Chapter 25
F or all of his two and thirty years, Arthur Vaughn hadn’t realized it was possible to feel both elated and frustrated simultaneously. Surely, such incongruous emotions ought to be experienced separately in entirely different circumstances, yet he couldn’t deny that both were present in great abundance.
Just the thought of that Gadd fellow cozied up to Miss Templeton made Arthur’s pulse quicken, his hands clenching into fists. Kissing her hand in such a public place? And the easy signs of affection that had passed between the pair? To say nothing of the flowers—though he had to concede that such a thing was not untoward between a gentleman and the lady he was courting, they irritated him nonetheless. That Gadd was a cad to be certain. And Miss Templeton was clearly taken with his charms.
Yet she sat beside Arthur. The chairs were close enough that he was quite cozily situated, with her leg brushing his when she shifted in her seat. Miss Templeton had accepted his invitation. Surely, that was significant.
But Arthur had to wonder why Gadd, with his obvious interest in the lady, hadn’t bothered to do so first. He’d had ample opportunity .
He wished he could simply ask Miss Templeton about the nature of their relationship. Of course, there was nothing simple about posing such a question. Assuming his tongue allowed him (which was not guaranteed), to state it so boldly would demand an answer that Miss Templeton might not be ready to give. Her affections might be split, and to press the issue would only drive her into Gadd’s arms. Or sour her opinion of Arthur before he’d had a proper chance to demonstrate his charms. Few though they were.
If he could only get her to consider him as more than a friend. Actions spoke louder than words, or so said the adage, which had been passed down for countless generations. It wasn’t as though Arthur’s attempts to woo Miss Templeton had been subtle. Whether or not she considered him a friend at present (a distinction that might be shifting even at this very moment!), the lady couldn’t fail to see his overtures for the romantic proposition they were. If Miss Templeton still welcomed his company, despite Gadd’s pursuit, then surely, there was still a chance for Arthur to win her heart.
Do not surrender! Simply formulate another plan of attack.
Arthur tried to turn his attention to the performers, as was their due, but it was difficult with Miss Templeton so near. Most ladies employed soaps and perfumes that held hints of flowers or citrus, but Miss Templeton smelled distinctly of her work; a blend of herbs and oils that might make one think of a medicine chest but perfectly encapsulated her. Drawing in a deep breath, he caught hints of mint and sage, though his nose was not so good as to distinguish between the other earthy aromas that enveloped her.
With each breath, her arms moved, brushing against his sleeve and drawing his attention back to her regardless of how he tried to give his full attention to the musicians. His gaze kept drifting to her. Thankfully, their being in the back meant no one noticed his divided attention.
Miss Templeton’s own was fixed to the performers, and her expression lightened when her mother took the stage. The lady did a fine job, but more than that, it was clear from her expression how much she adored performing, and Arthur’s smile grew in response at the sight of her pleasure.
Only to fall when Mr. Templeton joined his mother on the stage: the fellow hadn’t bothered to return home to help his sister, but apparently, he was quite eager to return to sing for a concert. The jackanapes. Miss Templeton may adore her brother, but the more Arthur knew about him, the less he liked Mr. Isaac Templeton.
Then Finch took the stage, and Arthur perked. The offerings tonight had been finer than he’d anticipated for a country affair, but he’d heard Finch play a time or two, and Arthur knew well enough that this performance was well worth giving one’s full attention. And the gentleman didn’t disappoint.
Though it started soft and simple, the notes built with each measure, turning it into a piece that no one else in the audience could master. But then, it was more than merely the notes he played; it was the emotion Finch put into each press of the keys.
Glancing at his companion, Arthur felt his pulse stutter as he spied tears filling Miss Templeton’s eyes. They did not fall, but neither did she brush them away as her gaze remained riveted to Finch. Though Arthur couldn’t say what gave the impression, he felt a weightiness to her soul that was far more than merely the music. Sorrow and resignation emanated in such a palpable manner that he longed to lift a hand and brush it away.
Arthur wished they were back at the bridge and enveloped by the forest, when their conversation had flowed as freely as the water beneath their feet. With each passing day, he felt more and more at peace with her, his ever-reticent tongue loosening as it never had before with anyone, man or woman. And with that newfound strength, he longed to ask her what melancholy had gripped her.
Yet there was a distance in her gaze. Or a wall, more like. Something that did not invite him to step into that uncharted territory .
Giving in to the instinct that seized hold of him, Arthur took her hand in his. Miss Templeton’s eyes jerked away from Finch and met his, the unshed tears glimmering in the candlelight. And Arthur’s heart ceased beating at the sight of her trembling chin.
Though it was entirely untoward to do so, Arthur rested her hand on his thigh so he could wrap both of his around hers. If anyone bothered to look down the row, they might glimpse the tenderness, but the audience’s attention was riveted to Finch’s playing, leaving the pair in relative seclusion. Arthur didn’t have the words, but he held her hand and her gaze, hoping his touch and expression could convey far better than his stuttering words how much he longed to comfort her.
He cursed the gloves that kept him from feeling her truly, skin to skin. But the tightness with which she clung to him set his pulse racing, and each heartbeat sent strength coursing through him.
