Chapter 10 - Vera #3
“I don’t think he did,” he said cheerfully. “But judging by what he told me, once he saw her plight, he couldn’t just leave her there.”
“I’m not sure that her plight is any better with Mr. Douglas.”
Stephen’s brown eyes slid over to her in that low searching way he had. “Did she seem mistreated? Did she seem hungry? Did you observe any marks that would speak to abuse?”
Vera considered for a moment. The girl had eaten every biscuit she could get her grasping hands on, but that wasn’t altogether rare for a child of that age.
“No, but she hadn’t been bathed in well over a week.”
“Your parameters on judging parents are harsh—there isn’t a family in Cheapside who would survive your examination.”
“That’s not the point—”
“I’m well aware of what the point is. The point is that people think when a child is born into a family, that must be the best place for them, no matter what.
That’s not always the case. You’re judging Mr. Douglas far more harshly than you’d judge that little girl’s parents, even though by the sound of things, the reverse should be true. ”
Vera watched the countryside pass by—a pleasant, living painting of pastoral green grass and gently waving tree branches. Stephen was right, and she didn’t like it in the least.
“What I want to know,” he said, breaking her reverie, “is how you ended up soaking wet? And why on earth did you put her in the brazier pan? Were you planning on turning the poor darling into a cassoulet?”
By the time they arrived back at Bertforth House, Vera was exhausted, and though it was a mild day, the gentle breeze from the ride back had chilled her thoroughly.
She’d come to the realization that perhaps Anne living with Mr. Douglas wasn’t what had bothered her.
Maybe it was the fact that she saw part of herself in Anne’s situation—without family, living on the charity of strangers.
She waved at Hortense as the woman departed. All Vera wanted to do was to have a bath of her own, to thaw herself before a fire and escape into a book.
Stephen turned to her with a grin and said, “Mr. Douglas needs congestion medicine. Tomorrow, we’ll replant the greenhouse.”
Vera was irritated that he looked energized by the thought. His broad shoulders were back; a smile lit his face. She felt bedraggled and tired in contrast.
She nodded and pulled her shawl more firmly around her shoulders. “Very well.”
“I think this is the start of an excellent partnership.”
Perhaps if he’d said the words in a more stoic tone, she wouldn’t have taken umbrage, but he sounded far too cheerful for her liking.
“Let me make one thing exceedingly clear: I haven’t forgiven you, not even a little.
In your mind, you offering me a position, offering me the chance to earn a reference, to earn your approval, is sufficient apology.
But you forced me into this. You’re right—I have no other option available to me at the moment. The second I do, I’ll leave.”
Stephen frowned. Vera could guess at his thoughts—he probably didn’t feel he’d forced her into anything.
He probably thought he’d given her a chance at a respectable position, when all she had before was a letter from a dastardly man and no references at all.
The truth of what she imagined Stephen thought angered her even more.
“I don’t like you,” she hissed.
His eyes snapped to hers, wide in surprise.
But she wasn’t finished venting her vitriol.
“I don’t know what happened to you to make you such a distrustful, bitter person.
I don’t care. It’s not my responsibility to understand or fix it—that’s your responsibility.
So yes, I’ll be your assistant. I will do what is asked of me without complaint.
But make no mistake—we’re not in this together. ”
With that, she whirled toward the house with as much grace as she could muster in her sodden dress.
The next morning, Vera opened her eyes and groaned.
The day she’d been dreading for weeks was finally here.
It was her birthday, and no one within fifty miles knew or cared.
Well, she thought, throwing back the bedcovers and sliding her feet into slippers, no one in a thousand miles cared. No one cared.
Back home, in London, birthdays were the one day her mother treated her nicely. Lady Ashbury deferred to Vera, allowing her to choose an outing—a trip to an iced cream shoppe, or luncheon at one of the grand hotels. There would be a present, and always a cake with dinner.
This year, there would be nothing.
She supposed it was appropriate. After all, what was the point of celebrating the birthday that put one firmly on the shelf?
She was twenty-five today. No family, no employment—at least, not one that she’d been awarded honorably—and no references.
A single man hadn’t looked seriously at her since that Lord Whoever-He-Was.
Heavens, she couldn’t even remember his name—only that he’d been color-blind and hadn’t minded her terrible-patterned gown at a ball her first Season. Lady Ashbury had quickly sussed the problem and rectified it with mounds of padding.
Vera sighed and scrubbed at her face. She slid on a dressing gown, cinched the sash around her waist, and slumped onto the padded stool before the vanity mirror.
She frowned. She certainly didn’t look any different. Same ash-brown hair, same hazel eyes. Same straight nose and full lips. Vera had just unpinned her hair and picked up her brush when a bloodcurdling scream echoed down the hall.
Jacqueline, Vera thought, and lunged for the fire poker before running toward the source of the tumult.