Page 15 of A Meddlesome Match (The Vaughns #3)

Steering her steps toward the card room, Sadie ignored all else but the table in the far corner, where Gregory was sure to be found. There sat her eldest brother, cards in hand, his friend opposite him as they indulged in a quiet game of piquet.

“Miss Vaughn,”

greeted Mr. Stuart, nodding at her.

At the sound, Gregory looked up from his hand. Those dark eyes, which were so like their mother’s, studied her as though he saw straight into her heart.

Of the three Vaughn siblings, he looked the most like their father, with broad shoulders and a tall frame. His hair was unfashionably short, cut close enough to the scalp that one could hardly tell the color—nor the fact that it curled with abandon, which embarrassed Gregory to no end.

“What is the matter?” he asked.

“Nothing,”

she replied with a false smile. Gregory set down his hand with a frown, prompting her to add, “Nothing you need fret over. I simply desire to sit for a moment without people pestering me.”

Gregory studied her for a long moment before rising to his feet and fetching a chair, which he placed beside his. Motioning for her to sit, he returned to his without a word and picked up his cards once more. Though he continued to glance at her from the corner of his eye, he didn’t press the issue, and Sadie longed to throw her arms around his shoulders.

Bless him!

Though she shared a tighter bond with Edward, their middle brother wasn’t circumspect in his conversation, and she didn’t wish to speak about her troubles at present. Gregory was a much better companion in such moments.

Mr. Stuart leapt back into the conversation as if there had been no interruption, though it was more monologue than dialogue, with Gregory offering only the occasional response and letting the other ramble as he pleased. And Sadie found it soothing simply to sit beside her brother and listen to tales of the Stuart children, who were sure to grow into a rambunctious lot.

*

“Mind on the game, Mr. Reed,”

said Mr. Washington as his eyes narrowed.

Snatching a card from his hand, Walter tossed it on the table, hardly noting it or the groans that followed.

“Badly done!”

cried Mrs. Finsbury as she scooped up the trick and set it aside, though Walter’s attention remained on the far corner of the room.

Clearly, Miss Vaughn wished for solitude, so he remained where he was (to his table’s dismay), though his thoughts refused to settle on the game. To ease their distress, Walter tossed more coins into the pot. They were only playing for penny stakes, so the gesture was meager but soothed Mrs. Finsbury’s ruffled feathers all the same when the winnings landed in her possession.

His gaze drifted to Miss Vaughn and her brother once more. Unnoticed, Walter was free to watch her whilst considering what to do. Clearly, the dance with Mr. Gibson had been unpleasant, but she hadn’t sought comfort with her new friend, so it would be far too forward to insert himself in their conversation. Especially if she sought solace among her kin.

Yet he couldn’t return to the ballroom. Despite causing another catastrophic loss in another trick.

Remaining in his seat, which afforded him a good vantage without making it obvious he was trailing after her like a fool, Walter debated the merits of lingering here all night. But the thought of leaving her alone sat uneasy in his heart. In a gathering this large, she might easily slip away without a word of goodbye, and Walter was desperate to pass another hour at her side. Or two. Or three. Or any amount she deigned to allow him.

As he debated his course of action, a familiar gown swept past too quickly for Walter to do anything to stop her as Mother approached Miss Vaughn.

*

A flicker of movement drew Sadie’s eye, and she spied Mrs. Reed meandering through the card room. Or attempting to meander, rather. Though her route gave a nod to circuitousness, adding an occasional deviation around a table, the path was too direct to ignore—as were the many furtive glances Mrs. Reed cast in her direction.

Sadie drew in a sharp breath, which had Gregory looking up from his hand and leveling a hard look at the intruder, but Sadie patted his arm to reassure him and rose to her feet.

“Miss Vaughn, how good to see you again,”

said Mrs. Reed, offering her hand in greeting. “It seems an age since our paths last crossed.”

Sadie didn’t know what to say to that or the vigorous manner in which the lady was shaking her hand. It was true that nurse and patient shared a bond, but even by the broadest of definitions, she wouldn’t call the two of them friends, though Mrs. Reed was greeting her in a decidedly friendly manner.

And a skitter down her spine warned her that she knew the motivation behind the overt display.

“It is good to see you,”

Sadie finally managed as Mrs. Reed released her hand.

“And you. My Walter was telling me all about the drive you two took the other day.”

Batting her fan, the lady beamed. “It sounds like you two had quite the diverting conversation—”

“Good evening,”

called the man in question as he drew up beside his mother, and there was a strain in his eyes that drew Sadie’s attention.

“I was just speaking with our dear Miss Vaughn,”

said Mrs. Reed, slipping her arm through her son’s with a grin.

Mr. Reed’s expression tightened ever so slightly—a shift she might’ve overlooked had she not spent a fair bit of time with the gentleman of late. And despite being unable to interpret its meaning, Sadie felt an ill wind begin to blow.

