Rivals and Roses (The Vaughns #1)

Chapter 23

W andering to the far side of the room, Violet stood before a painting, pretending to study the canvas; the subject was not particularly inspiring, as it was like any number she’d seen of men sitting astride a horse, but being turned away from the gathering allowed her a moment’s peace.

Her family and friends meant well, but the key to Violet’s happiness was sloughing off fantasies; one could not be happy if one constantly clung to dreams that would never be fulfilled. Reaching that dreaded age of thirty without a single prospect had nearly broken her heart in two, and venturing into society with the ever-present hope that perhaps—just perhaps—today’s foray would prove victorious had only served to crush those remnants into powder.

No, better to embrace truth rather than kindly-meant poppycock.

How many hours had she spent crying over her dashed hopes? Violet was certain that the total likely equaled months if not years of her life. A husband and a family. A home to call her own. She had dreamt of such things from a young age, and despite all the evidence to the contrary, she hadn’t been able to stop herself from believing that somehow a man would see past her surface flaws and long to take her as his own. To spend their lives together. To cleave unto one another.

But then, many of the gentlemen in her past had known her beyond the Mr. Templeton facade, spending weeks and months in her company, and still, they’d chosen others for their brides. So, it wasn’t merely a matter of surface attractions. Oh, no. Her personality was severely lacking as well.

Despite having spent many an hour contemplating what it was that others found so repellant, Violet was no closer to an answer. Many laughed at her behind her back (or directly in her face), but she was capable of forming friendships. However fleeting they were. People flitted in and out of her life, rarely caring to linger for more than a year or two before moving on to those they deemed more deserving of their affection.

Diana and Miss Quinn’s conversation settled in her thoughts, and Violet wondered what it would be like to go to an entirely new place where her reputation wasn’t dictated by the unchangeable past. To have a clean slate. A fresh start. Could things be different? Or was it some immutable characteristic inside her that made her friendship so easy to dismiss?

Drawing in a sharp breath, Violet frowned at the painting. This was why it was better not to think of beaus and romance. It was impossible not to grow maudlin when faced with heartbreaking and unanswerable questions. Silly lady that she was.

Turning to face the gathering, Violet gazed out at the people. Despite being far larger than before with the partitions drawn back and the furniture swept away, the room was quite full. To the far side sat the makeshift stage with a piano and several large floral arrangements stood sentinel beside it while rows upon rows of chairs stretched out in the opposite direction.

Where did they get all the chairs? Did the Finches simply have them on hand whenever they required them? If so, where did they store them all? Farleigh Manor certainly was a large property, but this was a large number of seats .

Casting her gaze about the crowd, Violet searched for a friendly face. Felicity was otherwise occupied. Diana, though a sweetheart, was not the sort of company she required at present. To say nothing of the fact that her friend was ensconced by several ladies who were bound to further sour Violet’s mood.

A few ladies from Bentmoor stood not ten paces from her with a space just large enough for her to slip into without being overt, and with a nod of her head to the others, Violet stepped into the group, her eyes bouncing around the ladies as she tried to grasp the subject of their conversation.

“Mr. Eastman is beyond delighted,” said Jean—now Mrs. Eastman—as she placed a covert hand on her middle.

“The first is always such an exciting and anxious time,” said Mrs. Doddington with a nod and warm smile. “Thank goodness we are heading into the cooler months. It will be a relief not to be expecting during the summer.”

“Not that it makes much difference this year,” said Violet with a smile. “I cannot recall a colder July.”

Mrs. Doddington’s eyes widened, and she gave a vigorous nod. “I am chilled to the bone, and I live in terror that the children will catch this influenza that is sweeping through the area.”

“Has it reached Bentmoor?” asked Violet.

“Unfortunately, though it does seem to be rather mild,” said Mrs. Fernsby. “I fear the children are going mad being cooped up all the time, but I cannot bear to have them out in the cold and rain, lest they catch it.”

The other ladies all nodded and launched into a heated discussion concerning the state of their children and their respective health, which (though not pertinent to Violet directly) was interesting. Just as she was gathering the courage to ask what their physicians had done to treat the varying coughs and maladies, Mrs. Eastman turned to Violet.

“Have you met our dear Miss Brooks?”

Hiding her frown, Violet nodded. “I’ve had the pleasure. ”

She immediately sent out a silent petition for forgiveness, as it was a tiny lie to spare the feelings of another. Miss Brooks was not horrid, but knowing her had been anything but pleasurable. In the years since earning the title of “spinster,” Violet had spent time amongst that set and couldn’t bear the company of such dour creatures. Forever fixated on their unmarried state, they allowed their unfulfilled dreams to define them and color their world in shades of dingy gray, leeching any possible contentment or purpose from them.

