Chapter 15 #2
If he’d looked like this when he’d entered his familial estate and bellowed at her, she would still have been confused and affronted, but she wouldn’t have tried to murder him with a poker. If he’d looked like this those weeks ago, she would have shown considerable more respect.
If he’d looked like this weeks ago, she would have fled to Candace’s doorstep and begged to be taken in. For Vera would have known then what she knew now—that it was going to be nigh on impossible not to stare at the man like some kind of mute imbecile.
He was too handsome—a mind-muddling, slack-jawed kind of handsome. A kind of handsome that made a shiver of fear—it absolutely was fear, there was no possibility it was some other emotion—run up her back.
Worse yet, now she knew the man well enough to respect him. With attraction and respect, and friendship on top of it, how far would that mental scale have to tilt until she bore far more uncomfortable feelings?
Not far. Not far at all.
“Is something wrong with the bacon?”
He jerked a nod down at her hand, which limply held tongs over the platter.
“Of course not. Just deciding.”
Did she want bacon?
Did she even like bacon?
Heaven help her, had she ever had bacon before?
Vera was so confused, she could barely focus on the task at hand. In the end, she scooped a huge serving of bacon onto her plate, then blinked at it in surprise.
Eight slices! How on earth was she going to eat eight slices of bacon? What on earth was she thinking?
“Ah, you have an appetite this morning. That’s good.”
A footman fled out the door to the kitchens, presumably to order more bacon.
“Pardon?” Vera blinked at him. Or rather, she blinked at those sharp cheekbones of his.
“Last night,” he prompted, then raised an eyebrow. “Mr. May? Some people cannot eat for days after such a thing. It bodes well that it hasn’t affected your hunger.”
“I hardly think I’ll help the man by going hungry.”
Stephen laughed, shook his head. Vera nearly reared back at the sight of his smile and wondered if it was too late to feign illness and flee to the safety of her rooms.
“I think you’re perfectly suited to the medical profession, if that’s your reply.”
Vera scooped some fluffy eggs onto her plate, proud of herself when she discovered it was a normal-sized scoop and not a heaping one. She stepped closer to him and her eyes slid to take in his profile once more.
“Do you not like it, then?” He slid a hand over his face and chin, wincing.
“What?”
“My beard. Do you miss it?”
“Sort of,” she croaked, then collected herself. “It’s just different. It will take some time to get used to.”
“So you do like it?”
“It’s fine.”
Fine? Fine? There was nothing about this situation that was fine. The word was an insult, for one thing—to his beard, to his face. Besides, Vera did not feel fine. She felt slightly queasy and unmoored, as if she’d been cast out to sea on a tiny raft.
What was she to do? How was she going to work with this man every day, live with him, while he looked like that?
“You and Benjamin planted the rosemary too closely,” Stephen said.
He’d finished piling his plate and took a seat at the table.
Ah, Vera thought, relieved. See? He’s still insufferable.
That was far easier to deal with—a handsome, insufferable man was no trouble at all. Vera took the chair next to him and plucked a piece of buttered toast from the toast rack.
“So I transplanted them,” he added blithely, smearing strawberry jam upon his toast and passing her the jar. “Thank you for planting the herbs, by the way. It was helpful.”
She took a huge bite of toast and nodded, wincing internally.
“You’ve actually been a great help to me these past few weeks,” he continued.
Vera nodded again, but she had a sudden mental image of her throwing her plate in his face and shrieking at him to shut up. Intelligent, handsome, and appreciative? Heaven help her—this couldn’t be happening. Maybe Candace would still take her in.
“I thought we’d go see Mrs. May this afternoon, or tomorrow. Check in, bring a basket. See how she and the children have been faring. If she’s not sleeping well, I have a tonic for that.”
Thoughtful, too?
Vera wondered if it was too early to request a brandy. She looked longingly at the far sideboard, but since the decanters weren’t even out at the moment, she thought it best to refrain.
“Good morning, Stephen, Vera.” Jacqueline paused in the doorway, then offered Stephen a radiant smile. “You finally took my advice. I’m glad to see you’re handsome as ever under all that fur. I will admit, I wondered.”
“Good morning, Mother,” Stephen said.
Vera was momentarily relieved that someone had joined them.
Although, on second thought, she wished it had been Benjamin.
Jacqueline had notoriously sharp eyes—surely she’d pick up on Vera’s discomfort.
Come to think of it, that was probably where Stephen had inherited his powers of observation.
Their eyes and hair were the same, but everything else must have been inherited from his father.
“Did you sleep well, dear?” Jacqueline had bestowed a kiss upon Stephen’s cheek and now paused to brush one upon Vera.
“Very well, thank you. And yourself?”
“Like the dead. Oh, pardon me. I’m sorry—I heard about that terrible thing with Mr. May.”
It had been terrible, but Vera still found her first bite of bacon particularly delicious. Perhaps she could manage eight slices, after all.
Jacqueline’s concerned eyes were upon Vera, but it was Stephen who answered her. “Don’t worry—it seems our Vera has a firm constitution.”
“Our” Vera? that stupid, hopeful voice in her head whispered. Vera chewed her bacon and slammed a mental door in the voice’s face. It wasn’t as if the man had said “my” Vera, after all. Not that such a sentiment would have been welcome.
“What are your plans for the day?” Jacqueline asked.
Vera was grateful when the conversation meandered on with very little input from her. She was even more grateful when Benjamin wandered down the stairs, got a plate, and sat next to her—it was far easier to sneak him her extra pieces of bacon without reaching across the table.
It was only later, when breakfast was finished and she stood, that she realized her mistake—she hadn’t been paying enough attention.
“Vera, do you need some time to prepare, or are you ready to go now?” Stephen’s face was expectant.
“Pardon?”
“To the village. To buy the ingredients for Mrs. May’s sleeping tonic.” He frowned. “Are you sure you’re feeling well?”
“Quite well,” she reflexively answered, then berated herself for not taking the opportunity to feign a small illness or headache.
“Do you need a moment?” Stephen took up his tea and downed the last of it in one go.
“Just let me grab my shawl.”