Am I the scoundrel for concealing vegetables within my beloved's sustenance?

Permit me to employ a pseudonym, as my paramour is oft found perusing these pages. I find myself in the midst of the most preposterous disagreement with a gentleman of supposed maturity.

I, a lady of eight and twenty, have been romantically entwined with my beau, a gentleman of six and thirty, for a twelvemonth, and we have shared a residence for approximately four months.

Upon the commencement of our courtship, I observed a most peculiar tendency in my beloved: a distinct aversion to the consumption of vegetables. He would, on occasion, partake in their consumption when dining at an establishment, should they be served as an accompaniment to his meal. However, he would abstain from them entirely when I prepared our repasts. Initially, I attributed this to my own culinary shortcomings, prompting me to inquire as to his satisfaction with my fare. He assured me that he was, in fact, most enamoured with my culinary prowess. When left to his own devices, he would consume naught but frozen provisions, eschewing even the vegetables contained therein. Consequently, my beloved has been plagued by a myriad of health maladies, primarily stemming from deficiencies in vital nutrients. He presented his afflictions as the unfortunate result of his genetic constitution, which I accepted without question, ignorant as I was in matters of biology. Nevertheless, the truth became increasingly evident: his ailments were of his own making, owing to his voluntary abstinence from vegetable consumption.

Half a year past, I resolved to employ subterfuge in order to address this situation. When preparing our meals, I would incorporate the usual assortment of vegetables, only to subsequently remove half and subject them to the ministrations of a blending apparatus. Thus, my beloved remained blissfully unaware of their presence, believing that I had simply removed the offensive morsels from his portion. This practice has only intensified since we began cohabitating, as the responsibility for our culinary affairs rests squarely upon my shoulders. Lately, my beau has expressed a marked improvement in his well-being, even receiving a reduction in the dosages of his prescribed medicaments from his physician. Moreover, he has not required a multivitamin in a considerable span of time. I maintained my silence on the matter, content in the knowledge that his health was improving, and that my subterfuge caused no harm.

Alas, my scheme was revealed most unexpectedly. Whilst preparing a particularly vegetable-laden pasta dish, my trusted blending device failed me, leaving the vegetables in their original, conspicuous state. My beloved, upon seeing the dish, refused to partake in the consumption of the vegetables. Yet, upon sampling the sauce, he noted the striking similarity in flavour to the meals he had previously enjoyed. It was then that I confessed my deception. He reacted with outrage, railing against me as a controlling harpy and insisting that it was not my place to concern myself with his opinions on the efficacy of vegetables. I reminded him of his recent improvement in health, but he remained steadfast, asserting that his well-being was none of my concern. He proceeded to label me a judgmental scoundrel and departed our shared abode, seeking refuge with his sister. His sibling later informed me that he was unharmed, but that she concurred with his assessment of my actions. My own acquaintances, while acknowledging the absurdity of his aversion to vegetables, likewise deemed me a scoundrel in this matter. Thus, I beseech you, am I the scoundrel?