Chapter 31 - Stephen
Vera continued to recover at an admirable rate. The following week, she was well enough to gingerly make her way downstairs every day, one hand tucked safely into the crook of Stephen’s arm, the other gripping the banister.
The week after that, Vera was able to make her way on her own.
Stephen had mixed emotions on the subject.
On one hand, he was thrilled that her ankle was healing so quickly.
On the other, Stephen selfishly missed her hand clutching his elbow, missed bearing Vera’s pleasant weight as he helped her down the stairs.
That particular day, the weather was cold but sunny.
The temperatures had been hinting at snow, though it hadn’t appeared yet.
At the thought of snow, and based on his terrible memories of Vera wet, bedraggled, and stranded in the storm, Stephen had brought Vera into the front parlor and presented her with a gift.
“I look like an idiot.” Her words came from somewhere within the great quantity of oilskin.
Stephen frowned. He was obliged to try to read her tone, for now that he really looked, he realized he couldn’t quite make out Vera’s face.
“But you’ll be warm.”
Vera turned toward him, but with the large collar of the coat pulled all the way up and the hat pulled all the way down, all he could make out were her eyes. They flashed with some emotion he couldn’t identify.
“It’s far too large, Stephen.”
“They all look like that,” he protested.
“That’s not true. When you wear your coat, you still have use of your hands.”
Vera held up her arms as if for his inspection, and he realized that the sleeves swallowed all but the very tips of her bare fingers. He frowned. What an oversight! He should have bought her gloves, as well.
Vera lumbered across the room, the oilskin whispering against itself as she walked.
She paused in front of one of the tall mirrors that flanked the side table.
Stephen assumed that she was examining her reflection based upon her proximity, but it was hard to tell for certain.
He couldn’t see her eyes from beneath the brim of the hat.
Stephen frowned. Perhaps the hat was a trifle overlarge, now that he truly studied it.
The brim was far wider than his own hat, and a bit floppy, but he’d thought that would offer additional protection from the rain.
And it could be said that the coat might need a bit of tailoring, but he’d wanted to make sure that it covered her thoroughly.
As he made his own perusal of the oilskin ensemble, he noticed she was shaking.
“Vera?” he sat forward. “Are you quite all right?”
“Quite.” But her voice had a breathless quality about it—one that hinted at tears.
Stephen fairly leapt from the sofa. “No you’re not. What is it? Is it your ankle?”
Inexplicably, she tilted her head back and laughed. “Stephen, look at me. It’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever worn, and with a mother like mine, believe me when I tell you that’s saying something. In fact, I never thought I’d look this terrible ever again.”
He frowned. “Surely it isn’t that bad.”
She laughed again and waved her arms for emphasis. “Can you even tell it’s me under all this?”
He twisted his lips to the side and refused to answer. “I wanted you to be warm.”
She pushed the large brim of her hat back to look up at him. In the brief second before it flopped back down, he glimpsed her bright eyes full of mirth. But then they were gone, as was her face—swallowed anew by the great quantity of oilskin.
“Perhaps I might have gone a bit awry with the sizing.”
“Oh, you think so?” She shook with a fresh round of giggles. “Stephen, it’s dreadful. By far the worst thing I’ve ever worn, and all because you care so much. Thank you.”
Vera abruptly flung herself at him, hugging him round the middle.
Stephen frowned even as he returned the embrace—the coat really was unacceptably large—he could barely feel her at all through the miles of fabric.
Still, he wouldn’t turn down a hug from Vera, even if she was only giving it as a friend.
You dolt, Stephen thought. No wonder she thinks you’re just friends! You’ve given her only two presents. One of them regularly soils the rug, the other appears to be footman’s garb.
“Sorry,” she said, pressing back from him abruptly.
“Not at all. I’m glad you appreciate the thought behind the gift, even if the execution left a bit to be desired.”
“I will certainly stay warm and dry in this. Though I won’t be able to see where we’re going. Which is fine, as I’ve yet to learn how to drive the cart.”
At least Vera sounded settled, as if she might stay. There had been times when he’d caught a certain softness in her eye as she looked at him. Still, Stephen couldn’t be sure of her feelings, not until he asked her.
Not until he told her how he truly felt.
The letter in his inner coat pocket felt as if it weighed far more than it did. What if, when he gave it to her, she simply left? There was no bracing himself for such a possibility—it was simply a risk he had to take.
Stephen jammed his hands into his pockets to keep them from trembling. He gave a wide smile to hide his uncertainty.
“Well, the weather’s clear enough. How about a walk to try out the coat?”
Vera brightened—until now, Stephen had been very stern about keeping her indoors. Suddenly he felt guilty. The first time he’d suggested a walk, and he was going to use the time selfishly. After this walk, one way or another, their relationship would never be the same.
Vera beamed. “I’d love that, but I’m not wearing the hat. I won’t be able to enjoy the sunshine.”