Page 73 of Miss Ashbury and the Anatomy of Mending a Heart

“—I meant every word I said. The fact that you see nothing wrong with your…your desire for variety…” She spit the last word as if it were a foul thing.

Her chest heaved. Stephen had never been more perplexed in all his life. On one hand, Vera had never looked more beautiful. Her anger lent a lovely clarity to her eyes, an animation to her stunning face. Her cheeks were flushed, and every golden freckle stood in stark relief to her luminous skin.

But no matter how gorgeous she was in the moment, she was acting like a crazy person. No matter how he felt for her, he wouldn’t consign himself to a lifetime of living through random tirades such as this one.

Vera took advantage of his stunned silence and continued. “I’ve barely been able to look Mrs. Portence in the eye since you told me.”

“I hardly think it’s her fault.” Stephen frowned. “She’s just performing the duties Mother hired her to do.”

“Your mother knows?” Vera’s mouth gaped.

“Of course! Mrs. Portence has worked here for nigh on fifteen years. She did the same for my father, when he was lord, and probably for my mother, too, when I was away.”

Vera appeared to be choking against a sudden bout of tears. Stephen hated the sight, no matter that this whole thing was outrageous and completely of Vera’s own design.

“Look, I don’t know how things were done in your household growing up⁠—”

“Certainly not like this,” she snapped.

“—but if you don’t like a meal, you certainly don’t have to eat it. Mrs. Portence will be happy to make you something else.”

She reared back. “What?”

“It doesn’t matter to me if you didn’t like the amuse-bouche, but I shouldn’t be punished because I did. We don’t need to enjoy all of the same foods to get along, Vera, and it’s quite controlling of you not to allow for a difference in our tastes.”

“What?” Her hands dropped, her mouth gaped, her shoulders went back as if bracing from a shock.

“The amuse-bouche! I liked it. You didn’t. Why on earth is that such a big deal to you?”

“You were talking about the food?”

“Of course!” Stephen’s head drew back. “What on earth were you talking about?”

“Miss Warrington. And…and other ladies.” She snapped her mouth shut, as if she hadn’t intended on saying the words.

“What on earth does Miss Warrington have to do with roasted beets?” he fairly bellowed.

Vera covered her face and her shoulders began to shake.

“Oh dear.” Stephen ran a hand through his hair. The other fluttered next to her shoulder then dropped to his side. “I’m very sorry I yelled. I’m exceedingly frustrated, but that’s simply no excuse.”

“You were talking about the food,” she sniffled.

“I’m very confused,” he admitted. “Were you upset because Miss Warrington liked the dish? And I did too, and you felt…left out, somehow?”

Vera just cried harder. He was trying to sort through the puzzle carefully, trying to slot things back into place as if someone had upended his medical bag.

He lay a hand on her shoulder. “I assure you, Vera, I don’t mind in the least if you don’t care for beets.”

CHAPTER 22- VERA

Midmorning the next day, they were heading home from Mr. Douglas’s. It had been a quicker visit than usual—Mr. Douglas had mostly slept, even when Stephen listened to his lungs and heart with that stethoscope device of his.

Today they’d taken the carriage. It was raining, and Stephen informed her that they’d be taking it more often because of the weather. Drops pelted the roof—Vera felt as if they sat in the bottom of a drum, with a giant tapping his fingers above them.

“So what did you think of Dahlia?” she blurted.

“Miss Warrington?” Stephen tilted his head, frowned. “Why are you asking me about Miss Warrington?”