Page 106 of Miss Ashbury and the Anatomy of Mending a Heart

Vera plucked at the stiff taffeta of her skirts and frowned. Surely he would wait for her. Surely he wouldn’t take her lack of a response as a denial…right? But in that moment, Vera suddenly wasn’t sure. It must be a difficult thing, to declare oneself and ask for a lady’s hand. Far worse to ask and then have the lady say nothing at all.

Across the pond, the swan lifted its head once more. Vera turned to see what had captured its attention. A gentleman approached through the mist. Some nobleman taking his daily constitutional around the park, no doubt. At this distance, Vera could almost imagine it was Stephen walking toward her. The man had similar height, dark hair, a similar gait.

Several moments later, Vera stood with a slight gasp. It wasn’t her wishful thinking—it was him. The improbability of it staggered her for a moment. What on earth was Stephen doing in London?

When he got closer, he called, “Vera.”

Vera had the sense to close her gaping mouth, but that was all she could manage.

And then Stephen was there, and real, and pulling her into a hug. Vera dug her fingers into the fine charcoal wool of his coat and sagged against him.

“I’m so sorry about your mother,” Stephen said.

“What are you doing here?” Vera’s bewildered words were muffled against his chest.

Her head was tucked quite neatly beneath his chin. She could smell the combination that was uniquely him—soap, cedar, and just a hint of medical disinfectant. To Vera, it was the headiest cologne in the world.

“I’m here for you, naturally.”

One hand soothed Vera’s back in slow strokes, leaving a wash of pleasant warmth behind every pass. The beating of his heart was a steady thrum beneath her ear. He was strong, sure, and she felt safe in his capable arms.

After long moments where Stephen simply held her, he finally set her back far enough to peer down at her face. “How are you, Vera?”

“Much better, now that you’re here. I feel terrible about how we parted. I hope you know I thought of you every day since I’ve been gone.”

More like every hour, she thought, though it felt reckless to admit such a thing.

“And I you.” His warm smile crinkled the corners of his intelligent eyes.

“Now that we’re together again, I must answer your question⁠—”

“No.” Stephen held up a hand.

Vera’s heart lurched. What did he mean, “no”?

“I don’t want you to answer the question, not when it was so inappropriate in light of the circumstances.”

“Circumstances?” she echoed faintly.

The only thing keeping her tethered was the fact that Stephen still held her waist. Vera’s fingers clutched deeper into his coat, as if he might thrust her from him at any moment.

“Of course. It’s not how things are done. Though I confess I never meant to cut your father out of the rightful proceedings, but both of us were working with faulty information. It was easily rectified.”

“It was?”

Once again, his words had turned Vera into a deranged echo. She clamped her mouth closed and decided not to utter another word until she caught the full meaning of what he was saying. It was one thing to be stupid—it was another thing to let on by speaking every moronic thought in her head.

Stephen’s smile deepened, as if he could read her thoughts. As if he considered her dull repetitions adorable instead of idiotic.

“Of course. I just came from speaking to your father.”

You did? Vera thought, but kept the promise she’d made to herself and sealed her lips.

“He’s agreed to let me ask you a very important question.”

Here, Vera was obliged to let go of his coat, as Stephen dropped to one knee. She thought it was safe to do so—he could hardly make a run for it from that position, and she’d kick him hard in the knee if he tried.

“Vera Callista Ashbury, I love you. Deeply⁠—”