Page 13 of A Meddlesome Match (The Vaughns #3)

His head swiveled this way and that as he took in the room, and though her feet were eager to make their way to him, instinct held them fast.

She ought to wait for him to approach. Then it would be his choice whether or not he wished to speak with her, rather than Sadie foisting her company onto him; Mr. Reed was just the sort of person to tolerate another’s company in the name of kindness, and the thought of him dismissing her caused her heart to twist in her chest.

That is what you did with Howard, and how did that turn out?

The question rose to her thoughts without prompting, prodding those tender parts that still hadn’t healed.

And it wasn’t just Howard, was it?

Yet another hurtful—yet truthful—bit of self-reflection.

How many times had she hung back, waiting for others to approach? Too afraid to show even the slightest interest, lest she make him uncomfortable. Gentlemen were fickle creatures, apt to flee the moment a lady demonstrated more preference than they, themselves, felt.

Sadie’s entire philosophy regarding flirtation was to play the part of the friend and hope that one day he deigned to consider something more. Hold your tongue. Don’t frighten him away. Patience. These were the mottos she’d embraced ever since boys had ceased being mere nuisances, yet the approach had never worked. So why was she still clinging to it? Had this latest interlude with Howard taught her nothing?

Not that Sadie wished to pique Mr. Reed’s interest. Or perhaps she did. She couldn’t give a firm answer either way, but regardless, it was silly to allow fear to keep her captive when she preferred his company. Why allow him to dictate all the terms of their friendship?

Sadie Vaughn may be a fool in many regards, but it was time to learn from her past mistakes.

*

“You must seize the opportunity,”

said Mother, stepping in front of him.

Walter glanced around her, scanning the ballroom. “I am.”

She reached for his hand and leaned closer, her voice dropping so no one else could hear. “I know, my dear boy, but I worry about you. You lost your father so young, and I fear you were denied lessons he would have taught you. At least Lloyd had more time with him—”

“You did your best, Mother,”

said Walter with a sigh. “I am simply circumspect. That is all.”

“Being circumspect until you established yourself enough to provide for a wife was reasonable, and I understand delaying until the whole Mr. Gibson incident played out. But your school is nearly open, and after everything that’s happened, she cannot harbor feelings for him any longer. Now is the time to strike!”

Walter nodded, though his throat clamped shut. Then, nodding toward the gathering, he added, “Yes, and that is what I am doing.”

“Of course,”

she said, releasing him with a flutter of her hands as she waved away the moment. “Go, get your girl.”

And with that, Walter felt like a ten-year-old lad being sent off to school by his overanxious mother.

Stepping farther into the room, he glanced about, though his eyes didn’t take in any of the decorations or people. It was difficult to think of anything but Mother’s nerves when she was standing just behind him, watching like a mother hen. Glancing down at himself to ensure he wasn’t wearing short pants, Walter took the moment to compose himself before striding into the gathering proper.

And the first thing he saw was Miss Vaughn. It was as though his eyes were trained to ignore all other distractions and nonsense around them, fixing on her as their gazes met across the room. His feet pointed towards her, but then she smiled, and Walter couldn’t move.

Saints above. How could any man think her unremarkable? Miss Vaughn’s soul shone like a lighthouse, guiding sailors home; her heart filled the whole of her, lending her eyes and lips an allure no painter could capture. If Miss Murray was the standard of beauty, Walter could only conclude that all men deserved to be locked away in Bedlam.

Miss Vaughn was stunning.

And she was smiling at him? Walter could hardly believe it, but she was.

Miss Vaughn wove her way through the crowd, arriving in front of him before he could gather his wits.

“Good evening, Mr. Reed,”

she said with a bob, and Walter’s good sense returned enough for him to offer his own pleasantries to her. Thankfully, he wasn’t staring at her like a lackwit.

“I am pleased you’ve arrived,”

she said, and Walter knew there was no greater sound than that. The eagerness in her tone and the light in her eyes attested that she wasn’t jesting, and he managed a nod. “Once again, I require your assistance.”

“Anything.”

Miss Vaughn chuckled, that mirth brightening her tone as she asked, “Anything? In that case, I might need to reconsider the favor I was going to ask.”

Whatever you require, I will do it. As many favors as you wish until the end of time. Walter waved away that thought, which (though true) would likely send her fleeing to the hills. Try as he might, he couldn’t think of anything witty to say in response, though he knew now was the proper time for something debonair.

“Anything,”

he repeated.

“It could be something terrible,”

she said with a challenging raise of her brows.

Though she jested, Walter considered that seriously before shaking his head. “I offer my help without caveat. You would never ask me to do something that would require one.”

The teasing left her features, and she considered him in earnest. “You say that so confidently.”

Walter didn’t know how to respond, so he remained silent, and Miss Vaughn watched him for a long moment, the excitement in her expression fading into speculation. Though his fears began bubbling to the surface, Walter studied her as thoroughly as she studied him, and he swore there was a hint of appreciation in her gaze. Which made him want to fidget all the more.

Years of crossing her path without her giving him a second thought, and now, Miss Vaughn seemed all too aware of his words. Broken and convoluted as they were.

She gave a hum of approval, and that smile returned, twisting the corners of her lips as she admitted, “You are correct. It is nothing awful or unscrupulous. I was simply hoping you would accompany me to speak with someone as it is always easier to approach another when one has a companion on hand.”

