Page 77 of Miss Ashbury and the Anatomy of Mending a Heart

Vera knew she’d made a fool of herself in there; she knew she wouldn’t be invited back, but she couldn’t help it.

Candace had hurt her. Vera had felt mocked, belittled. The fact that Candace had been discussing her private business with Dahlia only added more disinfectant to the cut. Dahlia, who’d haunted her thoughts. Dahlia, whose beauty mocked Vera in her dreams.

Vera had sincerely believed that Dahlia Warrington was interested in Stephen. She’d ruminated over those smiles, those glances, for well over a week. She’d braced herself against the inevitable—that once Stephen realized he could have Dahlia Warrington, he’d never look at Vera again.

Vera had gone so far as to imagine their wedding! She’d practiced her smile in the dark of her bedroom; she’d greeted the newly married couple with joy and grace. She’d thrown rice with a smile upon her lips.

To find out it had all been some sort of test, some sort of cruel joke—it was difficult to bear. Vera felt small, humiliated. She told herself that none of the ladies in that house could possibly understand her situation.

Because you haven’t been honest about it, a small voice within her whispered. Perhaps if you’d told Candace from the beginning⁠—

Vera shook the thought off and walked faster to outpace the reasonable sentiment. If Vera had told Candace that she’d been disowned, her friend would have felt sorry for her. She would have tried to fix things. Candace had already done too much for her, by Vera’s accounting.

It’s your own foolish pride that’s caused this whole mess. Vera stopped in the center of the lane, arrested by the realization.

Vera should have told her the truth of things. If she had, if Candace knew the full ramifications, the true stakes involved in the matter, she never would have made light of it. Vera could hardly blame her for misunderstanding the situation when Vera had worked so hard to keep the truth of it from her.

Her shoulders sagged. She was only a bit down the lane from Devon Manor; she could still see the roses covering the front of the house. Perhaps she should turn back and apologize. It would be humiliating, but far less so than the scene she’d just caused. What use was there in holding on to pride when it was false?

As Vera dithered in the lane, a carriage emerged from the driveway and headed her direction. It pulled to a stop before her, and the door was opened.

“Vera.” Candace stuck her head out, even as a footman hurried to let down the stairs. “Will you please speak with me?”

She nodded.

Once inside, the door closed, the carriage rocking slightly as it headed onward toward Bertforth House, Vera bit her lip. She didn’t know how to begin.

“I’m so sorry—” Vera began, right as Candace blurted, “I apologize⁠—”

They shared an uncomfortable kind of smile.

“Truly, Vera,” Candace said. “I’m so sorry I hurt you. I certainly didn’t mean to, but I understand that it must have felt as if we were laughing at you. That isn’t the case in the least.”

Vera shook her head, mortified to feel tears pinching at the corners of her eyes once more. “It isn’t your fault. I…I fear I haven’t been honest with you.”

Vera proceeded to tell Candace the entire sordid tale, beginning with her climbing down the elm tree all those months ago in London.

Halfway through, the carriage had jostled to a stop and the door was opened.

“Absolutely not,” Candace said, her wide eyes never leaving Vera’s face. “Take us for a short drive until I tell you to stop.”

“Your Grace.” The footman bowed and relayed her instructions; moments later they were off, and weren’t disturbed again.

“No wonder you were upset with me,” Candace said when Vera finished speaking. She leaned back against the padded seat. “I assure you, Vera—I had no idea and I meant no harm. I didn’t know you’d taken the position from necessity; I thought you’d done it as a lark.”

“I don’t blame you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth.”

“But why did you not come to me?” Candace asked, perplexed.

Vera lifted her chin. “I don’t want charity. You’ve already been too generous.”

“Not for charity. For a reference. You were my companion for months. It matters not that the position was unpaid, that you did it out of friendship. You still travelled with me, lived with me, kept my spirits up. Surely you know that not every reference must be a professional one.”

Vera blinked. She hadn’t known that, actually. She’d certainly wondered how people started, since no one was born with references.

“If you don’t wish to work for Baron Winthrop any longer, I’m happy to provide you with a glowing reference. I’m certain James would do the same. With a reference from the Duke of Canterbury, you could be happily settled in a position anywhere.”

Vera swallowed back her shock. She hadn’t thought of asking Candace for a reference, but that now seemed very foolish, indeed.