Page 18 of A Meddlesome Match (The Vaughns #3)

Miss Vaughn’s attention fixed on him, the paintbrush hanging limply in her fingers. “What has happened?”

The question was quick and earnest, as though the answer mattered greatly to her, and Walter couldn’t help but hope that in some small way it did and wasn’t merely sympathy. Though heaven knew she was capable of a vast amount of it.

With a nod to his task, the lady returned to hers. “May we work as we talk? As much as I wish to hear all about it, we have little time to finish. Besides, I find busy hands often help when speaking of troubles.”

Hefting another board, Walter fitted it to the frame. Thankfully, someone had measured and cut the pieces beforehand, sparing him a good deal of trouble as he worked to assemble the structure—though speaking about one matter while attending to another was no easy task.

“What has happened?”

asked Miss Vaughn as she continued to paint.

“I fear the number of troubles far outweighs the triumphs of late,”

he said, pounding another nail into place before wiping his forehead with his arm. A shiver of discomfort ran down his spine, though it had more to do with the realization that he was standing before Miss Vaughn in his shirtsleeves. Which, he supposed, said much about how things had changed between them; he still stumbled over his words and occasionally struggled to form coherent sentences, but at present, it was his dishabille that troubled him most.

“Firstly, there are the renovations themselves,”

he began, detailing his frustrations with the work and the laborers he had hired. “At times, I think I should simply finish it myself, as the tasks aren’t complex or ornate. However, not only is my time occupied with the Semper lads, but I would set tongues wagging if I took on the role of laborer. It is one thing to assist with the flower show and quite another to rebuild a house.”

Miss Vaughn gave a considering hum as her paintbrush swept across the wood. “It does seem nonsensical that it is your gentlemanly duty to perform manual labor if I require assistance, yet to do so for your own benefit is crass and unseemly. This is for a frivolous flower show, and you are working to secure an income. Surely the latter is more honorable than the former.”

Pausing, she considered that. “But I suppose such hypocrisies are part of human nature. After all, we are labeled the more delicate sex, yet I have seen women struggle at the edge of death to bring children into the world with hardly a tear shed, while men are felled by the slightest sniffle.”

Walter chuckled at that, and though Miss Vaughn joined in for a moment, she ducked her face away with a wince.

“I suppose I shouldn’t mention such an indelicate subject,”

she added, and when his brows rose, she stifled another laugh. “That was an unintentional turn of phrase.”

“Whether intentional or not, you have nothing to apologize for,”

said Walter, hefting the next board.

“What else?”

she prodded. “You said troubles.”

And with that, Walter expounded on all the various issues plaguing him. The pair went about their work whilst Miss Vaughn asked the occasional clarifying question, but otherwise allowed him to simply unburden himself.

With his quiet nature, Walter boasted few friends. His mother was always quick to listen, but she fretted as readily as he, and too often took more comfort than she gave. Even if he did look to his siblings for guidance, all but Pearl had settled in other places, leaving him nowhere to turn for a listening ear. Walter’s internal voice of warning continued to sound from time to time, cautioning against being too free with his words, lest he lose Miss Vaughn’s respect, but the more he spoke and the more she listened, the more words broke free.

“Excuse my ignorance, Mr. Reed, but you’ve mentioned several times the troubles of starting a school in Yorkshire, but I do not understand why that is,”

said Miss Vaughn, her brows pinching together.

“Understandable, as I doubt you’ve spent much time thinking about boys’ education,”

he replied with a slight smile. “But as you are well-read, I assume you are familiar with Nicholas Nickleby.”

“I’ve read everything Dickens has published…”

Though Miss Vaughn’s tone was bright with the affection of one who cherished those works, her voice drifted off as the implication dawned. With a wince, she said, “Ah, Dotheboys School.”

“Dotheboys,”

he said with a nod. “Decades before the novel, Yorkshire gained a reputation for inexpensive boarding schools—the perfect place for parents who prized economy above all else. Somewhere to leave your offspring, where you needn’t be bothered with them returning home for holidays, as it was simply too remote to be worth the trouble.”

Walter shook his head and drove in a nail. “It was an open secret that such places were cesspools where children were more likely to be starved and beaten than taught, but when Dickens’s book horrified the nation, the public finally roused itself to action. Countless schools in Yorkshire were forced to close their doors, and I, fool that I am, wish to open a new one.”

“But the novel was published some years ago. Surely the commotion has died down by now,” she said.

“Yet the reputation persists.”

He frowned at the board as he hammered another nail into place. “Never mind that such depravity was neither universal nor confined solely to Yorkshire. The public was indiscriminate, condemning the good alongside the bad, and never bothered to look beyond our borders. In the end, those same children who were abandoned to the likes of Mr. Squeers were simply carted off to other wretched institutions elsewhere, no happier or safer than before, whilst Yorkshire still bears the stain.”

“And you aim to change that.”

“I do.”

The lady glanced up from her work, though her paintbrush continued its steady progress. “And I have every confidence that you will.”

Such a phrase was often tossed about, but Miss Vaughn’s tone wasn’t steeped in placation or dismissal. It rang with certainty as though it was an incontrovertible truth. And that struck Walter to his soul.

His shoulders, which had felt heavy only moments before, lifted with ease, though he couldn’t say whether or not his troubles had grown smaller or he had grown stronger. The very air around him shifted, filling his lungs with something invigorating, and each breath felt fuller, steadier. His pulse quickened, sending waves of heat rushing through him like heaving billows stoking a blacksmith’s forge. Her faith—so plainly spoken—ignited a fire he hadn’t known was there, and it made him feel capable of anything as long as she believed in him.

But how can a coward run a school?

