Page 2 of A Meddlesome Match (The Vaughns #3)

Ten Years Later

“And how do you know the happy couple?”

An innocuous question. Quite expected, really, when one was seated in a church amidst a host of guests awaiting a wedding. Though small in number, there were plenty in attendance who were not acquainted with one another, especially when one considered that the gathering was not limited to those residing in this village alone.

Yet Miss Sarah Vaughn paused to consider the seemingly simple question. Chatting with a stranger was rarely something she wished to pursue, let alone at such a time, but the thought of being so blatantly rude was infinitely more difficult to bear.

“The groom is a friend of mine.”

The older lady at her side made no overt comment about that, though a twitch to her brow testified to the oddity of the answer. “Known him since childhood, then?”

“As I live in Thornsby, and he is some years younger, our paths never crossed until two years ago,”

she replied, refraining from expounding that it had been precisely twenty months since fate had thrown them together. Thankfully, Sadie didn’t know the number down to the day, which spared her dignity. A little.

But her response only caused the lady at her side to become all the more flustered. Sadie heard the thoughts bouncing about the lady’s head as though spoken aloud, and she forced herself not to fidget. Men and women didn’t boast such connections, after all. What business did a gentleman have fostering a relationship with a lady who wasn’t his bride-to-be or relative?

“You must be very close to warrant an invitation,”

replied the lady, glancing out at the small group gathered in the pews. “I am so glad my niece restricted the numbers. I do not understand the growing fancy amongst brides and grooms to invite all and sundry to such a personal event.”

Leaning close with a faint smile, she added in a low tone, “But then, I have been called backward for disliking this new fashion of brides wearing white. It is all good and well for the queen to do such things, but why should one go to the expense of fashioning a new gown in a color that is so prone to staining when wearing one’s best evening dress will suit, don’t you think?”

Sadie nodded, and the lady required little encouragement as she expounded on the happy occasion and all the felicity that was certain to come to the couple—leaving Sadie in purgatory. Being trapped in an unwanted conversation was a misery in its own right, but at least a proper discourse could’ve provided a distraction. Now, she was forced to feign interest whilst her mind wandered into places she did not want it to go.

The English language was too imprecise. For all that it had a name for everything, too often words encapsulated a broad meaning, ignoring the variations rife in the world and requiring additional adjectives to detail the derivations.

Laughter could be joyous, spiteful, self-deprecating, disingenuous, and a host of other things that were as different from each other as night was to day—and thus, one might cackle, giggle, snort, chortle, chuckle, titter, snicker, or even guffaw. Each held a meaning in its own right, easily able to convey the sentiment behind that action.

However, the moisture that fell from one’s eyes was only ever tears. Nothing more, nothing less. Yet there was a significant difference between those shed for joyful reasons and those that signaled a loss so great that one could not contain it within one’s heart. Such a small word for such a big emotion, and the ones burbling inside Sadie pressed against her self-control, begging to be released.

She was happy for Mr. Howard Gibson.

Of course, she was.

Only the most selfish of people would begrudge another’s contentment, and though Sadie couldn’t help the way her heart twisted in her chest as she considered her loss, she refused to allow it to leak out and taint a day that should only be filled with tears of the joyful variety. Thankfully, once the ceremony started, there would be enough of those that she could hide her self-pitying ones amongst the celebratory.

Watching the gentleman standing at the altar, Sadie allowed herself one last moment to appreciate the sight. Howard wasn’t the most handsome of men, though there was a boyish charm that drew the eyes, which was helped along by the windswept flare of his dark hair (an especially unique style, as it looked more fitting for a brooding artist or poet from their parents’ generation rather than the fastidious coiffures men preferred now). And the strong cut of his jaw appealed to her in so many ways.

Sadie suspected he kept his hands tucked behind his back to keep his fingers from twitching as they were wont to do when anxious. His dark eyes met hers, and she smiled before taking in a deep breath and subtly motioning for him to do the same. Howard’s expression brightened, his smile twisting to the side as it always did when particularly amused by her, and though he kept his hands firmly restrained, his shoulders relaxed as he followed her prompting.

“How did you meet Mr. Gibson?”

asked the lady at her side, and Sadie’s attention jerked away from her dear friend.

“Pardon?”

The question slipped from her lips before Sadie realized she had, in fact, heard and understood the lady. “Our paths crossed a few times because my brother’s wife is friends with his sister, but we were thrown together during the preparations for the Michaelmas festivities two years back and became fast friends.”

Yet another inefficient word. Sadie certainly couldn’t claim anything grander than that designation, as she was not family or a sweetheart, yet “friend”

was another label that was too broad for its good, and she didn’t know how else to categorize their relationship.

