Page 11 of A Meddlesome Match (The Vaughns #3)

“Boys!”

shouted Walter, but they paid him no heed, and Miss Vaughn waved away his concern.

“Let them be. After such a long trip, they need to stretch their legs before you return to Danthorpe. Again.”

With that, she gave a faint wince. “My deepest thanks, Mr. Reed. That was very kind of you.”

“It is nothing, Miss Vaughn,”

he said, opening the front gate with a bow. “As I said, it was a good lesson for my pupils, and you explained the core of it far better than I managed.”

“I grew up hearing my father lecture my brothers in just the same manner, so I am quite familiar with such things,”

she said with a grin as she swept into the yard.

Hawthorne House exuded warmth and welcome (as was befitting a physician’s home and business). Though modest in size, it held an air of quiet dignity, a place where work was done with care and kindness, where weary souls found comfort and healing.

The timbered frame stood sturdy and proud, its whitewashed plaster catching the soft afternoon light, while ivy wove its way up the corners as though nature itself sought to embrace the home. Though neat in its arrangement, the front garden had a wild beauty to it, with daffodils and primroses spilling over the edges of their beds in a riot of color. A narrow stone path led from the gate to the arched front door, where climbing roses clung to the trellis, their leaves whispering in the breeze.

Following the path the boys had taken, Walter and Miss Vaughn came around the side of the building. There was a patch of lawn, which the boys were putting to good use, but just beyond was one of the most delightful gardens he’d ever seen. Several large houses in the area boasted expansive grounds and ornate landscapes, but they were cultivated to the point where the natural beauty was restrained. Still lovely, to be certain, but lacking charm.

Sharp lines divided the planting beds, giving the Vaughn’s garden a sense of order and neatness, but the flowers and herbs exploded from the soil in a flurry of petals and leaves. Bushy blooms and vibrant greens mingled freely, their colors and textures blending into companionable chaos. At the far end, several beehives stood like sentinels along a stone wall, their inhabitants flitting from bloom to bloom, their hum a perfect accompaniment to the garden’s wild grace.

“Would you like me to show you our garden?”

she asked, looking at the lads and nodding toward it. But if she was expecting a grand shout of excitement, Miss Vaughn was sorely disappointed, as the trio hardly slowed enough in their chasing game to notice there was a garden, let alone show any interest in it.

She turned her gaze to Walter; he felt like twitching as she looked at him with clear anticipation, and he didn’t miss a beat before saying, “I would be honored.”

The boys were far less eager to have their game ended, but Walter herded them toward the garden whilst lecturing them about being careful around the delicate plants, which the lads brushed off as an unnecessary warning. They would never cause trouble in any way, shape, or form. They were perfect angels at all times.

Drawing in a deep breath, the lady nodded as they strode further into the area. Her hands drifted over the plants, her fingers catching the spindly flowers as they passed, and when she glanced at Walter, her eyes watched him with far too much care. It was the expression of one awaiting comment, and Walter suspected he knew the reason.

“Are you the one responsible for this incredible garden?”

asked Walter.

“Mother designed the initial layout, but I took over as its caretaker some years ago,”

she said, smiling out at her plants. Motioning to the far side, she added, “That section is for the kitchen, but the rest are the herbs and plants we need to make medicines.”

Turning to the boys, Miss Vaughn crouched down beside a bushy plant. “Do you know what this is?”

Sensing that she was trying to teach them something, the boys slouched, their expressions growing vacant as they shook their heads.

“You must be very careful around this, for it is quite deadly if used incorrectly,”

she said in a chilling voice, which piqued her pupils’ curiosity.

Leading them through the gardens, she gave a discourse on those poisonous plants, and the boys hung on her every word, plying her with questions as she described each one and its uses. And though Walter often lectured the boys about paying attention to their lessons, he couldn’t heed his own warning as he found himself focusing on her rather than her teachings: the whole of her expression shone with inner light as Miss Vaughn guided the children through a makeshift lesson.

“And which is your favorite?”

blurted Walter.

Miss Vaughn straightened, her hands on her hips as she considered the question. “That depends. Is it ornamental or medicinal?”

Walter’s throat tightened as he considered how to answer. “Ornamental. If you were to cut flowers for a vase to keep in your home, which would you choose?”

Nose wrinkling, the lady shook her head. “I do not care for cut flowers as they are beautiful for only a day or two. Before you know what they’re about, they’re covered in mold and making a mess of things. However, I keep potted orchids in my bedchamber, so I suppose that would be my answer.”

Miss Vaughn paused, considering that before amending, “And I do have a small magnolia bush that a friend brought from America. When it is in bloom, the heavenly fragrance fills the entire house, and the blossoms are so pristine and beautiful.”

The lady’s gaze drifted heavenward, and she stiffened as her eyes took in where the sun sat in the sky. “Good heavens, what is the time?”