*
Such a little thing. A touch of hands, which was hardly anything as both were encased in gloves, yet Violet felt the offer of comfort to her very toes. The concern in Dr. Vaughn’s gaze wrapped around her, buoying her as nothing else could. In that quiet moment, she felt the uncertainty and confusion fade away, leaving her calm.
But then, Dr. Vaughn always seemed to wield that power over her. Whenever it was just the two of them, it felt like she stood on solid ground. That the future was not so shaky. That her troubles were surmountable if she but held fast to him.
At the same moment, her insides began to churn as she realized that she was once more taking from this gentleman when all she’d given in return was betrayal. No matter how necessary, it wasn’t right for her to lean on him. No doubt he would hate her if he knew the extent of what she’d done. And what she still needed to do .
Yet she couldn’t release his hand and surrender the one source of comfort she’d found. For once, someone noticed her. Truly saw her. And wanted to help. What person could reject such an offer?
Someone better than Violet Templeton.
Applause thundered, breaking the spell cast over the pair, and she tugged her hand free to clap, glancing about (though no one appeared to have noticed their tender moment). Reality dropped back into place, reminding her of the reason she’d been emotional: whether or not he realized it, Dr. Vaughn may be the truest friend she’d ever had, but she had to drive him from Oakham.
Ludicrous. Friends were fleeting things, and he would abandon her like all the rest. Yet Violet’s heart stuttered at that, uncertain whether or not she truly believed it.
“Might I fetch you some refreshment?” asked Dr. Vaughn as he helped her to her feet.
“That is kind of you, but no,” she whispered in return, struggling to get the words past her knotted throat.
His brows pulled low as he studied her. “What—”
“Dr. Vaughn, I thought that was you,” said a gentleman from the row ahead, who turned with an outstretched hand. “I had hoped to introduce you to my wife.”
They moved through the appropriate introductions, though Violet couldn’t spare a passing thought for what was being said. Shrinking back, she tried to appear unobtrusive as the others spoke, though Dr. Vaughn’s gaze darted to her as she tried to fade into the milling crowd. Dr. Vaughn moved as though to speak to her, but a touch to her elbow drew Violet’s attention away from him to find Miss Bacon standing just to the side.
“Good evening, Miss Templeton. How wonderful to see you tonight,” said the lady with a brighter smile than warranted as they were little more than acquaintances .
“And you, Miss Bacon,” replied Violet, struggling to think of something to say. “Your performance was lovely. I wish I played as well as you.”
“That is kind of you, but we both know mine was hardly the best offering tonight,” she replied, chagrin touching her expression. “But that isn’t important, as it was an opportunity to share the music I love.”
As the young lady spoke, Miss Bacon gently nudged her away from Dr. Vaughn, and Violet was all too happy to oblige, though the gentleman’s brow furrowed all the more as they distanced themselves. Miss Bacon continued to expound on the delights of the evening, including Mama and Isaac’s offering, and Violet nodded, though her attention turned back to the question at hand.
What could she do to secure her family’s position? Dr. Vaughn was too skilled for the doubts she’d planted to take root, and Violet couldn’t bring herself to outright lie about him or meddle with his prescriptions. But what else might she do?
“I couldn’t help but notice that you and Dr. Vaughn are quite friendly,” said Miss Bacon. “I’ve heard you are often found together.”
Violet couldn’t think what to say to such a thing. It was true, but to verify it might serve as another endorsement of Dr. Vaughn’s skills.
Miss Bacon’s gaze darted about as though looking for eavesdroppers, and she leaned closer. “I was hoping that as his friend and a woman, you might be able to give the slightest hint as to whether or not Dr. Vaughn has shown a preference for any of the ladies in town.”
This was a familiar position. One that Violet had been in so many times that it ought not to have surprised her, but she found herself blinking at Miss Bacon.
And clarity struck her, clear and solid.
The answer.
“Oh, most assuredly,” said Violet, the words blurting out before she could reconsider. With an insinuating tone that was thicker than clotted cream and jam smothered on a scone, she added, “But though he is very capable in many ways, I fear the gentleman is timid when it comes to tender matters. Dr. Vaughn struggles to express himself, but if a certain lady were to help matters along…”
Miss Bacon perked, her fan snapping shut. “Say no more, Miss Templeton. I grasp your meaning.”
For all that not a single lie had crossed her lips—Dr. Vaughn had indeed shown a preference for Violet (even if it was platonic), and he was exceptionally shy except when she’d done her best to help the conversation along—her insides churned as she watched the young lady turn and make her way to Dr. Vaughn’s side.
Glancing out at the gathering, Violet spied other gazes (both of the maidenly and widowed variety) all turning to the doctor with varying degrees of curiosity and avarice, and she knew this was precisely the solution for which she’d been searching. Passing over the tenderhearted, who were less apt to believe that Dr. Vaughn nursed a secret tendre for them or be crushed when they discovered the truth, Violet set her sights on three of the more cunning ladies in attendance.
A few well-placed insinuations were all it would take, and in a matter of weeks, those ladies would be convinced Dr. Vaughn was madly in love with each. Not only would the overt attentions discomfort him and make Oakham far less palatable, but once that idea took hold, there would be no saving his reputation. Even if he settled on one of them, the others and their allies would cry out for blood, and nothing caused chaos like ladies fighting over a beau they each thought ought to be theirs.
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and Dr. Vaughn was going to be the most hated man in Oakham.