Page 17 of A Meddlesome Match (The Vaughns #3)

Shaking his head to himself, Walter wondered at the mystery that was the infatuated heart, for he would’ve wagered good money that the sound belonged to Miss Vaughn. Yet that short burst of noise was hardly distinctive enough to tell one from the other.

Until it happened again.

Turning his gaze this way and that, Walter realized his feet had already carried him to the edge of Lockland Manor. Though the main house stood a fair distance from the road, the Gibsons’ stable was close by, and there he spotted a lady struggling with an armful of boards. They had been neatly stacked when she bent to lift them, but the moment she had them aloft, they slipped and shifted. Swaying slightly, Miss Vaughn fought to keep them balanced, but their length made the task a losing battle.

What are you doing, you fool?

The question snapped him from his stupor. Walter vaulted over the short stone wall and rushed toward her, snatching up the bundle before it tumbled to the ground. Miss Vaughn gave a start, her brows rising, but she released the boards the moment she realized who had come to her aid.

“Mr. Reed? What are you doing here?”

“Where should I place these?”

he asked, glancing about.

Miss Vaughn gave a sharp huff of annoyance (which Walter felt to his very bones) and jabbed a finger toward a pile of boards that sat upon the grass, alongside hammers, nails, and several cobbled-together stalls. Taking her silent instructions, he tried not to trip over himself in his haste to obey, though her expression retained a hard edge that felt out of place on so gentle a face.

Laying the boards neatly alongside the others, he earned himself a curt word of gratitude that did little to calm his agitation. Miss Vaughn was just the sort to cling to politeness even when faced with the object of her ire, but clearly, she had not forgotten their last disastrous meeting or his mangling of her poor feet.

“How may I be of assistance?”

he asked, glancing about at the tools and supplies, though he couldn’t imagine what she was doing nor why she’d chosen the Gibsons’ property as her workshop.

“You needn’t concern yourself, Mr. Reed.”

And with that, she placed her hands on her hips and studied what was laid before her as though he wasn’t there. As much as he wanted to respect her wishes, when she bent to heft one of the boards, Walter couldn’t help himself.

“Please, Miss Vaughn. I do apologize for how I mistreated you at the Overtons’ ball, but it is folly to cast aside a willing set of hands.”

Her hands dropped down, and the lady turned a puzzled frown at him. “You mistreated me?”

Walter’s eyes darted about, and his hand fluttered as though trying to conjure an explanation. “You told me how much you enjoy dancing, and I ruined it for you. To say nothing of the injuries I inflicted, which must have kept you from enjoying the rest of the ball.”

Brows rising, Miss Vaughn stared at him for a long moment before a laugh burst from her lips. Her hands flew to her mouth, her eyes wide and pleading for him not to take offense as she tried to smother the reaction, though a frantic edge clung to her mirth and slipped free despite her efforts.

Shaking her head, she lifted an apologetic hand. “Do forgive me, Mr. Reed. Of all the things that have happened of late, that was the most minor of inconveniences—hardly worthy of note when it happened and certainly undeserving of a second thought—but you looked as though expecting to be drawn and quartered. You are not the source of my dour mood, but you managed to lighten it considerably.”

Walter couldn’t think what to say or do with that admission, so he simply waited for her to gather herself.

“I apologize, Mr. Reed,”

she said with a sigh that sliced through the humor of the moment, the sound heavy with a bitterness born of too many frustrations. “I hadn’t meant to give you the impression that I was out of sorts with you.”

“And I hadn’t meant to add to your frustrations by inferring—”

Miss Vaughn held up a staying hand, her lips pulling into a rueful smile. “If we do not end this now, we will spend all afternoon apologizing to one another for unintended slights and upsets, which will only mount with each one as we trip over ourselves to assure the other that we meant neither to give nor take offense.”

With his pulse slowing once more, Walter drew in a deep breath and allowed the last of his nerves to fade.

Nodding toward the work to be done, he asked, “How may I be of assistance?”

“You are in your good clothes, Mr. Reed,”

she said, eyeing the frock coat and trousers that were, indeed, too fine for such rough work. But even if he were wearing his evening attire, it would matter not one whit as long as Miss Vaughn required a helping hand.

“I will borrow an apron from the stables, and that will do just fine,”

he said, nodding toward the building. “Now, what is to be done?”

Settling her hands on her hips again, she considered him and the work to be done with a quiet stubbornness for several moments before the expression softened into acceptance.

“The annual flower show is nearly upon us, and Mrs. Gibson asked me to assist her son in building the arch that will decorate the stage and repair the display tables…”

Miss Vaughn’s voice drifted off and her eyes darted back to him with a frown. “Did you truly think I would be cross with you over a dance?”

The shift in subject left Walter speechless and staring at the lady. “Pardon?”

“Do I give the impression that I would be put out by such a thing? Even if you were to break my toe, do you believe I would hold an accident against you?”

she asked, her voice filled with surprise and a sprinkle of hurt. As Walter considered it, he realized it had been rather short-sighted of him to think her so easily riled.

“No,”

he said, holding up placating hands. “I apologize—”

But Miss Vaughn mirrored his stance. “We do not need to return to another round of verbal self-flagellation, Mr. Reed.”