“Chum”

felt too masculine and childish. “Acquaintance”

was too impersonal. The only option left was to qualify the noun itself, and though “dearest friend” was certainly closer to the truth than the word on its own, such a claim was bound to raise eyebrows, as it implied that she boasted a closer association to the groom than the bride-to-be.

Even if accurate, it was the sort of thought better left unspoken.

After all, it wasn’t Sadie Vaughn that Howard Gibson eagerly awaited at the marriage altar. And this ceremony would mark the end of their relationship, regardless of what she called it. Now his wife would fill the role of dearest companion, eradicating Sadie’s romantic hopes and ripping away her closest friend all at once.

Sadie propped up her sagging shoulders, forcing them to remain upright as she considered her solitary situation. It wasn’t as though she had no other friends. Joanna would forever be amongst the best, but with her growing family, her sister-in-law had many demands on her time—as did the rest of the ladies of their acquaintance. At nine and twenty, few remained unmarried and without the added responsibilities of their household and children.

The lady at her side continued to babble, and Sadie nodded at the appropriate intervals; it wasn’t as though the stranger were truly interested in conversing, else she would’ve introduced herself. And Sadie found herself in the all-too-familiar position of wishing to be left alone whilst yearning for company. Proper company. Not some shallow conversation but connection and closeness.

Movement caught her attention once more, and Sadie turned her gaze to the gentlemen gathered by the altar. Howard shifted back and forth, his brows forming a hard edge above his eyes as he held a quiet conversation with the vicar and his father. Even a stranger could sense that all was not well with the gentleman, and Sadie felt the urge to go to his side. Yet it was not her right to do so.

“Do you have the time?”

asked Sadie, glancing at the lady beside her.

“No, but it has been at least twenty minutes since the church bells marked the hour,”

she replied.

To Sadie’s thinking, that was abominably tardy, but far too many people considered starting times to be mere suggestions, and though she didn’t know if the bride-to-be embraced that philosophy, the anxious manner in which Howard fidgeted suggested it was out of the ordinary.

“No doubt Odette is taking extra time with her toilette,”

added the lady. “It is her wedding day, after all, and regardless of whether one ascribes to the white fashion or not, every lady wishes to look her best on such a momentous occasion.”

The lady glanced at Sadie as though sharing a secret laugh with her, only to pause and stiffen. Despite not having discussed the matter, she spied the dawning comprehension that brightened the lady’s cheeks. After all, there was no husband seated at Sadie’s side, nor was she likely to count Howard a friend if she were married, and anyone with eyes knew her age was close enough to spinsterhood that such a comment might be considered gauche.

At least the lady had the good sense not to apologize. It was a simple mistake, and being unmarried wasn’t a capital offense (though the way people fluttered and flapped about to correct their error certainly made it seem like the gravest of insults).

“You live in Thornsby?”

asked the lady, fairly stumbling over her tongue in her haste to erase her faux pas.

The church door opened, saving Sadie from having to answer as the audience straightened and cast their eyes to the entry—only to find a lone figure striding down the nave with hurried steps. The servant handed the groom a letter without a word of explanation, and Howard’s mother and sister rose from their seats to join him at the front as he read it.

Mrs. Gibson snatched it from her son’s hand, her brows rising as she reread the lines, and Sadie stiffened, perching on the edge of the pew. The older lady turned in place and began speaking to her son, and though their words weren’t loud enough to be overheard, the strain of their tone carried through the tension in their muscles and the sharp pull of their features as the note was then handed to the vicar.

Howard stormed the length of the transept and into the vestry, slamming the door shut behind him, and only the greatest amount of self-control kept Sadie from following, her eyes riveted on the wood as it crept open again enough to see him pacing inside. The sound of furious whispers drew her attention back to the altar to find Howard’s mother speaking to the vicar before shoving the note at her husband and hurrying after her son.

The people at the altar teemed like ants whose hill had been kicked, but the vicar hushed them and turned to the audience whilst Mrs. Gibson swept into the vestry after her son and closed the door behind her. Once more, the latch didn’t catch, and the door inched open enough for Sadie to spy her friend marching to and fro.

“It appears we must postpone the service,”

said Mr. Greensgate, shifting in place as he clutched his scriptures to his chest. Murmurs rose amongst the crowd, but the vicar raised a hand to quiet them. “The bride is…indisposed and shan’t be joining us today—”

“Don’t be silly, Howard!”

cried Mrs. Gibson.

That one declaration silenced the audience better than any effort on Mr. Greensgate’s part. Sadie felt every eye turn to the vestry, their gazes fixed on that slight gap in the wood, and with everyone so silent, the voices within carried quite nicely through the cavernous nave.

“This is a blessing in disguise,”

said Mrs. Gibson.