Rivals and Roses (The Vaughns #1)

Chapter 31

H olidays are supposed to be happy things. Celebrations. And one cannot mark those festive occasions without a modicum of joy. It was written into the very name, after all. Festivities. It was impossible to speak the word without a frisson of anticipation. It evoked thoughts of games and food, dancing and music, and laughter and revelries that lightened the spirits of the entire village.

Yet it was difficult to muster excitement for the first harvest celebration this year. Though there were still some weeks before autumn would fully arrive, Lammas ushered in the end of a summer that had been far too fleeting. Too insubstantial. As much as she adored flurries of snow and ice, Violet wasn’t ready for winter to arrive.

Closing her eyes, she drew in a deep breath and clung to the little pleasures of the day. The church smelled like a bakery, and the air was thick with notes of honey and wheat, which evoked vivid memories of other Lammas celebrations and promised a grand feast once the service ended. Her stomach gurgled, and her eyes snapped open as she pressed a hand to it; thankfully, hers was not the only one rumbling at the sight of the altar laden with loaves of every size and shape, awaiting the vicar’s blessings on the first fruits of the harvest.

The vicar’s wife and her helpers had done their utmost to bedeck the interior with wheat and other symbols of harvest time, though the poor weather had guaranteed a poor crop. Large sheaves stood sentinel on either side of the bounty, whilst the pews were adorned with garlands of autumnal greenery and the occasional apple, pumpkin, or squash serving as accents.

With the final blessing, the parish rose to their feet and shuffled toward the churchyard as the ladies who’d organized the festivities hurried to move the loaves from the altar to the tables outside whilst the sharp-eyed bakers kept a close watch; it wouldn’t do to have one’s loaf ruined by a rival before the competition was to begin.

The children rushed forward, slipping none-too-carefully through the crowd to the waiting games whilst their parents began splintering off to enjoy the entertainments the festival had to offer. Alongside the bread, the feasting table was laden with donations of every sort; large pots of cider sat ready to be enjoyed alongside the bread, jams, fruits, and cheese. None of which were particularly grand, but they were beloved all the same.

Some children gathered to one side for races, whilst others sat at tables to weave wheat stalks into dolls, figurines, or whatever else delighted them. Several ladies worked amongst them, demonstrating the intricacies of the craft whilst creating grand sculptures with nothing more than a bit of twisted wheat. Despite having tried her hand at them, Violet had never been able to manage much more than the simplest of shapes, but she found it fascinating to watch the women’s fingers fly through the movements.

The gentility never deigned to enter the baking competition, but quite a few hovered nearby to watch whilst their servants’ loaves were judged on taste or appearance, eagerly awaiting the results as though their household’s honor were at stake. The audience clapped at the sight of the carefully sculpted loaves, some of which bore the likenesses of animals, foods, and plants.

The shift from somber to spirited happened in the blink of an eye, and the congregation threw themselves into the festivities with fervor. But Violet stood to one side, glancing about for any friendly face. When her eyes caught Miss Wrigley’s, Violet raised a hand in greeting, but the lady’s expression tightened before turning away in a pointed dismissal.

Like a pack of marauding Vikings, Violet’s confession had torn through the village, pillaging and razing everything in its path before the sun had set that day. In the sennight and a half since, the gossip had likely spread to Bentmoor as well, giving the busybodies a wealth of fodder—the likes of which they hadn’t seen since Mrs. Payne’s mysterious “trip” last year when she’d disappeared for several months and returned home with an infant in tow.

It was foolish to hope the turmoil would dissipate in less than a fortnight, and Violet knew she simply needed to accept her punishment. It was of her own making, after all. Drawing in a deep breath, she let it out in a long sigh, though she didn’t allow her disappointment to touch her posture. Shoulders back, spine straight. There was no need to broadcast just how much it bothered her to be standing alone.

At the far side of the gathering, Violet spied Diana and decided to throw herself on her friend’s mercy. Even standing silently with the ladies would be an improvement. Forcing a smile that was neither too broad (for that marked her as arrogant and unrepentant) nor too self-effacing (for going about in sackcloth and ashes was gaudy and insincere), Violet strode through the crowd.

“Good afternoon,” she said to Diana. The other ladies watched Violet with varying degrees of antagonism and apathy, and she nodded in their direction before sidling up beside her friend. “Did you and your mama assist Mrs. York with the decorations? The pews looked like they had benefited from your touch. ”

Diana smiled, though there was a touch of confusion to it. “You know we do so every year.”

“Are you implying that the rest of the decorations were neglected without Miss Gadd’s assistance? I assure you Mrs. York and the others did marvelous work,” said Miss Orton with a narrowed gaze. Violet refused to allow her shoulders to fall, though she cursed her silly eyes for not ensuring that none of Diana’s companions were closely tied to the trouble Violet had stirred up—and Miss Orton couldn’t be any closer to her particular friend, Miss Bacon.

“That isn’t what she meant,” said Diana with a scoff.

“It sounded that way to me,” said Miss Orton with a lift of her chin.

“She is known to say outrageous things,” added Mrs. Ryan as her gaze swept over Violet with a slight curl to her lips.

“Yes, Mr. Templeton is quite bold. Never knows when to keep her own counsel,” added Miss Edgeworth with a slight smile, which Violet thought a rather ridiculous thing to say as the lady was doing that very thing at that moment.

“Ladies,” said Diana with a scolding tone. “ Miss Templeton made a mistake, but we ought not to judge too harshly.”

“Miss Edgeworth meant no disrespect,” said Miss Orton with a tittering laugh. “She simply called her what was more appropriate. It’s not as though her name suits her.”