Accepting that with a bob of the head, he amended, “I find it difficult to believe you would ever hold a grudge against anyone.”

The lady’s cheeks pinked slightly, and she shook her head. “Do not think me a saint. I assure you, I have a temper and am quite capable of grudges.”

As Walter had never seen a sign of it, he found it difficult to accept such an assertion. But as contradicting a lady was not only considered impolite but was ill-advised when one wished to court said lady, he decided discretion was the better part of valor.

“Be that as it may, but you were very vocal about how much you enjoy dancing and seemed quite put out with me at the time,”

he said. “So, when I arrived with you already out of sorts, what else was I to think?”

Walter straightened as he considered the ease with which he spoke to Miss Vaughn. Three weeks ago, he’d struggled to stammer a greeting to the lady, and now, he was expounding on his thoughts and reasoning. Quite the improvement.

“Yes, I can see how you would arrive at that conclusion,”

said Miss Vaughn, her eyes falling away from him as she brushed her skirts. Lifting her gaze once more, she met his eyes. “But I assure you that my foul mood then and now are not of your making. Unless it was you who encouraged Mr. Howard Gibson to throw me over this afternoon.”

Not in the slightest, though Walter certainly would’ve been pleased to do so. There weren’t words enough to explain the pleasure he felt at the thought that Mr. Gibson was doing his utmost to prove himself unsuitable and at the resultant irritation in Miss Vaughn’s tone when she spoke of him.

Yet seeing the lady out of sorts caused that triumph to fade quickly.

“As he is unavailable, I would be quite happy to take his place. I may not be a carpenter by trade, but I know my way around a hammer and nails.”

Walter managed to say that without stumbling, smiling, or breaking into giddy laughter.

“Are you offering to rescue me once again?”

she asked with a wry smile. “It seems this is becoming a habit.”

Walter’s pulse raced at the warm expression on her face and the fact that it was turned on him—him! Drawing on every ounce of his acting abilities, he offered a grin in return. “That is what friends do, isn’t it?”

“They ought to,”

she murmured, and the amusement in her expression faded, her eyes turning to the work lying on the ground around them. “The flower show is in two weeks, and these need to be finished today. Why Mrs. Gibson assigned us, rather than handing the project to one of their manservants who know a thing or two about carpentry, I haven’t the slightest notion—”

Walter had his own theory.

“—And I feel terrible pressing you into service, Mr. Reed, but one mustn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“You aren’t pressing me into service. I volunteered.”

Miss Vaughn’s shoulders fell, gratitude filling her gaze. “You did, didn’t you? Well, then, I suppose we ought to get to it.”

In quick order, Walter commandeered an apron from the nearby stables, cast off his frock coat, and with a few simple instructions, he set to work on the archway whilst Miss Vaughn began painting the tables and stalls.

Glancing up from her work, Miss Vaughn said, “You were being modest about your skills, Mr. Reed.”

“I spent a fair bit of time in my childhood shadowing our manservant and learned about such things,”

he replied, leveling the board as he prepared to place another nail.

When the lady sent him a questioning look, Walter added, “Being the youngest in my family by a good five years, I was more like an only child, as the others were either grown or off at school throughout much of my youth. Mother was occupied with managing the household and our finances, so I often found myself keeping company with the servants once my lessons were done, and they taught me a great many things.”

Leaning closer to her work, Miss Vaughn studied the nooks and crannies of the wood before dabbing at them with her brush. “If you don’t mind my asking, how old were you when you lost your father?”

“Seven.”

Miss Vaughn straightened, her brows twisting together, but before she could speak, he did.

“Yes, I was young. I hardly remember him, though people often say we look quite alike. However, I cannot agree, as I have seen his portrait.”

“That must have been difficult,”

she said, returning to her work as Walter did the same.

“Thanks to his actions, our family fared better than most. He provided handsomely for us.”

“There is more to a father than providing,”

said Miss Vaughn with a frown.

“True. But as so many fathers don’t do even that most basic of things, I believe it is worthy of note,”

said Walter, bringing down his hammer to finish off the nail. “Our family has never been wealthy, but because of his wisdom and efforts, my mother is provided for, my sisters had decent dowries, my brother inherited a healthy business, and my inheritance is paying for a good portion of my renovations. That is far better than most.”

Just the mention of his school brought his frustrations back to the surface. Miss Vaughn had distracted him thoroughly, but now his mind was dragged back into that frenzy of questions, concerns, and conundrums.

“What is the matter?”

asked Miss Vaughn, straightening and studying him.

“What do you mean?”

He turned his attention to the boards as they slowly began to take the shape of the arch.

“There was something in your expression when you were talking about your school. Usually, you look…”

Her words trailed off as she considered them. Shaking her head, she added, “You seemed upset just then. That is all.”

Did a lady wish to hear the troubles of a potential sweetheart? Surely, friends shared those burdens, but when a gentleman sought to make a good impression, he ought to appear strong and unflappable—able to weather the bumps and bruises of life without falling to pieces.

Yet the longer the silence stretched, the heavier it became. Walter couldn’t put his finger on what had shifted between them, but he felt the distance growing with every passing moment.

“There have been some difficulties with my school,”

he finally said.