Rivals and Roses (The Vaughns #1)

Chapter 38

W iping her hands on a rag, Violet stood just beyond Felicity’s birthing cot. Mr. Finch was seated beside his wife, his gaze roving over his son’s face with an expression of utter awe as he held the babe’s hand in his. Now cleaned and swaddled, the child still had the squashed appearance of the newborn, his features pinched and swollen in ways that made it impossible to tell one baby from the next, though all in attendance swore he was the most beautiful ever born.

With Violet’s assistance, Felicity was cleaned as well as she could be, and despite the physical toll, her friend’s expression glowed with pleasure; her wayward curls had pulled free of her plait, sticking to her temple and neck, but her eyes drank in the child bundled in her arms.

Was there ever a more moving sight? Such utter and unrestrained joy and relief all wrapped together as snugly as the linen tucked around the babe. Violet’s heart throbbed in her chest, threatening to beat straight through it. Everything had gone perfectly, and though the babe was now dozing, little George’s lungs had been strong when he greeted the world.

“It’s magnificent, isn’t it?” whispered Dr. Vaughn as he appeared at her side .

Violet nodded, unable to form the words as she watched the trio together. Then, with a silent nod toward the door, the pair slipped away: their work was done. Soon the rest of the Finches flooded the chamber, surrounding the newest member with congratulations and affection.

Standing in the corridor, Violet stopped a passing maid and asked her to prepare the carriage before Dr. Vaughn led her to the drawing room.

“It does make me feel ever so fancy to ask for the carriage to be brought round,” said Violet with a laugh as she collapsed onto the sofa.

“You wish to leave so soon?” asked Dr. Vaughn before glancing at the tea service. “Would you like a cup while you wait?”

“Yes, and yes,” she replied. “My work is completed. Though the excitement of meeting her son has reinvigorated Felicity, it is only temporary. Soon, she will collapse and sleep for a good long while. The nursemaid is on hand if they require any assistance, and it is getting rather late.”

Dr. Vaughn nodded as he readied a cup. Violet doubted it was fresh, but she didn’t care in the slightest, as her throat was parched. She watched as the gentleman moved through the steps with as much ease and skill as a highborn society matron.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a man make me a cup of tea,” she mused.

“It sounds as if those men weren’t worth knowing,” said Dr. Vaughn with his characteristic softness, though the words themselves were far more biting than she expected of him.

With a smile, Violet accepted the cup. “Perhaps not.”

Settling into the sofa, Dr. Vaughn sat beside her as they enjoyed their drinks. Even if the servants hurried, it would be some time before the carriage and horses were ready, and now that she was seated, exhaustion settled into her bones. Glancing at the window, she saw that it was black as pitch outside, though she didn’t think it was quite bedtime yet .

Dr. Vaughn’s arm brushed hers as he reached for the biscuits, setting a pair on each of their saucers, and Violet felt a calm settle over her like a blanket. Uncertainty lay just beyond these walls, yet here and now, she was at peace. It was as though that stalwart soul of his simply radiated the sentiment, allowing her to revel in the quiet that he brought to her world.

There were no troubles or difficulties ahead. Simply peace.

*

Perched on the edge of the seat, Arthur tried to relax into the sofa after placing the biscuits on Miss Templeton’s saucer, but his muscles refused to cooperate. There wasn’t a better time than now, and the carriage would be ready before they knew it.

“I love seeing a new family together,” he said, casting his mind back to the image in the adjacent room. “So much happiness in a moment. Makes me rather jealous. It’s the reason I wanted to settle in the country.”

“Is it?” asked Miss Templeton, her gaze turning from her refreshments. “I may be wrong, but I had thought it possible to have a family in London.”

There was a slight tease in her tone, and Arthur smiled, though his stomach remained twisted in knots. The opportunity had been laid out for him, so there was no reason to retreat.

“True,” he replied. “But the city is an entirely different way of living, and for a long time I have dreamt of something better than living amongst chaos and competition, where everything centers on prestige and position.”

“You make the country sound like a utopia, but I warn you that we have plenty of pomp and circumstance, where people obsess over that ‘prestige and position’ you do not care for,” she said, setting down her cup.

“Not to the same degree,” he said, his brow furrowing as he tried to think how to describe it. “I was raised in the heart of it, where the focus of one’s life is grand accomplishments and making a name for oneself. Except for me and my youngest brother, the rest of the family is intent on building up a legacy for the sake of having a legacy. Their joy comes from acclaim, and that seems to me a hollow way to live.”

