Page 93 of Miss Ashbury and the Anatomy of Mending a Heart

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When they arrived back at the house, Mr. Frederick was directing a group of men into a wagon. Stephen called out to them and dismounted, then helped Vera down from the horse. She stood awkwardly next to him—she would have stepped back, but she was obliged to accept his help.

Her ankle now throbbed with every beat of her heart. Previously, the pain had been dulled by her myriad other complaints—the dark, the cold, the wind, the loneliness and fear of it all. Now that warmth lay just across the very near threshold, she found she couldn’t put much weight on the foot at all—not without pain searing through her leg, not without Vera gasping and gritting her teeth.

Stephen disbanded the search party and handed the wet horses off to the footmen, who were all very relieved they didn’t have to go riding for an hour in the storm, after all. Then Stephen swung Vera easily into his arms and plowed up the front steps.

Jacqueline was suddenly there, her expression full of concern, and the housekeeper and Roland, who whipped the servants into a domestic froth. It was but minutes until Vera was ensconced in her bedroom and submerged in a hot bath under the careful ministrations of a solicitous maid.

Vera sighed and relaxed against the back of the tub. Her hair and body had been washed. The chill had fought valiantly against the bathwater and the heavily brandied tea but had finally lost the battle in one final, violent shudder. Then Vera was finally warm through and through.

“Begging your pardon, miss,” the maid said cautiously when Vera’s eyes fluttered closed. “His lordship says you’re not to sleep—not until he’s had time to address that poor ankle of yours.”

Vera sighed but dutifully opened her eyes. She knew Stephen was right, but just once, she wished he’d leave the competent doctoring behind. She was achingly, jaw-crack-yawning exhausted. Her ankle was bright red and very swollen. She’d hissed when Jacqueline had eased the boot off.

“Very well. Will you help me dress?”

“So soon? We have plenty more hot water, if you’d enjoy a longer soak.” She gestured at the three large cans of water set to keep warm before the fire.

“Thank you, but I just want to sleep. Best to get this over with as soon as possible.”

A half an hour later, Vera was propped up in bed against a veritable mountain of downy pillows. Her one leg jutted awkwardly from the bedclothes, the swollen foot propped on its own pillow, as if the offending ankle were a valuable antiquity being presented to royalty. She snickered at the thought, even as Jacqueline bustled in with a tray. Stephen came behind her with his doctor’s case, knocking redundantly upon the doorframe.

“How are you, Vera?” He pulled a chair to her bedside and sat.

Vera couldn’t help it—she laughed. “Don’t you use that doctor tone with me. How many times have I heard you ask the same to a patient?”

Stephen smiled, looking a bit sheepish. “It’s a classic physician’s greeting. Why on earth would I deviate?”

Because we’re closer than that, she wanted to say.

“Very well.” Vera nodded. “You may proceed. But don’t think I’m going to fall for any of your tricks.”

“Tricks?” Jacqueline arched an eyebrow and placed the tray at her bedside. “Have I raised a sneaky son?”

“Two of them, actually, that I know of.” Vera grinned. “But your eldest is possibly the worst. He’s always dropping his doctor questions into casual conversation. The patients have told him everything before they even know they’re being questioned.”

“There’s no need for subterfuge when it comes to you.” Stephen grinned. “We live together. I already know your average diet and how many alcoholic beverages you regularly consume.”

“After that tea your mother made me, my number is well higher than usual.”

He grinned and swiped back his still-damp hair. Vera was glad he’d had the chance to bathe and warm himself, too. Stephen focused on her ankle then, sliding his fingers against the skin gently, probing and giving a thoughtful hum. Then he cradled the back of her foot and gently rotated the ankle, watching it first, then her face.

Vera sincerely hoped that any visible discomfort would be attributed to her injury, and not the riot of emotions that his bare fingers gently handling her ankle provoked.

“It’s not broken, that I can tell. At least, the joint is whole. Cold compresses several times a day, and a lot of rest. You should be well enough within a couple of weeks.”

“That’s a relief. I have several balls to attend in the near future—I want to be sure I’ll be able to waltz.”

She’d meant it as a joke, but Stephen frowned. Vera’s eyes slid to Jacqueline, who pursed her lips, raised her eyebrows, and busied herself with the tray.

Stephen cleared his throat. “Yes, well. I’m sure there’ll be lots of dancing in your future, Vera.”

He patted the bedding next to her foot awkwardly, gathered his case, and left.

Vera frowned after him, then turned to Jacqueline, whispering, “What was that about?”

“What was what?” She set the tray over Vera’s lap. “Eat up. Cook swears by this soup—she weaseled the recipe from Canterbury’s cook years ago and claims she’s made it better with a bit of lemon.”