Rivals and Roses (The Vaughns #1)

Chapter 24

R ubbing her forehead, Violet stepped from the outskirts of the gathering and ventured into the fray once more. Her eyes fell to her brother, who was speaking animatedly with a circle of people on the far side of the room. Hopefully, his being seen publicly would be a boon. Even if he was returning to Stoneford for another sennight.

“Good evening, Mrs. Campbell,” said Violet, grasping onto the first lady who crossed her path. A little goodwill certainly wouldn’t go amiss. “How is little Toliver?”

The lady batted her fan. “He is faring well.”

“Oh, I am glad to hear it,” said Violet with a smile. “What with the sickness that is plaguing so many of us, I have been concerned about his lungs.”

“As are we,” said Mrs. Campbell, whose own expression displayed a measure of warmth, though there was a stiffness to it that had Violet’s muscles tightening.

“I do hope the medicines are helping,” she said.

Mrs. Campbell nodded but sighed. “When he deigns to take it. He battles the nursemaid every time he has to, and I fear she isn’t able to get a full dose in him. ”

“That is worrisome,” said Violet with a furrow of her brow. “Most medicines taste irredeemably foul, which can be difficult for children.”

Silence followed that for a beat, and Mrs. Campbell began to study the back of her fan. “I hear tell that Dr. Vaughn is quite good with the little ones.”

Violet’s hands clenched her skirts, and she forced them to loosen, lest she leave behind a mark that everyone would notice for the rest of the evening. In a fit of desperation, she said, “I know Isaac has been considering new ways to administer medicine to children, and I am certain it will be palatable the next time Toliver requires his prescription.”

Mrs. Campbell’s brows rose, a genuine ease entering her expression. “That would be wonderful. Heavens, I would love such a thing for adults if possible. Mr. Campbell may not fight me, but he grumbles every bit as loudly as his son when it is time to take a tonic.”

Giving Violet a nod of dismissal, Mrs. Campbell swept away as reality crashed down once more. Had she truly promised a pleasant and effective medicine? If Violet were able to deliver such a miracle, she could make a fortune.

Cachets had been invented to address this very issue, but they were almost too large for even an adult to swallow, let alone a child. Adding sugar, honey, or flavored extracts provided some relief, but Violet had added as much as was possible whilst still maintaining the proper concentration. Even if she were to make it in tablet form, it did little to help; no matter how quickly one swallowed, the briefest of touches on the tongue was wretched, and Toliver would have to swallow several to get the same effect.

The medicine must be ingested, but how to make it palatable? Despite having a few ideas of how to improve the taste, any experimentation would cost time and money—neither of which she had an abundance of at present.

Violet stood there, her thoughts far from the party as she considered the problem from new angles. Or rather, dragged forth the same solutions she’d considered and rejected all the other times she’d attempted to resolve the issue. It was lunacy to attempt previous experiments and hope for success when all others had failed. Yet surely, there must be a solution.

Frowning to herself, Violet felt that old and familiar frustration bubble to the surface. So much about healing and medicine felt more lucky than intentional, as though fate did more to pull people from the brink of death than anything she concocted in her office. Though she knew her remedies provided relief and healing, it felt as though better answers lay just beyond her grasp.

“Miss Templeton?”

Jerking herself from her musings, she turned to find Dr. Vaughn standing there. She stared at him for a long moment, uncertain as to why his tone and expression were so expectant.

“The concert is about to begin,” he said, nodding toward the front of the room, where the others were choosing their seats.

“Oh, yes,” she said, taking his proffered hand. Her thoughts were too convoluted for her to care where they sat, so she followed Dr. Vaughn’s lead, giving it no thought when he chose the far back corner.

What could she do? The question haunted her, forever stirring up her fears and never providing any answers. Or none that she liked.

Even if she managed to solve the issue with Toliver Campbell, it didn’t change the fact that they could hardly afford the supplies to make the medicines that were keeping them from being entirely bankrupt. Violet couldn’t snap her fingers and double Oakham’s population. They certainly couldn’t make more of them ill (not that Violet would wish such a thing if they could). Mama would never agree to leave, and even if they did, Violet couldn’t imagine how Isaac would secure another position.

Mr. Finch and Felicity stood at the front, welcoming them to the evening’s entertainment, but Violet’s attention wasn’t on their hosts any more than it was on the people around them. The troubles at her doorstep and the gentleman at her side occupied all her thoughts as she rested on the same solution once more.

No matter how much she enjoyed Dr. Vaughn’s company, how kind the gentleman was, and how much he did not deserve it, she had to get him to leave Oakham after the birth.

Violet’s eyes fell to her hands, which lay knitted together in her lap, and her shoulders bowed beneath the knowledge. Pain throbbed in the back of her throat, pulsing outward as her ribs constricted, and she tried once more to set the world to rights. To allow both the Templetons and Vaughns to coexist. To turn time back to before he arrived. Yet the thought of having never met him made her heart twist like a well-used dishrag before it was hung up to dry. Which only made the pain and pressure build within her.

What sort of person was she? To simultaneously wish Dr. Vaughn miles away yet mourn the loss?

Friend though he may be, they never lasted; one day he would marry and erase her from his life without a second thought, so why did the thought of doing the same hurt so very much? To choose between her family’s survival and his—no matter how good and wonderful a friend he was—was no choice at all. Was it?

Fate had dropped her into an impossible solution, and no matter how she tried to work out a way for everyone to be happy and provided for, Violet knew she was powerless to protect everyone from this pain. One gentleman’s temporary comfort or the long-term well-being of her mother, sister-in-law, and niece or nephew.

Violet forced her gaze to the front as the performers took their turns, filling the room with a myriad of melodies, though her thoughts were far from the concert. Even when Mama took her turn, Violet could hardly enjoy it, though the lady was quite in her element as she shared her love of country tunes with each note .

Having enough presence of thought, Violet applauded alongside the others before Isaac moved to join their mother on the stage. Her heart stuttered in her chest as the pair began a duet, their voices blending perfectly together as Mama beamed at having her son at her side.

What sort of person was she? The sort who both delighted in and hated seeing her loved ones so happy.

Apparently, it was a night of contradictions for Violet Templeton.

Not that she begrudged their connection. Her mother loved her. She did. But Violet couldn’t help but notice how much more she enjoyed Isaac. Just as Papa had preferred Martha. But why was it that no one preferred Violet’s company best? Even Diana and Felicity, both of whom adored her as much as any friends could, had others they turned to first.

Was it selfish to want someone to desire her as much as she desired them? To be another’s priority? To have them love her as deeply as she loved them?

Brushing those thoughts aside, for they were not helpful at present, Violet considered the trouble with their finances but was left as frustrated and directionless as before. What was she to do?

And that was the moment Lewis Finch took the stage, sitting before the pianoforte with the air of one who knew his business. Violet perked as the first notes rang out, and she grasped onto the distraction he presented, but a mournful tune echoed through the room, ringing out with the desperate sorrow that already choked her heart. The notes felt ripped from deep inside her, their agitation growing to a tumultuous crescendo as they gave voice to the feelings churning through her.

Violet embraced the sound as though the composer had written it solely for her, perfectly articulating the sea of troubles that threatened to drown her in their depths. And her eyes began to sting.