Rivals and Roses (The Vaughns #1)

Chapter 20

“G ood afternoon, Miss Templeton,” said Dr. Vaughn with a nod of the head and a smile that, despite glowing with pleasure, wasn’t warm enough to stave off the chill in Violet’s bones, and the impulse to slam the door in his face seized hold of her. Could he see the guilt eating at her?

“Good afternoon,” she murmured in return, her gaze darting away from him.

He drew his arm around and presented her with three large hydrangea blossoms, their colors a mixture of pinks, purples, and blues. They were a bright pop of color, drawing Violet’s gaze along the arm and up to Dr. Vaughn’s eyes that crinkled as he offered them up.

“Another of our neighbors has a plethora of blossoms, and I saw fit to abscond with a few of them,” he said. “I thought you might enjoy them, as you do not have any of your own.”

“That is very kind of you,” she said in a quiet voice.

“They are a bribe.”

Violet’s brows rose at that, and she couldn’t help the faint smile that twitched at the corner of her lips at his pronouncement. “Is that so? ”

Dr. Vaughn nodded. “I was hoping I might steal away a bit of your time in which you can teach me how to make that incredible salve of yours.”

That compliment ought to have lightened her spirits, but it only made her heart sink further. Why must he be so kind and generous? It would be so much easier to despise the gentleman if he had even the slightest ounce of arrogance or cruelty. But no, he swept into her life with all the affection of a brother.

More so, in fact, for Isaac was never as thoughtful.

“I fear today is not a good day, Dr. Vaughn,” she said without taking the flowers. “I haven’t a spare minute.”

“That is no bother,” he said, still holding the bouquet out to her. “What assistance do you require?”

Violet straightened at that. “Pardon?”

“What may I do to help you?” he repeated whilst glancing around the workspace with an assessing eye.

“Nothing, I assure you,” said Violet with a shake of her head, inching the door closed. “I am busy. That is all. I will manage.”

“I know you will,” he replied, still pushing the flowers toward her and effectively blocking her retreat (unless she wished to slam the door on his arm). “Your ability to ‘manage’ is not in question. If I left, you would get right back to work and have everything settled precisely as it ought to be, but that doesn’t negate my desire to be of service to you.”

Violet stared at the fellow. She knew what to do with the awkward gentleman incapable of stringing two words together, but this unshakeable and determined man was a puzzle. Those sorts of men were keen to treat her like a sister, and no matter how much she adored them, brothers were not reliable creatures. They certainly did not insist on helping when Violet was capable of managing without them.

“That is very kind of you, sir, but I assure you—”

“Are we back to ‘sir’ again?” he asked with a frown. “I thought we’d moved beyond such pretenses. ”

Violet sighed. “Perhaps if my wits hadn’t failed me entirely, I would know what you want from me, Dr. Vaughn, but at present, I simply wish to return to my work.”

“I only want to be of assistance, Miss Templeton,” he said with a frown, his hand with the bouquet finally lowering as he studied her with a puzzled brow. “I know your brother is not in town, I heard that your mother has fallen ill, and I know how many prescriptions need fulfilling at present. You have more to do than there are hours in the day. Though I am eager to get the recipe for your salve, that was an excuse more than a motivation for my being here.”

This was dangerous ground. Violet had already caused enough trouble for herself by being cordial to the gentleman; to accept such an offer would cross a crucial delineation between them. Acquaintances may dance together or go on a stroll, but to accept assistance—no matter how much she wished to—would fundamentally alter their relationship. Violet couldn’t enjoy Dr. Vaughn.

Yet was there any reason to debate the issue? Her heart softened every time they spoke. Could she continue to deny the fact that he was a friend, despite the disaster rife in such a distinction?

Violet’s head nodded of its own volition before freeing the words her heart yearned to speak. “I could use some help. Please.”

“Now, was that so very difficult?” he asked with a hint of a laugh, lifting the bouquet to her once more.

“More than you realize,” she whispered as she took the flowers. They didn’t have any fragrance, but that mattered little, for they lightened her spirits greatly.

