Page 10 of A Meddlesome Match (The Vaughns #3)
Hands jerking, Walter forced himself to relax—lest he spook the horses and land them in a ditch—but it was difficult to do so when Miss Vaughn’s tone was laced with such surprise. As though the thought of him teasing another was worthy of note.
“What do you mean?”
he managed to ask.
“You are not what you seem at first glance,”
she said, though that did nothing to answer his question or calm his nerves. With a smile to herself and a vague wave of her hand, Miss Vaughn added, “You seem so stern that I wouldn’t have thought you were prone to jesting.”
Walter didn’t know what to say to that, but then, what was there to say?
“Have I offended you?”
she said, turning in her seat to study his expression with those all-too-knowing eyes. “I do apologize. I didn’t mean anything by it, nor would I have mentioned it had I thought it a sore subject.”
“Of course not,”
he replied.
Which was precisely the problem. Although men like Mr. Dix treated Walter like a weakling, Miss Vaughn thought him hard and unyielding—enough so that confessing it aloud hadn’t given her a moment’s pause.
“Oh, now I have done it,”
she muttered to herself, her brow furrowing. “Here you are, being so very kind—”
Yet again, she spoke as though that were a monumental occurrence for him.
“—and I insult you. Please forgive me,”
she said, turning on the bench enough to face him (or at least as much as the small space allowed). Miss Vaughn’s expression pinched, her eyes pleading, and she looked ready to throw herself from the phaeton in penitence. Which only increased his misery.
“Peace, Miss Vaughn. I forgive you, and I know full well that your intentions weren’t malicious. I doubt you have ever done anything malicious in your life,” he said.
Though she settled back into her seat again, the lady did not relax as she had before, and Walter cursed himself: just as he was making progress in securing her good opinion, his bumbling landed him back at the beginning. Thankfully, they still had some time before they would arrive at Thornsby, allowing him the opportunity to clean the mess he’d made of this.
Besides, was it any wonder that she thought him stern and joyless? Walter had heard enough people say his expression was more aloof than he intended, so it was perfectly understandable that Miss Vaughn would have that opinion as well. Especially as he rarely dared to speak to her.
Miss Vaughn gave him a speculative glance, and her smile returned (though it was a pale and weak imitation of the one she’d given previously).
“You say that so confidently,”
she said, “but I would argue that you do not know me well enough to claim such a thing.”
Another pang in his heart as the lady confirmed just how unaware she was of him, but Walter drew his composure close and forced himself to hide the pain. But how much of this misunderstanding was self-inflicted? If he remained silent around her all the day long, Miss Vaughn was bound to make assumptions.
Walter’s tongue felt like it had swollen too large for his mouth, but he drew in a deep breath and allowed the barest hint of truth out into the wide world.
“We may not be the dearest of friends, Miss Vaughn, but that doesn’t mean I was unaware of you. Everything I have seen and heard has always spoken highly of you.”
Pausing, he considered his words as he carefully inched forward. “And it isn’t as though we are strangers. We once spent a week locked in a room together.”
“You make it sound so shocking, Mr. Reed,”
she said with a laugh, and Walter forced his face not to redden. He hadn’t meant it that way, though it was easy enough to interpret his statement in an unsavory light.
Miss Vaughn cast a look over her shoulder at the three pairs of ears that were mostly ignoring the conversation. Though one could never tell with children. It was always in the moments of least attention that each word imprinted itself in their memory, allowing them to recall those statements with perfect clarity at the most inappropriate moments.
“My mother fell ill, and her father was unavailable, so Miss Vaughn volunteered to nurse her,”
he explained, glancing back at the boys, though they paid him no heed. No doubt, they would recall the scandalous part and forget the innocent and acceptable explanation.
“Let it be,”
she said, settling into her seat with a chuckle. “Even if the boys spread it about, it will be explained away easily enough. Though I hadn’t realized my time in your home left such an impression. I spent most of it at your mother’s bedside, and you were watching everything I did so intently that I feared you thought I was poisoning her.”
