Rivals and Roses (The Vaughns #1)

Chapter 5

W hen people tossed about the word “assembly,” it conjured all sorts of images. A spacious room with a flock of musicians stationed at one side and every living creature within several miles crushed together. Then there were the obligatory card and tea rooms, in which the older generations hid lest they be subjected to the exhausting country dances and reels, which were far less dignified than the stately minuets and cotillions of their youth.

The master of ceremonies always did his best to outdo his predecessor, ensuring he wrung every last farthing from the ticket fees and poured it into more candles, better musicians, and finer food, though the offerings always paled in comparison to the private balls the upper crust favored.

Yet all of Arthur’s experience was for naught when he stepped into Bentmoor’s assembly rooms. Or rather, its coaching inn. It was entirely logical that such a remote area wouldn’t boast a building set aside specifically for public functions, yet Arthur was still astonished to see such a lively party stuffed into such a small setting.

The dark wood walls gave the illusion that it was an even tighter fit, and though there were a handful of candles burning in the sconces, it wasn’t enough to combat the illusion. A few fellows sat to one side with a trio of stringed instruments and a flute, and though Arthur wasn’t certain how the music would carry above the crowd, it was probably for the best. They couldn’t fit much more inside, for there were dozens of people milling about. Perhaps a few of the rooms upstairs had been pressed into service for tea and cards, but Arthur couldn’t say for certain.

It was an odd sight. Jarring, really. When he’d been told of the assembly, his mind had summoned far different images than what stood before him. Yet Arthur couldn’t say he disliked the foreign yet familiar feel to the gathering.

And despite all the differences between London and Bentmoor, one thing remained the same: the chaos. One would be forgiven for assuming a quiet country town would have a similarly quiet country dance, but in that regard, the assembly rivaled anything Town boasted. People shuffled about the room, carefully weaving between the circles of friends, and though Arthur was certain they would manage space enough for dancing, it was difficult to see how.

Bentmoor certainly boasted “a crush.” And Arthur was already exhausted.

“Stop looking so dour, Vaughn,” said Finch, glancing at the fellow from the corner of his eye. “From your expression, one might think you were facing an execution.”

“With the manner in which the ladies are eyeing me, it isn’t far from the truth,” said Arthur as yet another feminine gaze turned in his direction. There was a pointedness to the attention that made his throat tighten and his palms sweat in a most embarrassing fashion. Thank goodness for evening gloves.

“It is good for you to mix in society,” said Finch, nodding at the gathering. “As a new addition, you need to seize every opportunity to mix in good company. Many here are from Bentmoor and other nearby towns, but many of your potential patients will be in attendance as well. ”

Arthur’s heart sank like a stone at the statement. There was nothing more likely to set his stomach churning than the term “potential patients.” It was the rallying war cry of doctors before they ventured into battle, determined to carry off as many as they could and secure victory over all the other hapless doctors attempting to provide for themselves and their families. For all that medicine was a gentlemanly profession, they were as cutthroat as pirates and willing to stab their friends in the back if it meant securing a new patient.

“You are one to talk,” replied Arthur. “You look as pleased to be here as I am.”

Finch’s brow furrowed, and he slanted a look at the crowd. “I would be far more pleased if my family didn’t insist on monopolizing my wife’s time.”

Following the fellow’s gaze, Arthur spied Mrs. Felicity Finch at the far end of the room with several others gathered around her. With a broad grin, the lady led her sister-in-law around, introducing her to the neighborhood, and for all of Finch’s faux grumbling, there was a tenderness in his eyes as he watched his wife. And Arthur couldn’t help smiling in turn.

Though he hadn’t known Finch well when they’d both lived in London, their paths had crossed enough to know the gentleman hadn’t been searching for such felicity. Yet now, Finch was settled in the country with a wife and a child on the way.

Good for him.

