Page 1 of A Meddlesome Match (The Vaughns #3)
Spring 1838
Danthorpe, Yorkshire
Brothers were a terrible bother. Familial bonds were well and good, but far too often they encouraged said relations to pester and meddle, needling their loved one until they won the day. This was doubly true of the older generations. Be they parents, grandparents, or elder siblings, those doomed to be the youngest of the line were at the mercy of those machinations.
“Do not be a coward,”
hissed Lloyd, his expression full of the sort of exasperation that only an older brother could manage—as though his five extra years on this planet had granted him unending wisdom and insight.
“Simply ask her. There is no harm in it,”
added Lloyd, nudging his sibling down the path.
But there was nothing “simple” about it.
Standing there on the church grounds, Walter Reed considered his predicament. St. Agatha’s rose behind him, solid and unwavering, its weathered walls softened by the ivy and moss clinging to the mortar, and a gentle breeze stirred the ancient yews that stood sentinel along the low stone wall.
Parishioners spilled out into the fresh morning air, all thoughts of hymns and sermons forgotten the moment their Sabbath obligation was met. Like the spring blossoms in the gardens, the ladies were a rainbow of colors clustered together whilst their husbands glanced at their pocket watches, eager to be on their way. Children darted between skirts and coattails, their laughter ringing out as they undid all efforts to present them as polished, well-mannered members of the parish.
Yet all the milling figures faded from view when Walter’s eyes fell upon Miss Weathersby. It was as though the clouds had parted just for her, a shaft of sunlight spilling from the heavens to envelop her in gold. Her silken tresses were swept up in one of those curly confections that many attempted but none managed with such effortless grace, and though Walter was certain there was some elegant name for the blue of her gown, all he knew was that it perfectly complemented her dark hair and warm eyes.
“You are being ridiculous, Walter,”
added their elder sister as she came to stand beside her brothers. “You shan’t win her favor if you never speak to her.”
And that support only encouraged Lloyd to redouble his efforts, but like so many who felt at ease in a crowd, Walter’s siblings couldn’t comprehend that what was easy for them was a herculean effort to him.
“Go,”
she said, nudging him toward Miss Weathersby.
And Walter allowed it. Once the momentum was gathered, he was better able to place one foot in front of the other, though his heart felt liable to pound through his ribs. His eyes fixed upon his destination, reveling in every turn of her head as she glanced between her friends, a laugh lighting her expression.
Which was when he realized Miss Weathersby was not alone. Three other ladies walked with her, linked arm in arm as they strolled toward the churchyard gate, sauntering along on their merry way. An audience was the last thing he wanted. Or second to last, as Miss Weathersby rejecting him featured higher on the list of dread.
Slowing his steps, Walter followed as the ladies continued. With so many others spilling out onto the lane, he hid amongst the crowd, biding his time. The fork in the road was just ahead, marking the parting of ways, and his hands grew all the clammier whilst his mouth dried out, his tongue feeling like sandpaper as it fused to the roof.
This was ridiculous. He was lurking like a footpad, ready to pounce at a moment of weakness. But how else was he to secure a moment alone (or relatively so, as there were others about) when Miss Weathersby was always in company?
Would you do me the honor of allowing me to accompany you to the assembly next week?
Simple. Or so he tried to tell himself, but as he rehearsed the question in his mind, Walter’s pulse quickened until there was hardly a pause between one beat and the next. Was this what they meant when they spoke of “episodes”? Such things were common enough in older gentlemen, but Walter hadn’t heard of a hearty man with only twenty years to his credit who had died from a failing heart. But he supposed there could be a first.
Miss Weathersby continued on her way, striding down the path that would take her to her family’s home, and the time for hesitation was gone. This wasn’t his first attempt to secure her attention, and she rarely remained alone for long.
Do not hesitate!
Walter didn’t run, but he appeared behind her far quicker than anticipated, and he blurted, “Miss Weathersby!”
The lady gave a start and turned to face him with a puzzled frown. “Yes, Mr. Reed?”
“I…May…”
Walter’s tongue refused to work. He mentally repeated the practiced invitation once more, but all he managed to say was, “Excellent weather we are having.”
The lady stared at him for a long moment, her lips twisting into an incredulous smirk. “Yes, Mr. Reed.”
“May I…”
Walter cleared his throat and covertly wiped his hands on his trousers. “Accompany you?”
Cocking her head to the side, she stared at him.
“If you wish?” he added.
“I live just ahead,”
she said with a laugh, pointing down the road. “I do not require your escort.”
Was it his escort or any escort she did not require? Though it hadn’t been his intended offer, her rejection stung, and he was at a loss to ascertain whether it was a matter of logistics or a lack of desire—but he supposed that mattered little, as it was still a refusal.
Good heavens, I am making a muck of this! “May I please accompany you to the assembly next week?”
How difficult is that to say?
“The assembly?” he asked.
Miss Weathersby wrinkled her nose, her brow furrowing as she tried to decipher his meaning, and heaven help him, Walter couldn’t offer any clarification. But then her expression eased into a smile as the pieces seemed to slip into place.
“Yes, I am attending the assembly next week,”
she said with a nod. “Mr. Galloway asked to accompany me. Are you attending?”
Walter fought not to fidget as his mind—that slow and senseless organ—struggled to change tack. But as preparing his words hadn’t been of any use, he simply opened his mouth, hoping something would emerge.
“Would you join me for a picnic tomorrow?”
Walter’s brows rose at that complete sentence, and Miss Weathersby’s expression mirrored it as the pair stood there silently for several long moments.
“With you?”
she asked.
Walter didn’t know how he managed it, but he nodded.
A jolt of a laugh burst from her lips, and she shook her head as she continued down the road with a dismissive wave. “There is a book I’ve been meaning to read, and it sounds far more diverting.”
Rooted to the spot, the air was forced from his lungs as though she had landed a physical blow to his stomach. What was the worst that could happen? A simple question, and Walter had thought a rejection was the answer.
Miss Weathersby strolled away, a chuckle on her lips as though crushing his heart beneath her heel had been exceptionally amusing, and her words rang in his ears, sharp and mocking. Walter’s hands curled into fists at his sides, not in anger but in a desperate attempt to hold himself together as a deep, hollow ache settled into his chest.
What had he been thinking?