Again, Miss Vaughn spoke so lightly, as though it were a lark, whilst the confession stabbed at Walter. No wonder she was oblivious to him if she thought he had disliked her from the very first. How had she twisted his attentiveness into disapproval?
The memory of her tender ministrations sent a wave of warmth sweeping through him. Mother had been so very ill, and he certainly hadn’t a tenth of Miss Vaughn’s talent for nursing. But it was more than merely the administration of the medicines and the watchful vigil; the lady had seen to Mother’s every need, distracting her from the pains as her body healed itself, setting all their worries at ease with a few words and a gentle smile.
“It made quite the impression,”
he said. “Not only were you as knowledgeable as your father—”
“I cannot claim to have a fraction of his learning and skill,”
she interjected.
“Nonetheless, you went about your work with great calmness and confidence, but more than that, you were unendingly kind to my mother,”
he said. “I doubt I could’ve found a better nurse in all of England.”
Miss Vaughn sent a questioning glance in his direction, and Walter couldn’t decide if he’d been too forward or too kind. Either answer was disheartening, but he supposed the latter had a slight advantage as it was merely a byproduct of her supposing him a curmudgeon—something he could rectify with time. The former was a death knell for this attempted wooing.
“Do you care for nursing?” he asked.
Miss Vaughn fell silent, though it was filled with pensiveness rather than coldness. “Yes. And no.”
“That is an evasive answer that only serves to pique my interest,”
he replied.
With a teasing lift of her brows as though tantalizing him was precisely her intention, she said, “I am a mysterious woman, Mr. Reed.”
And just like that, Walter forgot to breathe. Her eyes held his, and his hands tightened around the reins. Thankfully, that caused the horses to bob their heads, which pulled his attention back to the work at hand.
Clearing his throat, he said, “So you both enjoy and dislike being a nurse?”
Miss Vaughn turned her gaze to the road. “My family is mad for medicine, but I am not as enamored with it. However, I like being helpful, and when Edward was at school, Papa needed the extra hands. Mama and Gregory prefer the apothecary business, and I had the skills and time, so I was happy to oblige. Now that my brother is home, they rarely need me.”
“And you miss it,” he said.
“I like helping, and with so many capable people in my family, it’s not often that anyone asks for my assistance.”
She gave a considering hum as her brows rose. “Though I suppose that with Papa retiring soon, Edward may have need of me in the future. Assuming he doesn’t take on an apprentice, that is.”
Silence followed that declaration, and Walter wished he knew what to say. Words of support and comfort sprang to mind, but not one of them was useful. But before he could do anything, Miss Vaughn twisted about to look at the trio behind them.
“And what were you doing in Thornsby this afternoon?”
“Visiting Captain Gladden and learning about the British triumph over Napoleon,”
answered Rolland, as the others were far too busy picking at one another to pay heed.
Miss Vaughn’s expression brightened. “Oh, he does have the best stories, doesn’t he?”
“And I asked him to restrict himself to his true tales,”
added Walter in a low voice that only carried to her ears, and Miss Vaughn turned that shining smile upon him.
“The Captain does have a way with words,”
she said with a chuckle, and it was as though the heavens themselves opened their gates, spilling out the most golden light. “He has enough genuine stories to fill a book, but cannot seem to keep from drifting into fictional realms.”
“I suppose that is bound to happen when one’s audience varies little from day to day. Eventually, people want new ones.”
Though he was very aware of the lady at his side and how close she was (her perfume was something floral, though Walter couldn’t say which blossom had produced it), both his and her manners grew more relaxed as they drove along, granting him a modicum of relief.
Had anyone else been party to the conversation (besides the three unruly passengers in the back), it would’ve made little impression. The topics were unremarkable, and their opinions on the subjects were far from revolutionary. However, the very fact that they were conversing freely was something of a miracle.
With little prompting, Miss Vaughn shared stories about her family, speaking of each of them with such affection that it was easy to imagine her happy childhood. Walter found himself responding with greater ease, and the words came more readily, no longer requiring careful deliberation before each reply. With each passing moment, a quiet comfort grew between them, not built on wit or liveliness of spirit (though there were dashes of both) but on the simple pleasure of two hearts connecting over the little moments and shared interests.