Yet even as that thought settled in his mind, Arthur’s heart gave a pang. At two and thirty, he was hardly past his prime, yet with each passing year, he couldn’t help but wonder if Mrs. Vaughn would ever appear. Granted, in order for her to do so, he’d have to find a way to string comprehensible words together, which was far from a given, but surely, there was a lady in the world who fit the bill.

“My dear Jack,” called a gentleman as he sidled up beside Finch and threw an arm around his shoulder, jostling him in a manner that elder brothers everywhere employed to annoy their siblings. “This is a far finer evening than I’d imagined.”

“My name isn’t Jack,” said Finch with a frown .

The elder Mr. Finch’s expression dropped to match his brother’s before lightening in a smile once more. “Do not be so serious, Lewis. It’s only a nickname. A jest. That is all. I meant no harm by it.”

“You are the only one who persists in using it, though the rest of the family honors my request,” replied Finch. “And only my wife calls me Lewis.”

“As ‘Finch’ is my name as well, you cannot expect me to use it,” replied his brother. “That is ridiculous.”

Despite several decades to their credit, the brothers continued to bicker back and forth. Perhaps not in the same manner as they had in their youth (as they didn’t resort to fisticuffs), but for all that people claimed to mature as they grew older, every heart hid a child just beneath the surface.

With two older brothers, Arthur was all too familiar with such matters. Though Franklin had followed in Father’s footsteps to become a respected surgeon and teacher in London, in private, such maturity evaporated when his younger brothers were on hand to tease and twit. Terrance had chosen to employ his skills in the navy, and despite having learned discipline in that profession, the ships were akin to schoolyards when the men were not engaged in battles. Whenever his brother returned home for a visit, Arthur was still subjected to pinches, punches, and comments that ended with “it’s only a jest.”

Arthur’s attention drifted from the brotherly spat, and his gaze roamed the room—though he was only slightly willing to admit that his eyes sought out a particular figure. With her height, it ought to be easy to spy Miss Templeton. He searched several times to no avail, but Arthur wouldn’t admit defeat.

“Do many people from Oakham attend?” he asked, the question coming before he could think better of it. “It is quite a distance for an assembly.”

Finch paused in his argument with his brother long enough to reply, “Oakham is too small to warrant many such gatherings, and so those who can manage the journey do. Tonight, every carriage will be filled to bursting to bring as many as possible—”

“Why, Mr. Finch and Dr. Vaughn, how lovely to see you tonight,” said a young lady who threw herself in front of the gentlemen before sweeping into a curtsy. “Mama and I were hoping you wouldn’t be too fatigued to attend. With the journey from London, settling into your new home, and entertaining your callers, you must be exhausted.”

An older lady (presumably the aforementioned mother) joined her at her elbow, the pair beaming at Arthur as though he were a roast dinner after a particularly long Sabbath. Scouring his memory, he dredged through the various names he’d learned over the past week, straining to recall all the many Smiths, Thompsons, and Joneses that had called on him.

Rush? Rowe? It was something with an R.

“It is good to be here, Miss Roper,” replied Arthur, speaking the name just as it came to the tip of his tongue. In his mind, he repeated it several times, looking between mother and daughter to fix it in his memory.

For all that he was keen to start this new chapter of his life, he’d underestimated just how tiresome it was to be surrounded by strangers. His father’s reputation and status in the medical profession had provided Arthur with an easy entrance into society, and though there were always new acquaintances to make, one wasn’t engulfed in a sea of strangers. But then, this area was small enough that once Arthur managed this hurdle, there would be far fewer new names to learn, as the populace rarely changed.

In the meantime, he simply had to struggle along.

Though he recalled their names—which earned him beaming smiles from mother and daughter—he couldn’t say whether they were residents of Oakham, Bentmoor, or one of the other villages in the area. His home had seen a flood of visitors as people welcomed him into the neighborhood, and it was difficult enough keeping their names straight, let alone any other details .

