Page 21 of A Meddlesome Match (The Vaughns #3)

Hosting was a peculiar blend of pleasure and trepidation, a balancing act between the delight of welcoming others into one’s home and the quiet anxiety of ensuring their comfort. A successful hostess demonstrated warmth, grace, and attention to even the smallest detail, and though the cost could be dear in terms of strain and struggle, the rewards were equally fulfilling.

Oddly enough, it was often far easier to be the hostess rather than the guest. Though the former demanded effort and preparation, being on familiar ground granted one a level of peace unavailable in foreign territory. Every aspect—from the flowers on the table to the arrangement of chairs—was hers to direct, and Dora relished the quiet authority it gave her.

Though the responsibility often weighed heavily, there was a joy that came with setting one’s guests at ease. That power to create a setting in which others felt free to enjoy their conversations and pass an afternoon was a heady thing, and Dora reveled in it and the honor that came from increasing others’ pleasure.

She moved steadily through the drawing room, pausing here and there to offer a kind word or to arrange the refreshments on the sideboard, her eyes scouring for any signs of discomfort among her guests.

Yet no matter how diligently she attended to the company, her gaze returned to the doorway again and again, anticipation picking at her: Miss Vaughn hadn’t arrived. As she was coming from Thornsby, it was to be expected, yet Dora’s eyes flicked in that direction at the barest flash of movement.

“I spied the work you did on the stalls. They are coming along beautifully,”

said Mrs. Overton, catching Dora before she flitted away to fetch Mrs. Hackler a lemon tartlet.

“I cannot take the credit as Miss Vaughn did the majority of it,”

she replied with a faint chuckle.

With her teacup and saucer in hand, Mrs. Overton nodded before expounding on the work that had been done, revisiting issues that had already been discussed at such length that Dora’s attention drifted. Her eyes darted toward the entrance, only to see Mrs. Galloway enter. Holding back a sigh, Dora tried to focus on the conversation at hand, but her gaze fell upon Mrs. Reed standing just inside the doorway.

From across the room, she caught the lady’s attention lingering on the new arrivals with a subtle but unmistakable watchfulness that mirrored her own. Dora’s eyes narrowed, and a restlessness stirred within her—a tiny, prickling sensation that ran down her spine. Mrs. Reed’s gaze returned to her companions, but not before she caught sight of Dora, her brows jerking upward in a sharp but fleeting flash of surprise, as though caught sneaking into the pantry to pilfer biscuits.

The expression slackened, and Mrs. Reed straightened as the air between them thickened, growing heavy with an unspoken challenge. Like the electrical feel in the atmosphere before a lightning storm, the very particles around them charged, crackling and snapping to life as the ladies considered one another.

“Do excuse me, Mrs. Overton,”

said Dora, turning a warm smile to the lady, and seemingly unaware of the shift in the room, she readily accepted the dismissal and slid into conversation with Mrs. Houghton.

With deliberate steps, Dora slipped around the other ladies, and drawing forth a warm smile, she slid up next to Mrs. Reed as Mrs. Wickes expounded on the work she had done for the flower show. Both Mrs. Reed and Dora nodded at appropriate intervals, but she felt the other’s awareness, and her pulse quickened as she considered what to say.

“I understand the stalls are nearly completed, Mrs. Gibson,”

said Mrs. Reed when a pause in the conversation allowed for a shift in subjects. “How fortunate you were to have had such exceptional assistance. It must have made your task quite easy.”

Dora fought to keep her brow from rising, though she couldn’t help the slight smile as she considered that palpable hit, which was the perfect blend of compliment and criticism. Mrs. Reed hadn’t seemed the type to make such a skilled jab, and Dora was almost proud of her.

But before she could say a word in defense, Mrs. Farley interrupted.

“Ah, our dear Miss Vaughn. She is a treasure,”

she said with a beaming smile. “Far too many of the younger generation are content to spend their days in idleness.”

The lady spoke with a heavy tone, glancing toward Mrs. Galloway. For all that the young lady was present (and thus, gave all the appearance of dutifulness and charity), she was always the last to volunteer and the first to slough off her assignments with urgent pleas for forgiveness as time and time again some direly important and unforeseen errand took precedence.

“I think it is a brilliant plan to include her in the bunting,”

said Mrs. Wickes, glancing at Mrs. Reed. “She is always so eager to be of assistance.”

Mrs. Reed’s gaze snapped toward Dora as her careful mask faltered for a heartbeat, revealing a flash of frustration swiftly concealed behind practiced composure. Yet Dora had seen enough.

That was her game, was it?

“Oh, that is kind of you to think of her,”

said Dora, quickly slipping in before Mrs. Reed could speak. “I’ve known Miss Vaughn for some time now, and she is always eager to help. However, I fear if we aren’t careful, she will take on far too much and wear herself to the bone.”