Glancing about, Dr. Vaughn’s gaze fell to the molds. Carefully, he picked up one of the finished cachets. “I fear I never mastered these, though you certainly have a knack for them. I am forever breaking the rice paper or splitting the seals.”

“I have these in hand, as well as the distillation,” she said, waving to the alembic. Turning to the stairs, Violet gave him an apologetic smile. “In truth, what I would desperately love most is if you would sit with Mama. Besides requiring nursing, she is too weak to read on her own, and I would feel better if someone were with her, though I know that is a waste of your skills—”

Dr. Vaughn shook his head. “Not at all. I asked to help, and if that is what you require of me, I am glad to do it. As it happens, I have a copy of The Misadventures of Mr. Fitzwilliam in my coat pocket this very minute. I think she might enjoy it.”

“She adores Francis Thomas’s work, and I do not believe she has read it yet.”

Glancing at the alembic, Violet turned down the lamp’s flame, leaving only the barest flicker to wait for her return. Setting the bouquet on the table to see to afterward, she led Dr. Vaughn through the office and deeper into the cottage, taking the stairs up to Mama’s bedchamber. Though the lady was far from death’s door, it pained Violet to see her so worn; Mama’s eyes were open, but exhaustion dimmed their depths.

“You have a visitor,” said Violet as she moved to the window and pulled back the curtains. The light did little to dispel the mustiness, but the brightness helped to lift the spirits.

Shifting slightly, Mama glanced at the door with a furrowed brow, but Dr. Vaughn dragged the chair in the corner to her bedside.

“I fear I am a poor substitute for your children, but I understand you are feeling poorly and might need a bit of company,” he said as he took off his hat and settled in beside Mama, a welcoming smile on his lips.

“I am well enough,” said Mama with a weak wave of her hand. “Nothing to trouble yourself with.”

“Nonsense. The Finches’ concert is coming up next week, and I want to ensure you are in perfect health by that time. Will you be gracing us with a performance?” he asked with a lift of his brows. “I understand you have a lovely singing voice.”

For all that the lady was in her sixth decade of life, Mama blushed like a maiden making her first steps into society. “Where did you hear such nonsense? ”

“Are you saying it is untrue?” he asked.

“Performing at concerts is for the young ladies—” Her words broke as a cough wracked her. Mama held a handkerchief to her mouth, but it grew in strength, and before Violet could make a move, Dr. Vaughn reached for the teapot at the bedside and lifted the lid to sniff the contents.

Glancing over his shoulder, he looked at Violet. “Licorice root?”

“Mixed with elecampane and plantain,” she replied. “And I include a dash of laudanum in her nighttime brew as well. It does wonders for a cough—”

“I do not wish to sleep today,” said Mama between coughs. “I have been sleeping so much.”

Dr. Vaughn nodded and poured her a cup, and before Violet could assist, he had Mama propped up and drinking. Settling her down with the skill of one well used to such actions, he said with a hint of disapproval, “I’ve found that London is vastly different than the country, but I cannot believe it is so entirely foreign that Oakham would frown upon people of any age and gender participating in a concert. I know for a fact that Mr. Lewis Finch is going to be playing the piano.”

“Is he?” asked Mama with a raise of her brows as her lungs settled once more.

“He adores playing, and he’s quite good, in fact. I know many young ladies use it as a way to parade their talents about, but surely, it would do them good to see a lady with your grace and experience perform.”

Violet paused at the door, watching the pair, though they seemed not to notice her, and she was struck by the sight, for she could hardly align this image of the man with the awkward and shy one that so often faced the world. At present, Dr. Vaughn didn’t struggle over his words—he was charming, even—and it made her smile to see them both settle into a comfortable conversation as he continued to minister to Mama .

Glancing over his shoulder when the lady wasn’t watching, Dr. Vaughn made a shooing motion, and Violet snapped from her thoughts and slipped from the room.

***

With a steady hand, Violet used a dropper to add ten minims to the mixture. The scent of the peppermint oil filled the room, blending with the spices permeating the air. The setting sun made it difficult to see properly despite the lamps lit around her, and she held up the vial to the light, swirling it about. It seemed the proper color, though she would have to check it again in the morning.

