Page 24 of Miss Ashbury and the Anatomy of Mending a Heart

The momentary hope that he’d leave her alone popped like a soap bubble on the air.

“What do you mean?” she asked politely, turning the page once more.

Mushrooms. Vera enjoyed the taste of them, though she’d been a little fearful of them ever since someone had told her that there were poisonous varieties that looked just like benign ones. Now, whenever mushroom soup was served at a dinner party, Vera made sure she was the last one to taste it. She couldn’t help but envision twelve guests keeling head-first into their tureens because someone had made a mistake at the market.

“Where are your parents?” he said, tearing her attention from creminis and death caps.

“London.”

He knew this. She’d answered this question several times. Despite her determination to be nothing but kind and patient, to never show how much her host vexed her, she was very tired of answering the same blunt questions.

“So you say. Yet, you aren’t in London with them.”

Vera snapped the book shut abruptly. “What is it exactly that you think I’ve done wrong?”

“I’m not sure. Perhaps nothing, yet.”

“Then why do you insist on asking me the same questions over and over?”

“I’m allowed to be curious about my mother’s close friend.”

“Perhaps if you paid the same close attention to your own affairs as to mine, your estate wouldn’t be in the situation it is.”

He reared back. “Excuse me?”

“No, sir. I will not. For while you were off gallivanting across the globe, your mother has been left to tend to your holdings, your inheritance. She’s independent and capable, I’ll give you that. But just because a woman can doesn’t mean she wants to.”

“My mother⁠—”

“Is busy raising your brothers while doing your job as lord of these lands. Have you even tried to take back that burden since you’ve returned, or do you not care that the back fields lay barren and the eastern fence has a hole in it large enough for all the king’s soldiers to pass through? These things are your responsibility, but you’ve been off playing martyr to all the desolate of India, romancing women along the way without bothering to marry them, and your mother has been left to keep everything afloat without you. These lands need a lord, sir.”

His jaw worked for several moments, as if he were chewing on her words. “Are you insinuating that a lady isn’t capable⁠—”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be daft. I wouldn’t be so stupid, even prior to meeting your mother. But everything is much harder for her, as a lady. She can’t even keep her own stewards from arguing with her—she has to tell them three times what to do, where they’d listen to you directly. If you’d bother to put your efforts toward anything but hounding me, you’d know that.”

“That’s quite enough,” he snapped.

“Ah, my life must be a book open on a table or I’m hiding something, but heaven forbid anyone turn the magnifying glass upon you.”

He rounded on her. “Your life is open to inquisition because you’re living beneath my roof, madam.”

“It is your roof, isn’t it?” Vera stood and reshelved the book. “Yet you know so little about it, content to abscond from the actual responsibility of the thing while still claiming all the benefits of lordship.”

“That’s enough.”

“Very well. Then please excuse me, Baron.” She gave a low, mocking curtsy and departed the room without looking back.

CHAPTER 7- STEPHEN

Vera was good, Stephen would give her that.

For several hours after they’d spoken, Stephen’s focus shifted from his original intent to the content of the words she’d hurled at him. He’d locked himself in his father’s study with the ledgers from the past six years, going quarter by quarter until he felt quite up to date with all the happenings of the estate.

In perusing the correspondence, he saw that Vera had a point—two of the stewards in particular seemed to take umbrage at receiving instructions from his mother. Stephen wrote several letters, informing the men of business of his return and telling them that he would be speaking with his mother to determine whether any changes in stewardship needed to be made.

It was only early afternoon, when he was relaxing in his bath, steam swirling about, the end of his beard damp upon his chest, that he realized the little minx had succeeded. Vera had completely distracted him with her words. He hadn’t completed the inquiry he’d had in mind when he found her in the library. Instead, he’d spent all morning looking at ledgers.

Stephen snorted derisively at himself, sending little rings rolling across the water. Vera was a puzzle he’d yet to figure out, but he would. If his repeated questioning couldn’t provoke her into changing her story—a true hallmark of a lie—then he would have to obtain the information elsewhere.