Innocent the task may be, but that didn’t stop Walter’s throat from tightening. Approaching strangers was something he avoided as much as possible. Yet this was in the service of Miss Vaughn, and as long as she was there, any conversation was bound to be engaging.

“As you wish. To whom are we speaking?”

Turning, the lady motioned toward a solitary figure in the far corner.

“Mrs. North?”

he asked. “I didn’t realize you were acquainted.”

“I am not.”

Walter nodded as though approaching a stranger in conversation was entirely reasonable, though he couldn’t grasp the logic behind it. “And you need to speak with her?”

“Yes.”

But she paused and reconsidered that. “And no. It doesn’t have to be her specifically, but I thought she might suit my purposes.”

With raised brows, he prodded Miss Vaughn to explain.

Giving him a slight wince in return, she said, “I made it a goal to approach someone in conversation at least once whenever I go out for the evening. Preferably someone with whom I am not acquainted. And I found that it is better if I do it promptly rather than drawing out this torture for the entire evening.”

“Doesn’t approaching me fulfill that requirement?”

Miss Vaughn wrinkled her nose. “The point of this exercise is to force me to reach beyond myself and grow more comfortable speaking with others. Approaching a friend hardly meets that requirement.”

Yet another moment when a witty retort would have been welcome, but her words rang in Walter’s ears, and it took every ounce of self-control not to stammer like a fool. “Sweetheart”

or “beau”

was more appealing, but “friend” felt monumental—especially considering that she had thought him an unfeeling grump a short time ago.

“Then we are friends?” he asked.

Drawing in a sharp breath, Miss Vaughn winced. “Do not tease me, Mr. Reed. I know it is silly that I have to force myself to do something so simple as approach another—”

Walter held up a staying hand. “Not at all. I think it is quite remarkable. It isn’t the size of the goal that dictates its worthiness, but the determination with which you pursue it.”

He cleared his throat, his gaze falling away from the lady who had far more courage than he. “I think it is admirable that you recognize a flaw you wish to rectify and have taken steps to do so. It is impressive.”

When his eyes rose again, Miss Vaughn looked at him with a quirked brow as though uncertain whether or not to believe his words, so he forced himself to hold her gaze and let that certainty shine through.

Then, offering her his arm, he said, “And if having me at your side will make it easier, I would be honored to accompany you.”

Miss Vaughn let out a heavy breath, and though her tone had been teasing and light just moments ago, there was a heaviness to that sound that revealed the frayed nerves beneath her sweet smile.

“My thanks, Mr. Reed,”

she said, sliding her arm through his.

“It is my pleasure, Miss Vaughn.”

And though Walter preferred to sequester her away from the rest of the gathering and keep her all to himself, his steps were light as they crossed the ballroom.

***

Dora Gibson was never happier than when she was surrounded by people. Not that she was one of those poor creatures who were unable to enjoy their own company, but spending hours in engaging conversation invigorated her far more than solitude ever could. And when those festivities included music, she felt doubly blessed.

Despite having no discernible talent in that arena, Dora adored songs, be they instrumental or lyrical, for dancing or pleasure. Though her sons had never shown any interest, her daughters had all taken lessons, and even their childish attempts to master the instruments had made Dora’s heart lighten; Lockland Manor was far too quiet without those ofttimes misplaced and stumbling notes ringing through the corridors.

But then, perhaps that was the reason behind her affection for social gatherings; when one could not produce something oneself, one must revel in it wherever it was found. And the Overtons’ ball promised to have music in abundance.

The gallery was decorated with lavish arrangements and swaths of drapery, which proudly displayed the hostess’s good taste and the host’s wealth for all to see. Despite the entire floor of the house being dedicated to cards, refreshments, and dancing, the majority of the gathering was stuffed into this single room, and with a veritable army of musicians, their songs rang out louder than the conversation, laughter, and the dancers’ stomping feet.

Yet a dark cloud gathered around Dora Gibson as she watched the pair from across the room. The ladies surrounding her carried the conversation along, and she offered the odd comment to hide the fact that she wasn’t paying any attention to them whatsoever. Not with the sight unfolding before her.

Mr. Reed and Miss Vaughn? Despite having known the gentleman and his family for some time (though she couldn’t claim a close acquaintance), Dora couldn’t believe her eyes. Everything she knew of the fellow had led her and most of the village to assume he would end his days as a bachelor, yet here he was, chatting with an eligible young lady.

Dora’s eligible young lady.

Or her son’s, rather.

Regardless, there were plans in the works for Miss Vaughn. None of which included Mr. Walter Reed. For goodness’ sake! The fellow was too dour for her. Even as a child, he’d been withdrawn and morose, and Miss Vaughn deserved someone lively and sociable. Someone who could be—and was currently—her dearest friend.

Even if matters were tense between her and Howard, it was only a brief phase and would be gotten over soon enough. Howard was going to choose Miss Vaughn in the end. Of course he would. She was such a wonderful young lady, and they cared for one another. Mr. Reed couldn’t derail that.

Yet what might have been dismissed as a polite conversation between the pair stretched out as the minutes ticked away, and with each, they stood closer and spoke more animatedly.

“Do excuse me, ladies,”

she said, nodding toward the others before hurrying away.