Page 49 of Miss Ashbury and the Anatomy of Mending a Heart

There was a stubborn jut to his lower lip. “I just don’t think he likes me.”

“Whyever not?”

“He’s always snapping at me.”

“Always?” She lifted the other eyebrow to join the first. “When did he last snap at you?”

“At your birthday party, and it was in front of everyone.”

“You set a hedgehog loose on the dinner table in front of guests.”

“It didn’t bother you.” His words were rebellion, but he jabbed the toe of his boot into the divot between two cobblestones and wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“I’m used to Sheldon, but the other ladies aren’t, and you know better than to do that. So why did you?”

His frown grew; he stared at the earth. Vera had two brothers—one older, one younger. She knew when to wait.

“Fine,” he relented, kicking the earth once more. “I wanted to ruin his dinner party, all right? I did it on purpose.”

“His dinner party?”

“It was his idea. To have all those people over.”

This was information worth inspecting. Vera tucked it away for the future, when she was alone.

“Why would you want to ruin his party?”

His party for you, a small voice within reminded her. She shushed it and focused her attention on Benjamin.

“Because. Because I’m angry at him.” His face grew red; his eyes screwed up at the admission.

Vera put a hand on his shoulder and rubbed it. “Why?”

“He left us. And we were all right. But now he wants to come back and pretend that he was never gone in the first place, that he’s been here the whole time. And he wasn’t.”

“You missed him.”

“No.” But the answer came too swiftly to be anything but a lie.

“It’s all right to miss people, Benjamin. It means you care for them.”

“He didn’t care for us, or he would have come home.”

“That isn’t true, Benjamin,” a deep voice said as Stephen emerged from behind a hedge.

* * *

Stephen found Vera later. She sat on one of the sofas that faced each other in the library, reading a book. At his approach, she hurriedly closed the novel and tucked it against her side, flipping her skirt to cover it. It was one of Candace’s gothic romances—all sweeping misty moor and brooding hero.

This one was highly irritating—Vera didn’t know why she kept reading it. She wanted to shake both of the main characters and plead with them to have a single, honest conversation before she had an apoplexy.

There was a hint of suspicion—there and gone—on Stephen’s face as he slumped onto the facing sofa. Vera dearly wanted to know how the conversation between him and Benjamin had gone, but she didn’t feel it was her place to ask.

She’d left them in the gardens immediately, only daring a single glance over her shoulder as she turned the corner. Stephen had his hand on the boy’s shoulder, speaking intently. Benjamin had swiped at his cheeks angrily.

“How long were you lurking behind the hedge?” she finally asked when it became clear that Stephen wasn’t going to start.

“It wasn’t my fault—I was checking on the mint. I heard what Benjamin was saying. I couldn’t help but intervene.”