Miss Vaughn’s voice carried a lilt of amusement as she recounted some childhood mischief, and Walter caught himself smiling before he even realized it. Her laughter, light and unguarded, smoothed away the last remnants of his unease. This—the effortless give and take—was more than he had dared to hope for.
It wasn’t until he heard himself speaking of his own family that Walter realized how much the conversation had shifted. The words tumbled out with surprising ease, drawn forth by Miss Vaughn’s quiet attentiveness. Had he meant to say so much? Likely not. Yet he didn’t regret a single word.
The hedgerows thinned, giving way to neat stone cottages and the distant spire of St. Clare’s. Thornsby lay ahead, the familiar jumble of rooftops and shop fronts coming into view, and the sight of it startled him. Had they traveled that far already? The conversation had carried him along so effortlessly that the passing miles had gone unnoticed, and now, their journey was drawing to a close far sooner than he would have wished.
“Just ahead,”
said Miss Vaughn, pointing to the cottage down the lane.
And Walter’s stomach sank. Their time had come to an end.
Guiding the horses to the gate, Walter leapt down and tied off the reins, and before he knew what the boys were about, they were “assisting”
Miss Vaughn from the phaeton. The lady’s eyes widened when little hands began shoving her about to get her down the narrow step, and Walter surged forward to stop them.
“Gentlemen, watch,”
he chided before positioning himself beside the phaeton, allowing her to rise to her feet and turn about under her own steam. Holding up his hand, he waited for her to take it.
“In other carriages, ladies alight face-forward,”
he explained. “However, the phaeton is much taller, and the step is very small and can be difficult to find, so it is wiser to descend backward as Miss Vaughn is doing. Allow her to set the pace, as she is more likely to take a tumble coming down than going up, and do not allow yourself to grow distracted until her feet are safely on the ground once more.”
“Yes, sir,”
echoed the boys, and before he knew what they were about, Humphrey and Orson reached for Miss Vaughn’s hem, pulling her skirts away from her foot. The lady gave a squeak of surprise, her eyes turning to Walter’s with a laugh—to which, he winced and mouthed an apology, but she waved it away with her free hand.
“It is easier to see the step this way,”
she whispered as she climbed down, and she appeared as happy to be done with the descent as Walter. Though he liked to think he would catch her if she tumbled, it was better not to risk it—especially as a lady was less likely to welcome a suitor who dumped her onto the ground in a heap of cotton and petticoats.
Turning to his pupils, he added, “It is best if you refrain from shifting a lady’s skirts about.”
“You did so when she sat in the phaeton,”
said Humphrey with a frown, and Orson nodded.
Miss Vaughn gave a strangled laugh and turned away, hiding her face as her shoulders shook whilst Walter’s face burned as hot as the sun above.
“I did, but there is a difference between ensuring her skirts are inside the phaeton and shoving them aside to display her ankles,”
explained Walter.
“She needed to see her foot,”
said Orson, his brow furrowing.
“And you certainly allowed all and sundry to see it,”
muttered Walter, and though the boys didn’t hear him, he was certain Miss Vaughn had, for her shaking redoubled. As this was a nuance that their young minds couldn’t grasp, he settled on a better course. “You should always ask before touching a lady.”
“You didn’t when you were shoving her skirts about,”
insisted Humphrey.
And what could Walter say to that? He couldn’t lie and say he had, but before he could think how to reply, Miss Vaughn collected herself and turned to the lads.
“Mr. Reed did ask when he offered his hand,”
she said. “It may not have been with words, but he allowed me to choose whether or not I accepted his assistance, and once I did, it was understood that it included getting me properly settled. You didn’t offer a hand or say a word before acting. You simply chose for me. That is unacceptable.”
The pair straightened as they considered that. With sharp nods, they gave her a quick promise never to do so again before turning on their heels and speeding off after Rolland, who had disappeared onto the Vaughns’ property the moment the lady had alighted.