Rivals and Roses (The Vaughns #1)

Chapter 29

W hilst many cursed the influenza spreading through the village, Arthur couldn’t help but see the miracle it was. For all that it kept him busy, there had yet to be any deaths, and though a few patients had required special attention, most were seen through the ordeal with a few home remedies. In London, such a thing was unthinkable. Even the simplest of sicknesses ravaged the populace, taking at least a few with it.

But then, the city was such a putrid mess of miasmas that it was a miracle anyone remained in good health. How could one when one never breathed proper air?

And so, Arthur counted his blessings, choosing to focus on the good to be found amid his exhaustion, though even his most optimistic of thoughts struggled to fight against the bone-deep weariness that plagued his every step. Stopping, he rubbed his neck and stretched his back, but he knew it was a mistake the moment he made it. Getting his feet moving once more was infinitely more difficult than ignoring his aches and pains, and even that short pause was enough to test the limits of his fortitude .

The Slaters were both resting easy, their lungs clear enough that his ministrations were no longer required, and he could finally seek his bed. If he didn’t collapse on the way.

Oakham was still. Only the sound of his footsteps (muted though they were) broke the silence, and Arthur couldn’t believe how calm the world could be. Even if London slowed at this time of night, it never quieted entirely. Animals calling, carriage wheels clattering against the cobblestones, people going about their business, street vendors hawking their wares, the city was a tumult of noise that one could not entirely escape—even inside one’s own home.

Standing on the main thoroughfare of this village, it felt as though he were the only person stirring. Every living creature from the livestock to their masters was snug in their bed, lost in their dreams.

Darkness was so much stronger in the country. Arthur hadn’t thought anything about traveling at night before, but in the city, one could rely on streetlamps to light the way even if the houses snuffed their own. Oakham boasted no such amenities, and the cottages were few and far between on the edge of the village, so even when the lanterns were lit, they helped little.

Only the moonlight above guided him home, and Arthur added a lamp to the list of supplies he required as a country physician. He supposed it wasn’t an easy thing to haul around on a daily basis, so perhaps not. Or perhaps he might be able to store it in a saddle bag—when he finally mastered riding.

Thankfully, the skies were clear tonight, and the moon and stars above provided quite the sight. It wasn’t as though the city was entirely devoid of such nighttime displays, but it felt as though Arthur saw through the entire vastness of space, glimpsing every star in the universe; so many that one couldn’t say the sky was black but rather a swirl of gray.

Drawing in a breath, Arthur turned his gaze to the road ahead and focused on the journey home—only to see light blazing from a window ahead. He suspected the source long before he was close enough to see the Templetons’ home clearly, and though he knew he ought to ignore it, his eyes moved to the windows of their own accord.

To one side of the front door, the parlor was dark with the shutters closed tight, but on the other, the office fire blazed, casting the room in a bright orange glow, and Miss Templeton stood before it, shifting a pan above the flames. Some of her curls tumbled free of their bindings, sticking to her neck and cheeks as she frowned at her work. It was impossible to tell if it was a trick of the light or the truth, but even from the road, Miss Templeton looked liable to collapse.

Arthur’s own body throbbed, reminding him of his waiting bed, but he couldn’t turn away from the sight. Keeping a tight hold on his heart, he refused the urge to join her as he had so often done over the last few weeks. Miss Templeton had made her feelings clear, and he wasn’t going to waste precious time fostering a false friendship and an unrequited love. Better to simply forget her and look to other possibilities.

But try as he might, Arthur couldn’t help but feel an echo of the defeat that had her shoulders slumping.

In London, rivals came and went, their names and faces blurring together with little meaning. A physician might retreat, but there wasn’t any true surrender, for there were always other patients to claim and a never-ending supply of sickness and injuries to treat. Oakham was supposed to be a haven away from that competition, and instead, Arthur found himself locked in a far more bloody and brutal battle where his victory wasn’t a mere inconvenience to another.

That weight settled heavily in his chest, and as much as he wanted to curse Miss Templeton and say she deserved whatever fate came next, Arthur couldn’t dismiss his part in this debacle because he had threatened her livelihood. However unintentionally.

Whatever their feelings now, her partnership with her brother served the needs of the town. Mr. Templeton’s penchant for over-diagnosing had only harmed a few purses. And though their education lacked the latest theories and medical breakthroughs, Miss Templeton’s skill with medicines outmatched and outweighed that deficiency.

