Chapter 10 - Vera
“Good heavens,” Stephen murmured, three days later. “Where on earth did Mother find her?”
They stood on the front steps of Bertforth House, the sun dappling their shoulders while a cool breeze ruffled the trimmed hedges on either side of the door.
The baroness had informed them that Vera’s chaperone would arrive that morning promptly at eight.
Stepping down from the plain carriage in the drive was a tall blonde woman who clutched a fearsome umbrella in one of her capable hands.
Vera smiled widely for the first time since she’d found Stephen rummaging through her correspondence. It had been three days, and three days without smiling was quite long enough.
“Hortense!” She ran forward and threw her arms around the woman. “How are you?”
“Very well, Miss Ashbury. And yourself?”
Vera held her at arm’s length and beamed up at her. “When Jacqueline said she was going to hire a maid to accompany me, I had no idea it was you she spoke of.” She frowned. “But won’t your husband miss your help at the store?”
Hortense’s cheeks grew a bit pink. “Though my husband and I love each other dearly, it seems our relationship is best served with us working separately.”
Vera laughed. “I can’t claim that I’m not delighted. What about Candace—er, the Duchess of Canterbury? Won’t she be upset that we’ve stolen you away for ourselves?”
“Her Grace already has a lady’s maid. I believe she had to hire two to replace me, actually.” The last was said with no small amount of pride.
“I don’t doubt it. Candace always claimed you were the best lady’s maid in all of England. It would follow that it would take at least two to take your place.”
“This must be the doctor I’ve heard so much about.” Her lips thinned as Stephen approached.
Vera cleared her throat. “Lord Winthrop, may I present Miss—er, Mrs. Harris?”
“Lovely to meet you, Mrs. Harris,” Stephen said. “But it’s Dr. Winthrop, actually. Especially when we’re working.”
“Of course, Doctor.” Hortense held out a hand.
Vera couldn’t figure out how such a small motion could convey so much challenge, but Hortense had somehow managed it. Perhaps it was because Hortense was only a couple of inches shorter than the man, though he was much broader through the shoulders.
Stephen took her hand and shook it crisply. “I think it’s wonderful Mother has hired such a capable young lady to help us. If the cart gets stuck in the mud, you can help push it out.”
With that shocking proclamation, he moved past both of them toward the cart. He gained the front seat easily, gathering the reins in his hands as if he’d done it a hundred times before. Hortense arched an eyebrow at Vera, who widened her eyes and gave a shrug in response.
“Well?” Stephen asked. “Are you ladies coming?”
Vera sat on the front board with Stephen and tried to ignore how much she disliked him. Worse, it was like the man didn’t know how she felt—he acted as if nothing unpleasant had ever transpired between them.
He held the reins with a quiet confidence that Vera couldn’t help but envy. She sneaked a sidelong glance at him. Dark hair, curling at the temples, a dark beard that waved and still made him appear like a down-on-his-luck dockworker.
Stephen appeared a bit more civilized than the first time she’d seen him—but only by a small margin.
It was the difference that a bath, a trim, and a comb made, nothing more.
She tried not to cringe as she remembered the whistle of the fire poker as she’d swung it through the air.
If she’d known what he truly was like, she might have tried harder.
He let the horses take the lead down the worn road that wound past the village and over a small river. The cart’s wheels rumbled over the little wooden bridge, and Vera leaned to peer at the gentle eddies of water swirling over pebbles below.
“Milton’s Creek,” Stephen said, as if she’d asked.
Vera nodded stiffly, but she was determined not to relinquish her anger at him before she was ready. When that would be, even she didn’t know.
“We’re going to see Mr. Douglas,” Stephen called, loud enough for even Hortense to hear over the crunch of wagon wheels and the clopping of horse hooves. “He’s a widower who lives on a small farm. Mother says he’s been feeling poorly, doesn’t want to call for a physician.”
“Is he not expecting us, then?” Vera blinked.
The idea didn’t help the disquiet roiling in her stomach. Against all her well-reasoned arguments why she shouldn’t be, she was nervous. She’d never held a position before, and despite the acrimony that lay between her and the doctor, she desperately wanted to do a good job.
It wasn’t just the reference, either, though that was part of it—she longed for the day when she could put this chapter of her life behind her.
She thought of it—envisioned a clear, bright morning not too long in the future when Stephen would hold out a letter he’d written that would give her the power to support herself, to never depend on anyone else, ever again.