Miss Templeton shifted in her seat, turning her full attention on him. “And what is it that you wish for your life?”

A smile drew up the corner of his lips as Arthur’s mind filled with the image. “A cottage. With a garden. Before seeing yours, my dreams had been far more simplistic in that regard, but now, I imagine my home looking something like the one you’ve cultivated. Green all around. A wife and a large family with more children than we have space for, but it matters little because we spend our days exploring the countryside roundabout. And in the evenings, we read aloud in front of the fireplace.”

For all that the image burned brightly in his mind, Arthur wished he had the words to describe it. Though he knew there was an idyllic tint to the dream that was impossible to attain in this flawed world, it was less about the details as much as it was about the feel of the thing. So, he focused on that.

“I want a quiet life. Where I can do good with my skills but still focus on my family.” He shifted in place and cleared his throat as he tried to understand Miss Templeton’s silence. “No doubt it seems silly and simplistic, but I’ve already spent so many years watching my family chase after prestige, and I don’t think it’s made them any happier than the plain life of a country physician.”

Hazarding a look at Miss Templeton, Arthur found her watching him with a soft expression that the worried parts of his mind wanted to label as pitying, but the gentle glimmer in her gaze hinted at some warmer sentiment.

“I don’t think that sounds silly at all, Dr. Vaughn,” she murmured. “It sounds splendid.”

A jolt of joy shot through him, and Arthur fought to keep his voice calm. “You said not long ago that you didn’t need marriage to be happy.”

Miss Templeton straightened. “I did?”

“I recall it quite clearly. ”

With a huff of a laugh, she shook her head. “That sounds familiar. But yes, I do not need marriage to be happy, but then, matrimony is contingent on more than my own choices, and one shouldn’t require something that is beyond one’s control to be happy. Thus, I do not need it. But that doesn’t mean I do not want it.”

Arthur’s breath caught as he stared at her. “Then, you wish to marry? I asked you that question not long ago, and you dismissed the thought offhand.”

Miss Templeton’s smile grew wan. “It is difficult to remain happy when we fixate on that which we do not have, so I’ve worked hard to bury those desires. It is easier that way, else I would become like the other spinsters, whose entire life is defined by that loss. Every conversation and every thought revolves around what they long to have but cannot. I do not want to be like that.”

Drawing in a deep breath, she let the words out slowly, as though pulling them out from the deepest recesses of her heart. “But yes, I do want to marry. Very much so.”

And then, in a rush of words, she added, “Please do not breathe a word to anyone about my feelings. People already pity me for being a spinster. Should I ever admit that I yearn for a loving marriage, it would only make people pity me all the more.”

Pausing, Miss Templeton amended that with a dry tone, “Or they’d throw themselves into finding me a husband, and it is impossible to hold onto my joy when I am being tossed at hapless men, only to be rejected again and again. It is impossible to maintain one’s equilibrium in the face of disappointment. Better to embrace my life as it is. So, please do not breathe a word to anyone.”

“I promise. But surely, you cannot give up hope—”

Huffing, Miss Templeton shook her head. “Oh, believe me, Dr. Vaughn. I held out hope far longer than I ought to have. Gentlemen do not want a wife like me.”

“Rubbish,” spat Arthur, his brows pulling low .

But she held up a staying hand. “Please do not pander to me. I have had so many friends and family tell me over the years that I am lovely and all that nonsense, but it doesn’t alter the fact that I am too tall for any man to desire.”

“Don’t listen to that fool, Gadd,” said Arthur with a scowl. “From the moment I met him, I knew he was a half-wit. You are a perfect size.”

Miss Templeton laughed, her eyes alighting with pleasure as she gazed at him. “You are kind.”

“Kind nothing. You are an incredible woman. Intelligent and more capable than anyone I know. Thoughtful and generous—willing to take the very clothes off your back to help another. You make me feel comfortable and accepted as no one else ever has. And if all that was not enough, you are beautiful, with a smile that warms me to my core and the finest eyes I’ve ever seen.”

Her gaze fell away as he spoke, and as the words poured forth, her cheeks reddened, though her smile grew. That little sign of pleasure spurred him on, and Arthur drew in a deep breath, infusing his words with all the strength of his conviction.

“Any man with an ounce of sense would be lucky to have you as his wife.”