“Oh, that is wonderful. I know she is to attend, and I am certain you two would enjoy the evening together,” said Mrs. Eastman, turning away from her friends to search the crowd.

Miss Doddington nodded and beamed at Violet. “Too true. You have much in common.”

From what Violet knew of the lady, the only thing they had in common was a lack of a husband, living or dead.

“There she is,” said Mrs. Eastman, pointing to one side of the gathering. “Come, I am certain you will enjoy her company.”

“I am enjoying your company at present,” said Violet.

“Don’t be coy,” said Mrs. Eastman with a grin that held a hint of condescension. “I hear she is organizing sewing parties for the…” she paused, fumbling for some word, other than the dreaded one that began with S, “…mature, unmarried ladies in the area. I have no doubt it would be quite diverting for you.”

With a curtsy, Violet excused herself. There was no need to admit that she had no intention of seeking out Miss Brooks, for they would not care to hear the truth; it was inconceivable that marital status did not determine friendships. Too many matrons assumed spinsters would have nothing to add to their conversation, and too many spinsters fled from the matrons, believing the same lies.

Wandering to the side of the gathering, Violet watched the people milling about, and she supposed it was simply human nature to categorize and label; few looked beyond those surface details to see the heart beneath. Never mind that one’s marital status was but one facet of a person.

“Miss Templeton,” called Mrs. Serena Seymour, raising her fan with a wave as she wove around the guests. In an instant, Violet’s heart lightened, and she didn’t have to feign a smile as the lady approached.

“How good to see you tonight,” said the lady as they exchanged greetings. “I heard your mother was ill, and I was afraid your family wouldn’t make it.”

“She was, but thankfully, she is on the mend now and has even agreed to sing tonight,” said Violet with a smile. “She so rarely performs anymore, and we are quite looking forward to it. My brother and his wife made the journey from Stoneford for the occasion.”

“How wonderful. I would’ve hated to miss it,” said Mrs. Seymour, batting her fan. “How lucky that Dr. Vaughn is such a skilled physician. Quite a miracle worker.”

“Pardon?”

But the lady snapped her fan closed with a vague wave of her hand. “Well, Dr. Vaughn was the one who treated your mother, wasn’t he? I thought your brother had been absent of late.”

Violet’s throat tightened, but she managed a faint smile. “I do not know what you’ve heard, Mrs. Seymour, but I assure you I was capable of tending to my mother’s ailment. My brother wasn’t necessary—though I am quite happy he is here tonight. I believe Mother has even pressed him into a duet with her, and their voices sound lovely together.”

Flicking that away with a swipe of her fan, Mrs. Seymour tsked, “Oh, I am certain it will be lovely, and I am certain you did much to ease your mother’s discomfort, but Dr. Vaughn spent an entire day tending to her. The whole village is talking about how he’s the Templetons’ physician now. ”

“He was kind enough to watch over her when I was otherwise occupied, but I assure you that all the treatments given were prescribed and made by a Templeton.”

“Whilst your brother was absent from home?” she asked with a puzzled expression that was too earnest to be genuine.

Violet forced a smile on her face. “Thankfully, we have a large store of medicines on hand, and I assure you she was not seriously ill, else my brother would’ve arrived home in a trice.”

“Of course. What son would’ve done differently?” asked Mrs. Seymour. “It is simply lucky that Dr. Vaughn was on hand to be of assistance. I heard a few ladies from Bentmoor spreading the strangest suppositions about our dear doctor, but any doubts people may have had before have entirely disappeared. What with him having gained your family’s approval.”

With a few more “pleasantries,” the lady bobbed and took her leave. Violet didn’t care if that sour-faced shrew had come to gloat or sniff out more gossip. It mattered not in the slightest, for the damage was done.

The village believed that even the local physician was relying on Dr. Vaughn?

When she had accepted his assistance, Violet hadn’t anticipated it causing further harm to their already tenuous position, but as she considered it, this past week had seen more and more of their patients flocking to Dr. Vaughn’s care. She’d tried to tell herself that with an illness abroad and Isaac conspicuously absent, it was entirely natural (though people usually approached her for assistance when he was away). But had Dr. Vaughn’s assistance validated the decision to leave the Templetons’ care?

Such a short time since his arrival, and it wasn’t as though people required a physician’s constant care. Especially in the summertime when illnesses were far fewer. Surely, a slight dip in people asking for Isaac held no significance. Yet with Dr. Vaughn relying on her to make his medicines, her schedule was as busy as ever; clearly, the people were calling for a physician.

Glancing about the gathering, Violet ticked the names off as she truly considered each one and whether or not they were patronizing Isaac or Dr. Vaughn. Having done so many times over the past weeks, it was easy enough to see the shifting tides, as more and more had chosen the latter over the former.

They must do something to stem the tide. Immediately.