“Not that I’m aware of.” He shrugged as if the thought didn’t bother him in the least.
Vera held the edges of her shawl even more tightly around her. Not only was it her first day of employment—ever—but they were arriving unannounced, uninvited. What did Stephen intend on doing—barging in and thrusting a tongue depressor down the man’s throat?
She had a sudden, inappropriate image of the doctor and a faceless elderly gentleman wrestling over a thermometer, and she barely stifled a nervous giggle. It came out as a jarring hiccup instead.
Stephen slid those brown eyes toward her, then looked back to the road.
Keep it together, Vera, she chided herself. The man already thinks little of you.
She wished she didn’t give a whit for his opinion—it was he who should be desperate for her good favor, after what he’d done—but wanting the approval of others was an ingrained habit she’d yet to break.
Perhaps it was the result of growing up with a mother who was forever unsatisfied with her appearance, her manners, her words.
Whatever the cause, Vera cared deeply about what people thought of her.
It was not her appearance or social standing she was concerned for—such petty cares had been eradicated by years of ballroom laughter at her expense.
Perhaps it was because she knew she couldn’t compete in those other arenas that made Vera value what people thought of her more important attributes all the more.
She wanted to be seen as capable, intelligent, kind, reliable.
With Stephen as her employer, it was doubly important he thought so.
Mr. Douglas’s house was a small stone cottage with a freshly thatched roof. The yard was tidy, the fence that bordered the lane in good repair. A tuft of grey-blue smoke wafted from the chimney. Several chickens scattered when their cart pulled to a stop in the drive.
“I’ll go first.” Stephen slid a sardonic gaze toward Vera. “Don’t want the man alarmed, thinking that a herd of noble do-gooders have arrived on his doorstep.”
“Heaven forbid,” Hortense murmured as soon as Stephen alighted from the cart.
Vera smiled to herself. At least she wasn’t alone in this venture. She wasn’t quite sure what Jacqueline had told Hortense, but there’d been an instant understanding between them, an expression Hortense had gifted Vera upon her arrival that told her that the maid was stoutly on her side.
After a moment where Stephen stood upon the doorstep, the front door was opened by a person Vera couldn’t see. Words were exchanged, and Stephen ducked inside.
“Are you quite all right, Miss Ashbury?” Hortense said now that they were truly alone.
“Of course.” Vera blinked with surprise that she actually meant it.
Other than Stephen being unwelcoming—other than him going through her private things, invading her bedroom, and reading her most embarrassing, most personal missives—she had little complaint at all.
“He reminds me of Shelbourne,” the maid said, her tone dark.
“Does he?”
Vera thought for a moment, but she couldn’t find any similarities between the man who’d publicly thrown Candace over and the doctor who’d just returned from India.
“Well, he reminds me of Shelbourne in that I don’t like him very much,” Hortense finally admitted.
Vera grinned and turned halfway in her seat to see her better. “It’s wonderful to have you. Are you sure your husband approves?”
“Of course.” Hortense waved a gloved hand. “As long as I’m home in time for dinner, there’ll be no complaints.”
“Are you…are you quite happy?”
“I am.” She gave a smile and a nod that put an end to any doubt on the matter.
“I’m far happier than I’ve ever been, which is saying something, as I quite enjoyed my time with Her Grace.
I’m lucky to have married a man who loves me, whom I love back, and one who already had competent help on staff. ”
Vera grinned. “I’m happy to hear it.”
“Well, come on then.” Stephen suddenly stood, fists propped on his hips, next to the cart. “This isn’t a tea party.”
Hortense raised an eyebrow at Vera, but they each accepted his hand and clambered down.
“He’s ill, then?” Vera asked.
“That is why we’re here.”
Vera stopped herself from sticking her tongue out at his back as she followed Stephen up the walk; she settled for scrunching her nose instead. Hortense’s smirk told Vera she’d seen it.
“I’ll tend to Mr. Douglas,” Stephen murmured. “You two see what you can do with the girl.”
“What girl?” Vera stopped on the front step—he’d said Mr. Douglas was a widower of seventy with no children.
“The girl. The girl in the house.” Stephen stalked in and Vera had little choice but to follow. “She’s in the kitchen.”
“What girl?” Vera repeated, to Hortense.
Hortense just shrugged, for of course she knew no more than Vera did.