If he hadn’t arrived in Oakham, the townsfolk wouldn’t have thought twice about the level of care they were given, as the Templetons were far better off than most. But when presented with the opportunity to patronize a “proper” doctor, suddenly the Templetons were labeled charlatans and crooks.

Which, if he were to be honest, was somewhat fitting. Mr. Templeton had tricked a few of his patients out of a few coins. However, though Arthur found it an abhorrent practice, such gouging was commonplace enough that few physicians were entirely honest with the patients who could afford to pay more. Heaven knew that most apothecaries made significant money from placebos and cure-alls, but in those cases, they often did more harm than merely cheating the patient.

Standing there like the fool he was, Arthur couldn’t say what he thought about the circumstances in which he found himself or his feelings for Miss Templeton, for he was no closer to understanding his heart than when she’d confessed. He was simply so very, very tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of success coming at others’ expense. Tired of having his heart tossed aside. Tired of returning to an empty home.

So, Arthur did as he’d done whenever such thoughts arose over the past few days: he walked away. He only hoped sleep would provide an equally easy escape when he climbed into bed; he didn’t think he could manage another night of staring at the ceiling. Perhaps exhaustion would finally give way to oblivion, rather than memories of a haunting pair of brown eyes.

“Dr. Vaughn?” called a quiet voice from just behind, and Arthur turned to see Mr. Grant standing on his doorstep, a lantern held high.

The fellow laughed and lowered the light. “‘Tis you. My misses swore she saw The Gray Man traipsing about the road, although he’s only ever haunted the fields. It’s awfully late for you to be out and about. ”

“I am returning from the Slaters’ home,” said Arthur, nodding back the way he’d come. “They are resting peacefully now, which means I am free to do so as well.”

“It’s lucky my wife spied you when she did,” said Mr. Grant. “She’s getting that cough, and I was hoping you might have some of the tisane on you. I’ve heard that it works a treat.”

“Unfortunately, I used up the last of mine,” said Arthur, glancing at the makeshift bag he’d been using of late. It wasn’t large enough to carry all the medicines he required, and the instruments inside were the inferior ones he’d used during his student days, but as he wasn’t ready to face the Templetons and rescue the valise he’d left behind, it would have to do. “I will mix some tomorrow morning, and if I have time or happen to pass by, I’ll bring it by. Though I fear it might be a day or two before I’m out this way.”

Mr. Grant’s expression fell. “She’s struggling to sleep. I’d sure welcome some tonight.”

Arthur nodded down the road, drawing the fellow’s attention toward the light still burning bright in the Templetons’ home. “It was Miss Templeton’s recipe, and I know she is still awake. If it is a dire need, then I have no doubt she would be willing to supply you with some this minute.”

Drawing in a deep breath, Mr. Grant sighed. “No doubt she would, but when I dropped by this afternoon, I was informed that they’ve raised their prices. The apothecary shop in Bentmoor doesn’t charge so much, even if it is less convenient.”

“Larger suppliers can afford to sell their wares for less, but I guarantee their products aren’t as fine a quality as Miss Templeton’s.”

“That may be, but medicines are already so dear. I suppose I shall have to wait until tomorrow and buy it from you or make the trip to Bentmoor,” said Mr. Grant. “Now, off to bed with you, Dr. Vaughn. Morning will come quickly.”

“That it will,” replied Arthur, forcing his feet to continue down the lane .

Heaven help him, why did he feel the need to defend her? Mr. Grant’s decision had no bearing on him, yet Arthur couldn’t help the words. Miss Templeton’s actions may not have been honorable, but he couldn’t entirely blame her with so much at stake. Especially as it was clear that his hope for a peaceful coexistence had been flawed from the start.

And if the Templetons’ rising prices drove their patients to him or Bentmoor, then what would be left for them to live on?

That problem was not Arthur’s to solve. Miss Templeton’s lies and manipulations were unacceptable. She’d used his feelings against him. Betrayed his trust in such fundamental ways. And understanding the context of her choice didn’t alleviate that guilt.

Arthur drew in a deep breath, his gaze falling to the ground, but try as he might, he couldn’t rid himself of the hope she’d presented and the possibility that had laid within her smile. He rolled his eyes at himself and slipped through his front gate. Relief settled on his shoulders as he considered the soft bed that awaited him—only to find two bundles on the doorstep.