“Is that so?”

asked Mrs. Reed, her brows lifting in feigned surprise. “How strange. She assured me she has time aplenty and wishes to fill it with meaningful work. And she is neither so frail as to be undone by the effort nor so foolish as to give more than she is able. In fact, she seemed most eager to assist me.”

Dora smiled sweetly, though her hands were clasped tightly before her. “Oh, certainly, Miss Vaughn would never admit to being overwhelmed, even if she were. Her heart is generous to a fault, and she’s far too considerate to disappoint anyone.”

Mrs. Reed’s polite expression sharpened just a fraction, her eyes meeting Dora’s with cool determination. “Indeed, though she strikes me as perfectly capable of knowing her limits. I would hate to deny her an opportunity simply because of our excessive concern. It is better to allow her to make the decision, rather than making it for her. Is it not?”

Her smile remained steady, but beneath the careful civility, the challenge was clear.

“Oh, I agree,”

Dora replied lightly, her voice sweet yet firm. “But even the most capable among us need to rest, and Miss Vaughn has been going from task to task these past weeks without pause. Just yesterday, she worked herself to the bone on the stalls and archway.”

Mrs. Reed tilted her head slightly, dismissing Dora’s concerns with gentle confidence. “You are most thoughtful, Mrs. Gibson. It is so kind of you to concern yourself with her welfare, but as my son was quite gallant and completed the majority of that work, perhaps Miss Vaughn feels her talents are better used elsewhere.”

Dora’s spine stiffened, but she kept her smile carefully in place, and with a voice as smooth as silk, she said, “Indeed. I suppose we shall have to wait until Miss Vaughn arrives to clarify the matter once and for all.”

“Miss Vaughn?”

asked Mrs. Moses.

The new voice shocked both Dora and Mrs. Reed, jerking their attention away from each other to discover the envoy from Thornsby had arrived. Dora’s gaze scoured the ladies as they swept into the room.

“Yes, we are eager to speak with her,”

said Mrs. Reed, her eyes sweeping over the newcomers as well.

Mrs. Moses shook her head. “I fear she begged off. She sent word that her parents have just arrived from London, and she wished to spend the afternoon with them.”

“How wonderful to have them back,”

said Mrs. Wickes with a grin.

Dora struggled to keep her shoulders from sagging at the news, and her gaze drifted to Mrs. Reed just in time to catch a frown curling her lips and a furrow marring her brow. For one quiet, unexpected moment, their gazes met, and a shared frustration passed silently between them. Strange, to find a flicker of kinship amidst mutual irritation, and Dora very nearly smiled.

But the moment quickly passed, and both ladies tore their gazes away. It wouldn’t do to sympathize with the enemy.

“Yes, that is marvelous,”

said Mrs. Reed, her disappointment darkening her tone, though her expression remained as bright as ever. “I know she has missed them dearly, so it is no surprise that she would wish to remain home.”

“Yes,”

echoed Dora, though anything further she might say was swept away when Mrs. Elkington stepped to the front of the room.

“I do apologize for our tardiness, ladies, but now that we have arrived, we shall call the meeting to order.”

Mrs. Elkington stood poised at the front of the drawing room, the sofas and armchairs arranged carefully by Dora to ensure every lady could comfortably face their leader. They took their seats, quickly concluding their conversations in hurried murmurs, their skirts rustling softly as teacups clinked gently against saucers.

“Our deepest thanks to Mrs. Gibson for generously offering to host us this afternoon,”

said Mrs. Elkington, motioning toward Dora, who raised her hand to accept (graciously, if she might say so) the applause that followed that pronouncement.

Mrs. Reed’s eyes narrowed, but she dutifully clapped alongside the others whilst Dora did her best not to preen. Offering her home hadn’t been done in a spirit of self-aggrandizement, but life was full of happy coincidences if one wished to look, and receiving public praise in front of one’s rival certainly brought a smile to Dora’s lips.

With the usual pleasantries, Mrs. Elkington’s voice gently rose and fell as she addressed each matter—the arrangements of tables, the distribution of refreshments, the final details of the participants and prizes—eliciting occasional murmurs and nods of agreement.

Holding her hands primly in her lap, Dora did her best to appear the picture of attentiveness, though her mind raced beneath the calm fa?ade. Sifting through the various avenues by which Mrs. Reed might gain the upper hand, Dora searched for solutions to each, weaving together a web of possibilities. Her pulse quickened at the thought of Miss Vaughn slipping further into Mrs. Reed’s grasp, each heartbeat marking another idea pursued and set aside as she determined to outmaneuver Mrs. Reed once and for all.

And whilst so occupied, Dora made one nearly fatal misstep.

Before she knew what the lady was about, Mrs. Reed raised a hand and said, “I have spoken with Miss Vaughn, and she expressed an interest in assisting me with the bunting.”

Dora’s eyes shot to Mrs. Reed, whose hand remained raised with a smile on her lips, the whole of her expression appearing as sweet as honey, though when her eyes met Dora’s, triumph shone in their depths.

The gauntlet was thrown. The game was afoot.