And like that, all that goodness vanished, and the worries and fears dropped onto him like a sack of lead bricks. Struggling to keep a hold of the emotions roiling within him, he turned back to his work.

“I am doing my best, but for every trouble I address a dozen come to take its place,”

he said. “And even if I should surmount every last one of them, what good will it do? At the end of the day, I am still a weak-willed mouse who cannot call my laborers to task for their work or demand money that is owed me. What sort of headmaster would I make? All my hard work will be for naught when I ruin my school with my cowardice.”

For the first time (perhaps in his whole life), Walter said more than intended. The words slipped past his lips before he considered them, revealing far more than he ever wanted Miss Vaughn to know. Focusing on the boards, he tried to ignore the feeling of her eyes on his back, but when she called his name, he had no choice but to face her. It was like a moth to the flame.

Miss Vaughn motioned him to a patch of lawn before easing herself down onto it.

“But we have work to be done,” he said.

“And I will keep you after class to finish it if need be,”

she replied with a cheeky grin. “But this is too serious a subject to discuss whilst working, and your troubles are the more important of the two tasks.”

Walter did as told and sat cross-legged before her, though he found himself studying the grass.

“You know I share your timid nature.”

Miss Vaughn’s brows knit as she considered that. “Timid is not the right word. Retiring?”

She shook her head and let out a sigh. “Whatever you call it, boldness isn’t a strength of ours.”

Walter sent her a challenging look, and she gave a halting chuckle.

“Yes, I recognize the contradiction in boldly stating that we are not comfortable being bold, but I only wish to say that I speak from common ground. What I am about to say is neither flippant nor ignorant but learned from experience,”

she explained.

Folding her hands in her lap, Miss Vaughn slanted her head as she studied him with that same frankness she claimed not to possess. “May I suggest that you try playing the part? Acting as though nothing is amiss and your insides aren’t a knotted mess of worries?”

“You are suggesting I simply stop being who I am?”

asked Walter with a frown.

Miss Vaughn straightened, shaking her head. “Heavens no! There is nothing wrong with being soft-spoken or cautious. The world needs all sorts of people, and your thoughtfulness and consideration are qualities that ought to be admired and are often lacking in those who boast a bold temperament.”

She leaned in, her eyes holding his as though pleading for him to listen. “I am speaking of confidence, Mr. Reed. Preferring one’s own company to a room full of strangers isn’t a flaw. Being soft-spoken isn’t sinful. But being mousy and timorous keeps you from achieving your goals and isolates you even when you wish for companionship.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, Miss Vaughn scoffed at herself. “Or you end up surrounded by self-serving people, believing you cannot do better—just as I did until my sister-in-law swept into my life. I watched her battle those same demons as she helped me with mine, and though we still struggle at times, we have made great strides in being honest with others.”

Walter’s fingers fiddled with the blades of grass, his brows drawing together. “Are you suggesting that I am being dishonest?”

The lady leveled a knowing look at him. “How often do you hide your opinion—despite being solicited—because you are afraid of what others will think? Or pretend nothing is amiss—even when pressed?”

Pausing, she seemed to stare straight into his soul. “Or allow others to treat you poorly simply because you do not wish to cause a fuss?”

It felt as though she had reached right into his mind and plucked the thoughts from his head, and though Walter couldn’t think how to respond to that display of clairvoyance, the expression on his face must have done the job well enough, for she continued.

“I have spent my life lying to others. Forever hiding my true feelings and thoughts. Believing that was the mark of a peacemaker when I was a coward to my core. After all, one can be honest and kind, firm and gentle. It needn’t be either-or.”

Miss Vaughn plucked at the blades of grass, her fingers running through the bits of green. “Changing a lifetime of habit is difficult, but I pretend I am an actress, called to fill the role of Miss Sadie Vaughn for the evening.”

Pausing, she considered that. “Or rather, I play a version of myself—the Sadie my family knows. She is comfortable in their presence and capable of speaking freely.”

Gaze fixing on him, Miss Vaughn’s expression brightened. “I saw you with your pupils, and that Mr. Walter Reed isn’t a false fa?ade, but rather a version of you who is soft-spoken and firm. Can you not simply pretend you are Headmaster Reed when you are speaking with your laborers? Embrace the confidence I know you possess?”

As she spoke, dawning crept up on Walter—a realization that had been buried somewhere in his consciousness, hidden in the shadows until Miss Vaughn swept in with a lamp, illuminating all those dark recesses.

“I hadn’t considered it in that light before,”

he said, his brows knitting so tightly together that they became one. “When it came time to choose a profession, my elder brother considered the various opportunities our family connections granted me, and of the possibilities, teaching suited me the best. I enjoy the work, and standing before a schoolroom of young men isn’t nearly as…”

Pausing, he tried to find a word that didn’t cast him in a poorer light, but there was no way around it. Miss Vaughn clearly knew what he was.

“Intimidating,”

he concluded. “I find it much easier to speak with pupils than colleagues.”

Miss Vaughn’s brows rose at that. “You find it less intimidating to wrangle a schoolroom of young men? Armed soldiers would quake at the prospect.”

The lady’s eyes turned to the sky, her brow lowering as she studied it with a wince, and when Walter looked in that direction, he spied the rain on the horizon. Miss Vaughn didn’t say a word, and he knew she wouldn’t rush him along, but he wasn’t about to steal away all her time.

“We ought to continue this discussion whilst working,”

said Walter. “The clouds are gathering, and you need this finished.”

Popping to his feet, he offered his hand and helped her to stand. As was the gentlemanly thing to do, of course. Though he allowed his touch to linger for longer than necessary—and he wondered whether to take it as a sign that she didn’t pull away.