Page 92 of Miss Ashbury and the Anatomy of Mending a Heart

“Is he going to be all right?” Vera lifted her voice to be heard over the squelching hoofbeats and the rain that pelted and stung at her cheeks.

“Who?”

“The horse. You left him.”

“You and that blasted horse. I don’t care about the horse.”

Vera frowned. “I do.”

“He’s keeping pace with us. He doesn’t want to be alone in this storm any more than we do.”

“He left me easily enough.” Vera fidgeted and leaned, trying to turn her head and see around Stephen’s bulk to check on the animal.

“Stop wiggling.” The large hand that held her in the saddle spasmed on her stomach, and she froze.

Vera hadn’t been aware that Stephen was holding her until that moment. Now, she didn’t think she could feel anything else. The stinging rain, the cold of her limbs, even the throbbing in her ankle—it all dulled in comparison to that warm hand steadying her.

“The horse is there,” he said, oblivious to her sudden inner turmoil. “Don’t you trust me?”

“I do.”

Vera realized the truth of the words as she said them. She did trust him. Despite the odds. Despite their terrible start. She trusted Stephen.

It was quite the feat on his part, considering that Vera’s trust of people had been at a low point after what her parents had done. In fact, how had Stephen managed to do it—to get Vera to trust him, after she’d sworn never to trust anyone again if she could help it?

It was probably how competent he was as a physician. Because he was a remarkable doctor—kind but firm, and he had a knack for knowing what was wrong with people, even if they explained it poorly.

Then there was the whole altruistic side of him. The part of Stephen that had prompted him to go to India was still alive and well. Vera hadn’t been shocked when he took Anne in, not the same way others had been. Stephen possessed a brusque demeanor, but his insides were ordered in a warm and lovely way. Vera saw it in the way he cared for his mother, for Benjamin, and now for Anne, too.

Vera had once thought Stephen to be a brute of the highest order. He’d treated her abominably at the outset of their relationship, but he was the first to admit as much. He’d repeatedly shown her who he truly was—through his professional, courteous treatment as his assistant, with their long walks discussing everything, where he listened closely to her opinions and pondered them carefully before replying, even through his gentle handling of her this evening.

It was perhaps for the best, how they’d started, Vera mused. For if she hadn’t hated him at the outset, she never would have had the courage to truly be herself around him.

Now, Vera felt something new blooming between them. It was something she didn’t dare name, something she didn’t dare make direct eye contact with. She caught glances of it from the corner of her eye sometimes, and that was quite enough to make her shiver. Often she caught herself lying abed at night, staring up at the canopy, and not not thinking of what it might be.

But oh no! Suddenly, on this ride back to the house, with his great overcoat draped over her, with the heat of his chest pressed to her sodden back—this was the poorly chosen moment that her subconscious decided to drop the full weight of the realization that she’d been trying to ignore for weeks.

Vera was madly, irrevocably in love with Stephen.

She cursed her traitorous little heart. Why, the thing had been running ahead without Vera’s knowledge or consent! Surely the rational side of her should have some say in the matter. But it was no use—when she checked in with the logical part of herself, she was dismayed to realize that it loved Stephen just as much as her idiot, fanciful heart did.

The embarrassment of it—to fall in love with someone who’d once treated her so terribly! Vera felt the realization of her feelings for Stephen as keenly as a physical blow. She even reared her head to silently beg the heavens for help—or, if proper sense was too much to ask for—a lightning bolt.

However, caught as she was in the maelstrom of her thoughts, Vera had forgotten that she was in the midst of a very real storm, and she wasn’t alone.

“Vera?” Stephen asked, his words urgent and loud against her ear. He spoke so closely that a gust of his breath warmed her cheek, and she shivered. “Are you quite all right?”

Vera had been lost to the throes of her own idiocy. She hadn’t realized that when she’d thrown her head back in silent supplication, that she’d sagged her full weight back against him. Now she was all too aware.

Had Vera thought the heat coming off Stephen distracting? That was before she leaned fully against his muscular chest. The rain had thinned their garments, and she swore she could feel every ripple of movement, the taut control of his body as he steered the horse and supported her. His warm, capable hand was still pressed to her stomach.

Vera gave an inarticulate grunt of horrified realization—she had been the one to press them together. She struggled forward, trying to gain even a single, blessed inch of space once more. But that hand didn’t let her go anywhere, not even away from his person.

“No. You must be exhausted. Sleep, Vera—I’ll get us there safely.” His words were low, resolute, and placed just along her jawline. Tears of embarrassment pricked at her eyes when she shivered at the feel of his proximity.

Stephen gathered his overcoat around her more fully and leaned into her, trying to shield her from the rain. Vera stifled a groan. He was making it worse, and by the briskness of his movements, she could tell that he had no idea the effect he was having upon her. At least there was that.

Vera suddenly wished for Hortense and her ironwood umbrella with a fierceness that nearly made her laugh.