally thought that a rich statement, coming from a lady who currently wore trim trousers and a pair of mud-splattered Hessians that rolled up to her knees, but he was wise enough to keep the thought to himself.
“Sorry. What about you, Mother?” Benjamin asked, carefully cutting into his fish. The tip of his tongue poked out the corner of his mouth in concentration.
“I went for a walk,” she said. “Still looking for that fox.”
There was something in her voice that had Stephen narrowing his eyes slightly. Something about her breathing or her octave was a bit strange. He glanced at Vera—her head was cocked, ever so slightly, as if she’d heard it, too.
“I certainly wish I’d seen Seamus push you into the fountain, Miss Vera,” Benjamin added, eyes wide. “That is, I’m glad you’re not hurt.”
“I made quite a splash, I admit it.”
Stephen tried to ignore the fact that Vera hadn’t made eye contact with him once since taking her place. Even when she’d asked him to pass the salt, she’d addressed his earlobe. It hardly boded well for her accepting his offer.
He shifted in his seat and frowned. He wanted her to agree.
Not only because the idea of becoming the countryside’s physician had been nagging at him since his mother mentioned it, but because he wanted something good to come from his terrible mistake with Vera.
This, he reasoned, was a prudent plan, where both of them could walk away feeling better about things.
And Stephen desperately wanted to feel better about things.
He didn’t want to keep feeling like the kind of person who thought the worst of others, the type of person who broke into a young lady’s bedroom and read all her correspondence to prove…to prove what?
He winced as he reviewed all the suspicions he’d had about Miss Vera Ashbury.
“Is it the fish?” his mother asked, peering over at him. “I keep asking Mrs. Portence to use more salt. Roland, please bring him the salt cellar.”
The stoic butler did as she asked; Stephen had no choice but to sprinkle a small spoonful of salt over his already delicious fish.
“Have you given any more thought to what I said, Stephen? About going back into medicine?”