“And how are you settling in?” asked Miss Roper with a smile and a tilt of her head that caused the ringlet framing her face to bounce. Her expression was so bright, her attention fully fixed on him as though his answer was of utmost importance as she batted at his arm.

Which was precisely when Arthur forgot how to form words.

Despite quite a good many flowing through his mind, his mouth refused to obey any commands. His cravat tightened around his neck, threatening to choke him as he stared at the young lady. A sensation that only grew when her eyes drifted to the top of his head. Her gaze was there and gone in a flash, but with no hat to hide behind tonight, there was no covering that deficiency.

Arthur may not have been grateful when his hair had begun thinning at the ripe old age of nineteen, but at present, he was quite glad to have grown accustomed to those glances and the slight strain of the smiles that accompanied them. Or accustomed enough that it didn’t discompose him when Miss Roper’s expression tightened. He had reasons enough to be discomposed and needn’t add this to the list.

Before he could form a proper (though simple) response, another lady and chaperone approached with a gushing, “Why, there you are, Dr. Vaughn! How lovely to see you.”

For all that he’d been standing with Finch in peace, Miss Roper’s arrival hailed a shift, for more began to gather around like bees to a flower—if the bees were giving each other narrowed looks and silent warnings to leave.

“I do hate to interrupt,” said Finch with a smile for the gathering crowd. “But I fear there is a gentleman I need to introduce Dr. Vaughn to. Please excuse us.”

And with that, the gentleman led Arthur away, not slowing when the ladies attempted to cling to the conversation. Meanwhile, Arthur drew in a breath and readied himself for another introduction. At least it was a gentleman, which was far easier to manage .

But when they stepped out the front door into the night air, Finch gave Arthur a slanted smile. “You looked in need of rescue.”

There was a hint of a question in his tone, and Arthur pretended not to notice; chatting with gentlemen about medicine, politics, sports, and the like was a vast deal different than conversing with a lady.

“I have to admit that I am a little astonished by my reception,” replied Arthur with a furrowed brow. “With their prestige and success, my older brothers are usually the center of attention.”

Crossing his arms, Finch leaned against the building and nodded to another gentleman as he passed. “You will find it vastly different here. With the war on the Continent still raging with no end in sight, many of the young eligible men have joined the army and navy in hopes of securing a fortune. You possess a good living and are suitably handsome, which will leave every unmarried lady from seventeen to seventy vying for your attention.”

Arthur’s brows shot upward, his cravat tightening instantly. Yet as he considered the possibility, the strain eased. Wasn’t this precisely what he wanted? In London, he was merely one of any number of gentlemen of decent family and income, and there always seemed to be someone “better suited” for the ladies he wished to court. In Devon, it seemed the tables had turned.

But was that for good or ill?

“You didn’t mention that when you wrote to me—” But Arthur’s words cut out abruptly when a voice called from behind him.

“There you are, Dr. Vaughn.”

Gliding to his side, Miss Bacon grinned broadly at him, a coy spark in her gaze—just before it flicked to the top of his head and back. Arthur’s expression tightened, and he drew in a deep breath as he tried to formulate a greeting .

“You promised me a dance, sir,” she said with a laugh as she brushed a hand across his lapel as though to rid him of some lint, and Arthur’s spine stiffened at that liberty, his throat growing dry.

Much had happened in the past fortnight since he’d begun his journey to Devon, and in that whirlwind, many details had been sadly overlooked or forgotten, but Arthur could say with all confidence that his asking Miss Bacon to dance hadn’t been among them. The young lady watched him with a glint of challenge to her gaze, as though wondering if he would call out the bald-faced lie for what it was.

There was no point in spitting in the face of an opportunity. Though Arthur’s hands began to sweat profusely beneath his gloves, he motioned to take hold of hers. Miss Bacon accepted the offer, her head held high as they strode back into the inn.

Now, he just had to sort out what to say to the lady.