Miss Templeton stiffened, and her eyes snapped to his, her brows drawing tight together as she stared at him. A heaviness gathered in the air around them, whispering to Arthur that now was the time. He’d made his feelings known, and only one step remained.

That wretched tongue of his wanted to flee, but he held firm, demanding it obey him. He was master here, and he would not allow it to ruin things—

A knock on the door drew their attention, and the maid entered with a bob. “The carriage is ready for you, madam.”

“My thanks, Jane. I will be down shortly.” Miss Templeton rose to her feet, and Arthur’s pulse stuttered.

The moment was slipping away .

Grabbing her by the hand before she turned away, he blurted, “Would you join me on a picnic tomorrow? On our bridge?”

Miss Templeton turned back to look at him with a faint smile on her lips. “Of course.”

“You would?”

“You needn’t sound so surprised, Dr. Vaughn.” The lady’s tone held a hint of a laugh. “If you haven’t noticed of late, I enjoy your company and am always glad for a reason to secure it.”

Were there sweeter words? Arthur couldn’t think of any as he still held her hand in his. But his own fell short as he tried to think of how to convey the pleasure that coursed through him, weaving into his bones and sinew until he felt as though he were an entirely new man. Lifting her hand to his lips, Arthur pressed a kiss to her knuckles, his gaze holding hers as she blushed all the more.

“Are you available at one?” he whispered.

“Yes.”

“Then until tomorrow, Miss Templeton.”

***

Drawing in a deep breath, Violet reveled in the scent of the summer air that wafted through the carriage window and the chill that helped to cool her cheeks. With Dr. Vaughn’s words still coursing through her, there was no helping the heat that consumed her.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the handkerchief. Despite having taken to carrying it around at all times, she’d still forgotten to return it to him. It was nearly black in the carriage with only faint moonlight coming through the windows, but she didn’t need a lamp to see the image of his monogram. Her fingers had traced over the threads again and again, memorizing the pattern .

How many times had she heard ladies discuss in awed tones the idea of a gentleman reciting poetry? Lines about love and beauty were the romantic ideal—the pinnacle of every young lady’s fantasy. However, Violet couldn’t think of anything more wonderful than hearing a gentleman pour out his soul, describing with such longing his dreams for a family.

Dr. Vaughn was no orator. He never would be. Yet his heart had been in every syllable as he described a paradise, his passion lending it more strength than if he possessed Shakespeare’s talent with words. But then, Dr. Vaughn certainly knew how to craft a compliment. His words played through her mind, and she closed her eyes, lifting her hand and pressing the place he’d kissed to her cheek.

She jerked her hand down, her eyes popping open.

No.

That was dangerous ground. Whether or not the feel of his lips made her pulse quicken and her skin flush, it mattered little. Violet didn’t love Arthur Vaughn. She couldn’t. Refusing to examine the palpitations that had taken hold of her heart, she shoved those thoughts and feelings deep into the darkness. Never to be seen again. Violet was mistress of her heart, and she wouldn’t allow it to dictate to her anymore.

“Any man with an ounce of sense would be lucky to have you as his wife.”

A compliment and a cut all wrapped into one. How many times would she build castles in the sky only to have the gentleman take a pickaxe to it with that little phrase? They were the words friends and family slathered on her whenever her heart suffered another wound, plying her with that bitter salve as they assured her she was a prize for any man. Some other man, that is.

Friendship was one thing. Love was another. And no amount of honeyed words would alter that. Or the fact that Violet hadn’t the means to provide Dr. Vaughn with his dream. At her age, a large family was not in her future .

Drawing in a sharp breath, she forced the air out, shoving back those insidious thoughts that threatened to upend her equilibrium. How many times must she repeat this heartache before she learned? How many friendships needed to crumble beneath her expectations before she accepted she was a chum and not a sweetheart?

Felicity’s words came back to her, swooping in with startling clarity. Would she allow herself to poison a perfectly good friendship simply because Dr. Vaughn couldn’t meet her romantic ideals?

Violet tucked the handkerchief back in her pocket. Best return it tomorrow during their picnic. Dr. Vaughn needed his handkerchief, and Violet needed to get her head out of the clouds and stop hauling it about like some silly love token.

Dr. Vaughn was her friend. That was a blessing in and of itself. What better friend could she ask for than him? He deserved to see his dream fulfilled, and as his friend, Violet would do everything she could to help him along.