It was difficult to discern what they were precisely, for they were shrouded in shadow and wrapped in so much waxed paper that it would take a veritable tempest to get past the protections. Opening the door, he put his bag inside and picked up the two bundles, bringing them to the console table just inside the parlor.

The maid-of-all-work had banked the fire, and Arthur retrieved a spill from the mantlepiece and lit the twist of paper on the coals. As he lit the waiting candle on the table, his eyes burned at the sudden brightness, little though it may be; as they adjusted, Arthur examined the basket and what appeared to be his proper medical bag beneath the waxed paper.

Lifting it, he drew it closer to the light and found polished leather gleaming back at him; all scuffs and signs of age were gone as though it were new. Opening it, he found the bottles arranged perfectly, filled, and newly labeled with script far finer than his .

Turning to the basket, Arthur found a wealth of vials and jars, each nestled amongst enough straw that it would take a fair bit of mishandling for them to break, and the boxes were individually wrapped snugly with more waxed paper, ensuring that not one had been ruined by the rain. Tucked between them was a small letter with his name on the front.

Inside were just a few little words.

I am sorry. —V.

No desperate pleadings for forgiveness. No excuses or explanations. Arthur didn’t know how such a little thing could have such an impact, but then, when taken as a whole, the offering wasn’t small. Any other delivery she’d made had included a bill for her labor, but there was none in sight. The medicines in his bag and the basket were worth a tidy sum, something her family desperately needed. To say nothing of the hours poured into the gesture that went far beyond simply supplying him with the medicines he required.

Leaning back, Arthur sat on the back of the sofa and stared at the gift. He wanted to hold onto his anger. He certainly tried to nurse the hurt, but with each passing day, it grew more difficult to see her as the villain he wished her to be.

At this very moment, Miss Violet Templeton slaved away whilst everyone else slept. Though Arthur didn’t know what the lady was doing precisely, there was no mistaking the effort she expended, and whatever else he doubted about her, he couldn’t deny that Miss Templeton was industrious. And usually on another’s behalf.

And where did that certainty come from? With everything that had passed between them, Arthur didn’t know why he thought kindly of her. Perhaps his heart was simply too weak, but with well over a decade of experience with courtship (pitiful though his history was in that regard), he knew better than to blindly cling to unrequited love.

Yet the image of her working away, alone and exhausted, hovered in his thoughts. Regardless of Arthur’s desire for sleep, he knew he wouldn’t get a wink whilst knowing she still toiled. Especially when the reason for her harried determination was due to his presence in town.

A glutton for punishment? Perhaps. A fool? Most certainly. But for all that he bore the elevated title of “doctor,” Arthur Vaughn never claimed the lofty intelligence that so many of his peers did.

Blowing out the candle, Arthur left the bags and basket on the table and strode back out the door, following the lane to the Templetons’ home. No doubt the structure had some quaint name to its credit, as all the homes were named for the local plants and animals—Primrose Place, Ivy Grove, or his own Heathfield Cottage—but Arthur had never heard it referred to as anything but “the Templetons’.”

And as he stood once more before it, he found Miss Templeton still at the fireplace, sweat beading upon her forehead as she stirred something within a large copper pan. The massive slab of a worktable had been shunted to the side to make room for her work, and it was piled with bundles of herbs that had been pulled from their drying hooks so as not to get in the way.

Arthur spied no food at hand, and he knew it was likely Miss Templeton hadn’t eaten in some time. Only a small stool sat beside the fire to see to her comfort, though the lady wasn’t using it. When lost in her work, Miss Templeton seemed blind to all else, focused entirely on her task and unable to recall the needs of her body nor the ticking of the clock.

For all his determination to come here, Arthur didn’t know what he ought to do. He still wasn’t certain why he was there as his exhausted mind struggled to keep his thoughts organized. What could he do for her? What ought he to do? Arthur didn’t owe the lady anything. Yet his feet dragged him to the side door, and he watched her through the adjacent window.

Miss Templeton’s brows knitted together as she stared into the mixture; her lips tightened, her expression falling as she examined her work. The lady’s chin trembled, and she dropped the pan onto a corner of the worktable and collapsed onto the stool. Spine sagging, her eyes turned to the windows, and Arthur stiffened when he thought that she spied him, but her gaze was unfocused and empty; with the darkness enfolding him, he was shrouded from her view.

Then, with a shuddering breath, Miss Templeton burst into tears. Not little teardrops that slithered down her cheeks, but the sort of hopeless cries of one pushed beyond her breaking point.