“Miss Vaughn really should be dancing, shouldn’t she?”

asked Mrs. Reed, glancing at her son, who cleared his throat. Turning her attention back to Sadie, she added, “You are always so light on your feet. I am certain you two would make excellent partners.”

At that, Mr. Reed’s jaw tightened, and a frisson of dread settled in Sadie’s stomach. Surely it didn’t mean what she feared. Yet how many times would history repeat itself before she admitted the pattern? She thought back to her conversations with Walter. His interest had seemed genuine. But then, so had Howard’s—and all the others before him.

Always the mother’s choice. Never the son’s.

“Come now, Walter,”

said Mrs. Reed, nudging her son forward.

“May I have the honor, Miss Vaughn?”

he murmured, though when he held out his hand, the strain in his muscles made it clear he didn’t wish her to accept. And for the second time that night, Sadie found herself conscripted into a dance.

*

Glancing up from her hand, Dora Gibson watched the group gathered in the far corner of the card room. Around them, the other players were too absorbed in their games to take notice, but she observed with narrowed eyes as Mrs. Reed maneuvered the pair onto the dance floor. Dora hadn’t thought the lady one to meddle in her children’s love lives, but though her methods were clumsy, she achieved her aim.

That tricky minx.

It was one thing for Mr. Reed to show a modicum of interest, but his mother throwing in with him was one more hurdle for Dora to overcome, and she already had enough on her hands.

The trio left the card room, and Dora followed at a distance as they strode into the gallery. The pair joined the polka, leaving Mrs. Reed at the edge, watching with the beaming pride of a mother who had won the day.

Though Mrs. Reed glanced at her from the corner of her eye as Dora came to stand beside her, the lady did not shift her attention from the dancers. Side by side, they watched the guests swirl across the floor as the music swelled.

“It is good to see you, Mrs. Reed.”

“And you, Mrs. Gibson.”

“You seem quite pleased with yourself,”

said Dora, clasping her hands before her as her fan swung from her wrist.

“Nothing makes a mother happier than seeing her children happy.”

Dora nodded. “True enough.”

“And I am certain you understand the lengths to which a mother will go to secure that happiness,”

Mrs. Reed added.

“Doubly true.”

Turning, Dora faced her quarry head-on, meeting Mrs. Reed’s gaze. All traces of timidity vanished, and the lady met that silent challenge with a lift of her chin, and though neither spoke, their eyes burned with the resolve of a mother fighting for her precious child. Giving her opponent a solemn nod, Dora strode away.

Superior numbers and stronger ground alone did not determine the victor, and she would not surrender the field until the last of her soldiers had fallen.

*

A polka? Of all the dances they could have shared, why did it have to be the polka? Having gone so far as to bribe the Overtons’ housekeeper for the dance list, Walter had counted on standing up with Miss Vaughn during the next waltz—simple, plodding, predictable, and (with luck) an excellent way to appear passably competent. Instead, he was faced with this hopping, twirling nightmare.

Rather than a competent beau, Walter looked like a newborn colt, all wobbly legs and awkward steps. Steering, keeping time, avoiding her toes, and conversing were challenging enough during a waltz; with the rapid, ever-shifting steps of a polka, he felt perpetually behind, his limbs flailing in a desperate attempt to catch up.

Miss Vaughn drew a sharp breath, and Walter winced.

“Apologies,”

he said, shifting his feet farther from hers. Who invented this ridiculous dance?

The lady nodded and murmured an acceptance—kind, but strained—and Walter knew it was more courtesy than forgiveness. Though it was improper to gaze too freely at one’s partner, Miss Vaughn avoided looking at him even in passing, and the conspicuous absence of any smile was a blow Walter could not ignore.

He was making a muck of this.

But he couldn’t manage more apologies whilst guarding her toes, so he focused on surviving the dance with what little dignity he had left. Miss Vaughn winced again, and he bit back a cringe as he whispered another apology.

“I do beg your pardon, Mr. Reed,”

she said, drawing him to a stop. “But I must speak with my brother concerning an urgent matter.”

“Of course,”

he said, bowing stiffly.

Miss Vaughn offered a strained smile, but the tightness around her lips and eyes betrayed her discomfort—and the slight limp in her first step deepened Walter’s humiliation. He stood frozen, watching as she fled the gallery, all the ground he had gained with her crumbling before his eyes.

*

Sadie’s pulse throbbed in her poor, abused feet, and she tried to move with a modicum of grace, though her hobbling steps made her feel even more like a great gangly giraffe than before. She needed Gregory: with a mere look, he would ensure that no one approached her, and Sadie needed a moment to darn her fraying nerves.

“My girl, you look done in,”

said Mrs. Reed, appearing at her elbow and offering a hand of support. “Do you require fresh air?”

“No, please,”

blurted Sadie, pulling free. “I only require my brother. That is all.”

“Don’t be silly,”

she replied with a brittle laugh. “Would you care for some refreshment? I am certain my Walter would gladly fetch some—”

“No.”

And with that, Sadie fled to the safety of Gregory’s stern demeanor.