Page 4 of Miss Ashbury and the Anatomy of Mending a Heart

“Impossible to say.”

“After all, no one wishes to share a roof with newlyweds,” Vera said, thinking of her own predicament. She blinked and did her best to reroute the conversation, on the sudden fear that she’d perhaps sounded ungrateful. “Besides, I don’t think that Canterbury’s guests enjoyed their stay in the countryside.”

Jacqueline arched an eyebrow. “I did hear that the Marquess Beaufort divested himself of his betrothed immediately after he returned to London. Perhaps he’s in the market for a new bride.”

“Doubtful. Daisy’s such a shrew she probably put him off the institution forever. And if not, I’d only remind him of his inadvisable betrothal—he’s better off looking somewhere else for marital bliss.”

“What of Lord Cavendish? He was quite handsome and charming. I’ve heard whispers that he’s scandalously wealthy, even if the source of said wealth is a topic of debate.”

“How do you hear so much, all the way out here? Especially when you refuse to read the scandal sheets?”

Jacqueline smiled. “My Aunt Katherine is a terrible gossip and a much better source than those awful papers. She’s sixty-four and sharp as a tack. She says that getting old is a double-sided coin—no one speaks much to you, as they assume you have nothing interesting to say. But everyone speaks in front of you. She says it’s wonderful for gossip that everyone treats her like a geriatric statue.”

Vera frowned. “Is she quite lonely?”

Perhaps this Aunt Katherine was in the market for a lady companion.

Jacqueline waved a hand. “Not at all. She lives in a house with four of her closest friends. They’re all grand dames of society—invited everywhere for the prestige of their titles. Every evening they convene over gin and cards and tell each other the best bits of news.”

“That sounds lovely, actually.”

“It does. Though I wouldn’t want to reside in London even for the sake of four close friends. Are you quite sure that you wish to return? I thought you were happy in the countryside.”

“I am,” Vera said honestly. “Exceedingly so.”

Just then, a small brown face peeped over the edge of the leather sofa.

“Marcella,” Vera crooned, setting her teacup and saucer down. “Would you like to come up?”

“Mind your biscuits. She’s developed quite the taste for sweets.”

Vera chuckled as the squirrel scampered up over the seat, then perched atop the sofa back on hind legs to survey the room.

The baroness shook her head ruefully. “I suppose I ought to hang some branches along the walls, as Benjamin suggested.”

“For Marcella to climb? Your son’s very clever to suggest it; I’m sure she’d love that.”

“Why are you determined to return to London if you’re happy here?”

Vera busied herself with taking up her teacup once more. “I wouldn’t say I’m determined, but I am considering it.”

“Do you think you’d enjoy having a position?”

“Possibly.” She stared at a painting on the far wall. “But how does one find employment?”

“Typically, people advertise for such things in the papers.”

“They do?”

Jacqueline nodded. “There’s a section, usually toward the back, where people post advertisements of all kinds. Have you never seen them?”

Vera shook her head. “I suppose I haven’t paid any attention.”

She’d never had to before. Now it felt shortsighted—though no contortion of her imagination would have led her to expect this.

A knock sounded at the door, and Jacqueline stood to check that Sheldon hadn’t wandered in the way before she called, “Enter.”

Elda, one of the downstairs maids, entered the room. She surveyed their tea tray and, finding it adequate, picked up a broom and dustpan affixed to a stick in the corner and began scouring the floor for any sign of the pebbles that Jacqueline’s animals regularly deposited upon the stone.