Page 11 of Miss Ashbury and the Anatomy of Mending a Heart

CHAPTER 3- VERA

Of all the dreadful luck, Vera thought.

Then again, if it weren’t for poor luck, she’d have no luck at all. A brass bell jingled merrily overhead as Vera entered the village inn. Beyond a large archway, small groupings of people sat at tables, eating the stew that the innkeeper’s wife made fresh every morning. The smell of lamb and rosemary scented the air, setting Vera’s stomach to grumbling. She’d avoided the breakfast table that morning, because she was avoiding him—the Baron Winthrop, returned home unexpectedly from India.

Though the smells were distracting, Vera’s focus wasn’t on the dining room but the small alcove she stood in, with numerous shelves and cubby holes behind a small counter where the post was kept. The innkeeper was assisting a customer, and Vera’s mind slipped back to the baron.

The way he’d looked at her—the narrowed eyes, the deep crease between his eyebrows that spoke plainly of distrust. The master of the house had returned, and he was not happy to find Vera residing in the guest quarters.

“Good morning, Miss Ashbury,” the innkeeper said, rousting her from her unpleasant thoughts.

She smiled up at him, hoping her expression wasn’t as pinched as her emotions. “Lovely day, isn’t it? I’ve come to check the post.”

“As you do nearly every day.” His full cheeks bunched with his smile. “You must be keen for a certain letter, eh? Today, you’re in luck. Post just came in, and there’s a letter for you, along with the papers.”

Vera took the stack of mail eagerly and nodded her thanks. She ignored the kind laughter that spilled after her into the street before she managed to close the inn door.

Somehow, the innkeeper and his wife had gotten the idea that Vera was conducting some sort of romance via post. They’d decided that was why she checked in for new letters almost daily.

Not that the truth was any less embarrassing, Vera thought. She rounded the corner and pressed her back to the stone building, using the relative privacy of the small alleyway to tear open the letter.

Miss Ashbury,

I regret to inform you that none of the positions you inquired about are a good fit for one such as yourself. May I renew my suggestion that you reconsider Mr. Audel’s offer? That position has not yet been filled. As you have no experience and therefore no references, another offer of employment will be difficult—if not impossible—to come by.

Sincerely,

Mr. Bratton

Vera pressed her lips together and closed her eyes. Dismay washed over her like a powerful ocean wave, threatening to buckle her knees.

Mr. Bratton was the manager of an employment agency, one that regularly posted notices in the papers. Vera had written to him directly, weeks ago, briefly explaining her situation and asking whether he knew of any positions that might hire a quality lady without references.

To her delight, he’d stated that he knew of such a posting and had put her in touch with one Mr. Audel, a wealthy merchant who was looking for a governess for his daughters.

She winced, thinking of the letter. She’d read it so many times that she could nearly recite the thing, but she was no more certain of it now than on the day she received it.

My dear Miss Ashbury,

Mr. Bratton kindly forwarded me your contact information, and it sounds like we might be an excellent fit. I am in need of a governess for my two daughters, ages eight and eleven.

The letter had continued, describing the daughters and duties of the position. Nothing had concerned her until she reached the last few lines of the missive:

My house is smaller than others you may be used to. Therefore, you will occupy my late wife’s chambers. Do not be alarmed—though the room adjoins mine, I certainly will not use the door between if it is unwelcome.

Please write back with a description of your person. Mr. Bratton informs me you are twenty-four years of age, which is a bit older than I’d prefer. However, I am willing to make an exception depending upon your appearance.

I look forward to getting to know you better.

Sincerely,

Mr. Charles Audel

It was the only response she’d received, but she hadn’t written him back yet. Instead, she’d shoved the letter into the desk drawer in her bedroom and prayed for something, anything else.

She’d written to every single job posting that had been even remotely close to something she thought she could do. Most of the time, she’d received no response at all. But with every polite rejection, her despair mounted, weighing down her limbs.

Now that the baron had returned, her hopelessness threatened to crush her.