Turning back to the recipe book, she flipped through the pages, her eyes scanning the lines as she sought out the next instructions. There were a good many of these that she knew by memory, but regardless, Violet checked the exact measurements of the analgesic; there was nothing dangerous in the pain powder, but the wrong combination would render it useless.

Which was when she recalled the pot simmering over the fire.

Rushing over to it, she wrapped her apron around her hand and snagged the handle, moving it to the table in a fluid motion. It smelled foul, and though Violet longed to add a few dashes of something aromatic to alleviate the stench, there was little point. Those who still ascribed to this quackery placed their faith in wretched scents and flavors.

“Good heavens,” said Dr. Vaughn with a grimace as he stepped into the room. “Are you making boil of earthworm?”

Turning her eyes to those very heavens, Violet nodded. “It takes little effort and cost to make it, and many people still swear by it.”

Dr. Vaughn huffed and gave her a half-smile. “I’ve never seen any evidence that rubbing crushed earthworms boiled in olive oil and red wine heals bruises. Then again, I have more than a few placebos I would rather not supply. The patients demand them because they’ve used them all their lives, and it makes them feel better, so I indulge them.”

The gentleman brought over several jars that had been readied and placed them beside the pot without asking, before snatching up the funnel and settling it into the mouth of the first. Violet quickly filled each and set the empty pot back on the table. As the main ingredient was olive oil, it needn’t be cleaned immediately, though she would need to see to it before long.

“Thank you for your assistance,” she said as she wiped her hands on her apron. “Having someone with Mama eased my worries.”

“I am happy to be of help, but from your tone, I fear you think I mean to leave,” he said with another of his warm smiles. “I came down to force you to have a rest and some dinner.”

“Dinner?”

Dr. Vaughn nodded. “It is a meal one takes in the evening. Though I am rather partial to pork pies, I had Peggy warm some roast beef and boiled potatoes, which she assures me is more to your liking.”

“It is.” Violet wished for something better to say, but those were the only words her lagging wits were able to supply at the moment. “You are staying?”

“Do you still require my help?” he asked with the same puzzled expression that was stamped on her face, though Dr. Vaughn’s was questioning her sanity.

“If you are willing.”

“Then I am staying.”

Violet swallowed past a sudden lump that had formed in her throat, and she nodded.

“But do you have a pencil and paper on hand?” he asked, glancing about for the objects. “If you don’t mind, might I have Peggy deliver a message for me?”

“Certainly,” she said, reaching into a nearby drawer for the articles. “I do hope nothing is amiss. ”

Dr. Vaughn shook his head and began scribbling out words. “Not at all. The Finches invited me for dinner, and I must send word that I am unavailable.”

Violet straightened, her hands gripping her apron until it was thoroughly wrinkled. “You are canceling your plans for the evening?”

“It is nothing important.”

“But you are canceling your plans.”

Dr. Vaughn glanced up from his note, his brows creasing his forehead. “You have your hands quite full at present, and I can be of help. Why wouldn’t I cancel a silly dinner and evening of cards? This is more important.”

The gentleman spoke as though the answer was quite clear, and Violet couldn’t help but stare at him.

“Are you well?” asked Dr. Vaughn, moving to help her to a seat. “You look pale.”

But Violet shook the assistance away. “I am well. I am simply surprised. That is all. You are being so kind. I—”

The pressure filling her chest stole away her words for a moment, and she forced her throat to clear, gathering herself to say that which needed saying. Meeting his gaze, Violet filled her words with all the gratitude coursing through her.

“You are such a good friend to me, Dr. Vaughn. Thank you.”

“It is my pleasure,” he said, motioning her toward the corridor. “But we need to get you fed before you work yourself into the grave.”

*

Miracles came in many forms, and though small, the fact that Arthur spoke with such ease was nothing short of miraculous. Pain struck his heart, and the weight of that word settled into his limbs, making it difficult to follow Miss Templeton as they headed toward the dining room.

A friend ? That was what she’d called him.

Only a friend.