Though his hand moved instinctively toward his pocket, Walter forced it to remain still for just a moment longer; he knew the hour must be late, and he didn’t wish to have that confirmed. But gentleman that he was, he couldn’t deny her query (not that it would do any good, as they had the evidence of their own eyes in the sky above).

Walter tugged his pocket watch free and glanced at the face. “It is nearly five.”

Miss Vaughn gaped. “You must be on your way, or you will miss dinner.”

At that, the boys voiced their opinions on the matter, declaring with varying degrees of urgency that they would perish if they did not eat that very moment. Never mind that they had finished off the afternoon picnic during their first return trip to Danthorpe shortly before crossing paths with Miss Vaughn. Orson tugged at Walter’s frock coat, dragging him toward the phaeton, but with care, the gentleman was able to extricate himself enough to give Miss Vaughn a bow.

“Thank you for allowing us to rescue you,” he said.

“You deserve the greater thanks for making my day far better,”

she said with a smile. “You’ve lifted my spirits considerably.”

“It was…our honor,”

he said, barely stumbling over the pronoun to include the boys.

Nudging them, Walter urged them to follow suit, and they took their bows and mumbled other things that bore a semblance of a mannerly farewell before they turned on their heels and sped toward the phaeton. As loath as he was to follow, Walter forced himself to do so and then exerted even more self-control to keep from beaming like a fool when Miss Vaughn remained at his side as she walked them to the front gate.

Don’t be a coward!

That refrain nipped at his heels as he arrived at his destination. Slowly freeing the reins from where he’d tied them off, Walter considered what he ought to say. He certainly knew what he wished to ask, but even with all that had happened of late, his blood chilled at the thought of speaking his mind so freely.

Yes, Miss Vaughn had enjoyed his company, but would she allow him to escort her to the Overtons’ ball? Or even wish to stand up with him?

That second question sent a shudder down Walter’s spine. Dancing guaranteed a swift end to his wooing. What lady wished for a suitor who trod on her toes? If his sisters were any indication, that skill was of great importance; Pearl may not have placed as high a value on it, but he recalled Joyce casting aside more than a few beaus because of their two left feet, and both ladies had spent much time discussing the expertise of each of their partners.

If he escorted Miss Vaughn to the Overtons’ ball, then he would be expected to stand up with her. And likely break her toes in his effort to do so. He couldn’t imagine any scenario in which causing a sweetheart physical pain was considered a boon to a courtship.

The three boys had already taken their seats in the phaeton, though Humphrey hung so far over the back that Miss Vaughn warned him to sit up straight.

“Are you…”

Walter cleared his throat and rubbed his hands on his trousers, though his gloves were doing a fine job of mopping up the sweat gathering there. Echoes of the past rose in his ears, opening the wounds that never seemed to heal. Was he truly attempting to ask such a thing? Despite all good sense and logic?

Pulse quickening, Walter fidgeted and tried to clear his throat. “Were you planning…”

Miss Vaughn turned to face him, her head canted to the side as her brows pulled together, and Walter’s thoughts filled with what to say, though none of it was of any use. And the longer they stood there, the more flustered he grew. His cravat had come to life and was now doing its best to strangle him, but if he fainted dead away, at least that might gain her sympathy.

And she stood there, watching him.

“Are you attending the Overtons’ ball?”

That was something. Not what he wanted, but it was better than nothing. If only just.

Miss Vaughn’s smile appeared once more. “I am. Though I am not always comfortable in crowds, I cannot help being eager for such gatherings. And of course, there is the dancing.”

That set his pulse racing. Doubly so when she tacked on, “Are you attending?”

Walter longed for something witty to say. This was just the sort of moment in which a gentleman ought to make a retort that set his lady love laughing. Or hinted at his feelings in a manner that had her blushing.

Something.

Yet all he could think to say was, “Yes.”

Miss Weathersby felt like a specter at his elbow, reminding him of how ridiculous he looked as he stammered and stumbled over his words. What sort of lady thought such a man was appealing? And would wish for him to be her beau? The laughter rang in his memory, and it felt as though the past draped over the present, blending the two until he could hardly tell the difference.

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Walter struggled to speak. “Perhaps…I will…see you…there.”

“I certainly hope so, Mr. Reed. This afternoon has been delightful, and I am sorry that I misjudged you and promise not to do so in the future,”

she said with a hint of a laugh before extending her hand.

Walter stared at the offering. Someone braver would bow over it and perhaps even place the gentlest of kisses upon her knuckles—but he merely stared at it whilst his wits took their leave of him.

The edge of Miss Vaughn’s expression tightened, her brows drawing ever so slightly together as she stood there, and before she could withdraw her hand, Walter forced himself to move. His hand darted forward, snatching hers whilst nearly pulling her over. And despite his best efforts to remain calm, it jerked of its own accord, snapping up and down as though he were an automaton with rusty gears.

Walter mumbled something of an apology and scrambled up into the phaeton seat, snapping the reins to set the horses off down the street before he could make a bigger fool of himself.