Violet huffed at that as her eyelids lowered and her gaze drifted between the ladies, and she hid the smile that threatened to turn up the corner of her lips. Not that their words were amusing, but the trio all watched her with the sharp gazes of predators on the hunt, and Violet knew just the sorts of things they were going to say. The same sorts of things she’d heard her entire life, and they hadn’t been particularly original the first time.

“Her parents were so very hopeful to name her after something so delicate and lovely,” said Miss Orton, her gaze raking over Violet’s tall and sturdy frame in the same dismissive manner many others had done before .

“Miss Orton!” said Diana with a scowl. “Miss Templeton behaved badly, but there is no need for you to do the same. She is my friend, and I will not listen to you castigate her for something that has nothing to do with you.”

Violet’s insides churned when Diana glanced in her direction; though her words were supportive and earnest, disappointment sat heavy in her eyes and expression. Violet deserved it. She did. What she’d done was wrong, but seeing that castigation in Diana’s gaze broke something inside her.

“Everyone is so quick to judge me, aren’t they?” said Violet in a low voice, and all four ladies stared at her.

“You—” began Miss Orton.

“I am ashamed of what I did. I make no secret of my guilt, and I have unequivocally apologized to the offended parties and done my utmost to atone for the damage I caused. Whether or not they accept my apology is entirely up to them—but none of that is your business,” said Violet, her brows knitting together as she glared at the ladies.

“They are our friends. They are our business,” said Miss Orton, crossing her arms and glaring.

Violet nodded in concession but added, “And my family have been your friends and neighbors for generations. I would think that might afford me a little grace, but that seems to be in short supply in Oakham.”

Turning away from the group, she strode toward her former spot of ostracism but paused and added, “Everyone has opinions about my behavior and is quick to punish me for my sins, but not one of you has any advice on how to keep my family from the poorhouse. We’ve served this community for decades, yet you abandoned us without a second thought, not caring what happens to us. I do not excuse my behavior, but I have to wonder what you would have done to save those you love from penury.”

Not bothering to see (or care) if her statement struck its intended target, Violet turned away as Diana continued to scold them for their callousness—though the lady didn’t follow after or call for Violet to return. But she couldn’t blame Diana for it. The lady enjoyed the social thrust too much to stand apart, just the two of them.

Glancing about, Violet couldn’t think of anything else she’d like to do, and the welcoming faces in the crowd were outnumbered by the scolding looks of disapproval. With a deep breath, she embraced the world for what it was. Remaining here was not enjoyable in the slightest: this wasn’t a traveling circus, and she wasn’t a sideshow to be gawked at.

Best to leave.

Violet pointed her feet to the front gate as a niggling thought poked at her; she didn’t want to give it a voice, yet it refused to leave her alone. She couldn’t help but wonder if the time had finally arrived to leave Oakham. It had always been in her future. Though there were a few families in the area that employed governesses, it was unlikely she would find employment here, and taking a position far from here would allow her a new start. A new life.

Or perhaps she could try her hand at an apothecary shop in London. Dr. Vaughn did say women helped their husbands with such things, and perhaps she might find someone amenable to taking on female staff—but she cast aside that thought the moment it popped into her mind. Not only was there a vast difference between accepting assistance from family and formal employment, but Violet couldn’t level yet another scandal upon her family.

If she were to take any sort of “employment,” it would need to be of the genteel variety. Leaving her with only one possibility: governess.

The sky above was a patchwork of white, gray, and blue, but the damp in the air made it decidedly chilly, and Violet tugged her shawl tighter about her shoulders. Her reticule dangled on her wrist, bumping her and reminding her of its contents.

Tugging it open, she pulled out Dr. Vaughn’s handkerchief, now cleaned and ready to be returned to him. Her fingers ran over the bold monogram in the corner, though her gloves kept her from feeling the silky thread. Violet couldn’t stop a faint smile as she considered the gentleman and the gesture that had landed this in her care. A blush stole across her cheeks as she recalled her tears that night, but his kindness had brought with it such warmth that any embarrassment she felt over her lack of control was burned away with appreciation.

As she’d forgotten to give this to him any number of times in the past sennight and a half, Violet knew she ought to do so today, else she would likely forget for some time. Turning on her heel, she glanced about the gathering. With their hats firmly atop their heads and their dark frockcoats, the gentlemen all looked too similar to tell one from the other, but being tall gave her a vantage that allowed her to see more clearly through the crowd—especially when her quarry’s head also peeked above the others.

Spying the good doctor, Violet turned in his direction but only made it two steps before recognizing his companions. Her cheeks burned hot like coals when she spied Felicity at her husband’s side, and Violet considered just how urgent it was to return Dr. Vaughn’s handkerchief. He had plenty, surely. Another sennight or two wouldn’t make a difference.

Coward. She ought to speak to Felicity. But what was to be said? Caught up in her guilt and exhaustion, she’d spoken harshly to the lady and confessed far more than she’d intended to say. How could she look Felicity in the face? Best not.

“There you are,” said Osborn Gadd, appearing at her side just as Violet turned to make her escape. “You aren’t leaving already, are you? The fun has only just begun.”

“I think it’s for the best,” she murmured, glancing at the gate.

“Nonsense,” said Osborn, waving that away. “The gossip will fade far quicker if you don’t hide away like some criminal. Hold your head up, Vi, and enjoy the afternoon.”

Not waiting for her to agree, Osborn pulled her arms through his. Violet knew better than to fight the gentleman once he got an idea in his head, but she couldn’t help considering whether or not gnawing off her limb might be the better course.

“Things have been rough of late,” she said. “I do not know if I can simply forget it all and ‘enjoy the afternoon,’ as you so blithely put it.”

“You fret too much, Vi,” he said with a shake of the head. “Those are troubles for another day. Enjoy yourself!”

Gritting her teeth, Violet forced a smile but didn’t fight the gentleman as he forced her back into the fray.