Chapter 29 - Vera
Goodness’ sakes, Vera, she chided. Get ahold of yourself.
But it perhaps wasn’t her fault. Stephen had held her like she was unexpectedly precious.
The dampness of her gown and cloak meant that the delicious heat of his body had transferred very easily to her.
Vera told herself that it was only because she was so cold that she longed for him to hold her like that forever.
But then—as if the embrace hadn’t been disorienting enough—Stephen had picked her up and carried her.
It was just like all those romantic heroes in Candace’s gothic novels.
Except Vera didn’t feel like a heroine so much as a bedraggled rat that had been wedged in a drainpipe.
Her hair stuck to her neck like wet grass.
Her one stockinged foot was muddy to her knee, and the other ankle felt like a painful grapefruit-sized lump.
Though she appreciated how quickly Stephen rode toward Bertforth House, she winced every other minute. Her foot dangled awkwardly and bumped the side of the horse. Vera noticed that Stephen had dropped the lead of the other horse, the one she’d saved.
“Is he going to be all right?” Vera lifted her voice to be heard over the squelching hoofbeats and the rain that pelted and stung at her cheeks.
“Who?”
“The horse. You left him.”
“You and that blasted horse. I don’t care about the horse.”
Vera frowned. “I do.”
“He’s keeping pace with us. He doesn’t want to be alone in this storm any more than we do.”
“He left me easily enough.” Vera fidgeted and leaned, trying to turn her head and see around Stephen’s bulk to check on the animal.
“Stop wiggling.” The large hand that held her in the saddle spasmed on her stomach, and she froze.
Vera hadn’t been aware that Stephen was holding her until that moment. Now, she didn’t think she could feel anything else. The stinging rain, the cold of her limbs, even the throbbing in her ankle—it all dulled in comparison to that warm hand steadying her.
“The horse is there,” he said, oblivious to her sudden inner turmoil. “Don’t you trust me?”
“I do.”
Vera realized the truth of the words as she said them. She did trust him. Despite the odds. Despite their terrible start. She trusted Stephen.
It was quite the feat on his part, considering that Vera’s trust of people had been at a low point after what her parents had done. In fact, how had Stephen managed to do it—to get Vera to trust him, after she’d sworn never to trust anyone again if she could help it?
It was probably how competent he was as a physician. Because he was a remarkable doctor—kind but firm, and he had a knack for knowing what was wrong with people, even if they explained it poorly.
Then there was the whole altruistic side of him.
The part of Stephen that had prompted him to go to India was still alive and well.
Vera hadn’t been shocked when he took Anne in, not the same way others had been.
Stephen possessed a brusque demeanor, but his insides were ordered in a warm and lovely way.
Vera saw it in the way he cared for his mother, for Benjamin, and now for Anne, too.
Vera had once thought Stephen to be a brute of the highest order.
He’d treated her abominably at the outset of their relationship, but he was the first to admit as much.
He’d repeatedly shown her who he truly was—through his professional, courteous treatment as his assistant, with their long walks discussing everything, where he listened closely to her opinions and pondered them carefully before replying, even through his gentle handling of her this evening.
It was perhaps for the best, how they’d started, Vera mused. For if she hadn’t hated him at the outset, she never would have had the courage to truly be herself around him.
Now, Vera felt something new blooming between them.
It was something she didn’t dare name, something she didn’t dare make direct eye contact with.
She caught glances of it from the corner of her eye sometimes, and that was quite enough to make her shiver.
Often she caught herself lying abed at night, staring up at the canopy, and not not thinking of what it might be.
But oh no! Suddenly, on this ride back to the house, with his great overcoat draped over her, with the heat of his chest pressed to her sodden back—this was the poorly chosen moment that her subconscious decided to drop the full weight of the realization that she’d been trying to ignore for weeks.
Vera was madly, irrevocably in love with Stephen.
She cursed her traitorous little heart. Why, the thing had been running ahead without Vera’s knowledge or consent!
Surely the rational side of her should have some say in the matter.
But it was no use—when she checked in with the logical part of herself, she was dismayed to realize that it loved Stephen just as much as her idiot, fanciful heart did.
The embarrassment of it—to fall in love with someone who’d once treated her so terribly! Vera felt the realization of her feelings for Stephen as keenly as a physical blow. She even reared her head to silently beg the heavens for help—or, if proper sense was too much to ask for—a lightning bolt.
However, caught as she was in the maelstrom of her thoughts, Vera had forgotten that she was in the midst of a very real storm, and she wasn’t alone.
“Vera?” Stephen asked, his words urgent and loud against her ear. He spoke so closely that a gust of his breath warmed her cheek, and she shivered. “Are you quite all right?”
Vera had been lost to the throes of her own idiocy. She hadn’t realized that when she’d thrown her head back in silent supplication, that she’d sagged her full weight back against him. Now she was all too aware.
Had Vera thought the heat coming off Stephen distracting?
That was before she leaned fully against his muscular chest. The rain had thinned their garments, and she swore she could feel every ripple of movement, the taut control of his body as he steered the horse and supported her.
His warm, capable hand was still pressed to her stomach.
Vera gave an inarticulate grunt of horrified realization—she had been the one to press them together. She struggled forward, trying to gain even a single, blessed inch of space once more. But that hand didn’t let her go anywhere, not even away from his person.
“No. You must be exhausted. Sleep, Vera—I’ll get us there safely.” His words were low, resolute, and placed just along her jawline. Tears of embarrassment pricked at her eyes when she shivered at the feel of his proximity.
Stephen gathered his overcoat around her more fully and leaned into her, trying to shield her from the rain. Vera stifled a groan. He was making it worse, and by the briskness of his movements, she could tell that he had no idea the effect he was having upon her. At least there was that.
Vera suddenly wished for Hortense and her ironwood umbrella with a fierceness that nearly made her laugh.
When they arrived back at the house, Mr. Frederick was directing a group of men into a wagon. Stephen called out to them and dismounted, then helped Vera down from the horse. She stood awkwardly next to him—she would have stepped back, but she was obliged to accept his help.
Her ankle now throbbed with every beat of her heart.
Previously, the pain had been dulled by her myriad other complaints—the dark, the cold, the wind, the loneliness and fear of it all.
Now that warmth lay just across the very near threshold, she found she couldn’t put much weight on the foot at all—not without pain searing through her leg, not without Vera gasping and gritting her teeth.
Stephen disbanded the search party and handed the wet horses off to the footmen, who were all very relieved they didn’t have to go riding for an hour in the storm, after all. Then Stephen swung Vera easily into his arms and plowed up the front steps.
Jacqueline was suddenly there, her expression full of concern, and the housekeeper and Roland, who whipped the servants into a domestic froth. It was but minutes until Vera was ensconced in her bedroom and submerged in a hot bath under the careful ministrations of a solicitous maid.
Vera sighed and relaxed against the back of the tub. Her hair and body had been washed. The chill had fought valiantly against the bathwater and the heavily brandied tea but had finally lost the battle in one final, violent shudder. Then Vera was finally warm through and through.
“Begging your pardon, miss,” the maid said cautiously when Vera’s eyes fluttered closed. “His lordship says you’re not to sleep—not until he’s had time to address that poor ankle of yours.”
Vera sighed but dutifully opened her eyes. She knew Stephen was right, but just once, she wished he’d leave the competent doctoring behind. She was achingly, jaw-crack-yawning exhausted. Her ankle was bright red and very swollen. She’d hissed when Jacqueline had eased the boot off.
“Very well. Will you help me dress?”
“So soon? We have plenty more hot water, if you’d enjoy a longer soak.” She gestured at the three large cans of water set to keep warm before the fire.
“Thank you, but I just want to sleep. Best to get this over with as soon as possible.”
A half an hour later, Vera was propped up in bed against a veritable mountain of downy pillows.
Her one leg jutted awkwardly from the bedclothes, the swollen foot propped on its own pillow, as if the offending ankle were a valuable antiquity being presented to royalty.
She snickered at the thought, even as Jacqueline bustled in with a tray.
Stephen came behind her with his doctor’s case, knocking redundantly upon the doorframe.
“How are you, Vera?” He pulled a chair to her bedside and sat.
Vera couldn’t help it—she laughed. “Don’t you use that doctor tone with me. How many times have I heard you ask the same to a patient?”
Stephen smiled, looking a bit sheepish. “It’s a classic physician’s greeting. Why on earth would I deviate?”
Because we’re closer than that, she wanted to say.
“Very well.” Vera nodded. “You may proceed. But don’t think I’m going to fall for any of your tricks.”
“Tricks?” Jacqueline arched an eyebrow and placed the tray at her bedside. “Have I raised a sneaky son?”
“Two of them, actually, that I know of.” Vera grinned. “But your eldest is possibly the worst. He’s always dropping his doctor questions into casual conversation. The patients have told him everything before they even know they’re being questioned.”
“There’s no need for subterfuge when it comes to you.” Stephen grinned. “We live together. I already know your average diet and how many alcoholic beverages you regularly consume.”
“After that tea your mother made me, my number is well higher than usual.”
He grinned and swiped back his still-damp hair.
Vera was glad he’d had the chance to bathe and warm himself, too.
Stephen focused on her ankle then, sliding his fingers against the skin gently, probing and giving a thoughtful hum.
Then he cradled the back of her foot and gently rotated the ankle, watching it first, then her face.
Vera sincerely hoped that any visible discomfort would be attributed to her injury, and not the riot of emotions that his bare fingers gently handling her ankle provoked.
“It’s not broken, that I can tell. At least, the joint is whole. Cold compresses several times a day, and a lot of rest. You should be well enough within a couple of weeks.”
“That’s a relief. I have several balls to attend in the near future—I want to be sure I’ll be able to waltz.”
She’d meant it as a joke, but Stephen frowned. Vera’s eyes slid to Jacqueline, who pursed her lips, raised her eyebrows, and busied herself with the tray.
Stephen cleared his throat. “Yes, well. I’m sure there’ll be lots of dancing in your future, Vera.”
He patted the bedding next to her foot awkwardly, gathered his case, and left.
Vera frowned after him, then turned to Jacqueline, whispering, “What was that about?”
“What was what?” She set the tray over Vera’s lap. “Eat up. Cook swears by this soup—she weaseled the recipe from Canterbury’s cook years ago and claims she’s made it better with a bit of lemon.”
Vera’s appetite roared to life. Jacqueline kept her company through her supper, joking about Clarence and his reaction to the storm. Apparently, the rascal had buried himself at the back of Jacqueline’s wardrobe and had to be bribed out with raw bacon.
Vera couldn’t remember falling asleep—one moment she was listening to Jacqueline’s animated murmurs about her pets, the next was comfortable darkness and silence.