Page 22 of A Meddlesome Match (The Vaughns #3)

Raising her hand, Dora turned a gracious smile upon Mrs. Reed. “That well may be, but I fear Miss Vaughn is still assisting me with the archway. I do not know how she will have the time to help with the bunting.”

“I was under the impression that the work is mostly complete,”

said Mrs. Reed with brows twisting together in mock concern. “I do hope you are not behind schedule, Mrs. Gibson.”

“Not at all, my dear Mrs. Reed,”

replied Dora, matching the other’s polite tone. “I simply believe we ought to be judicious in the division of labor. After all, gathering and sorting bunting, while important, does not require a refined hand. It would be a waste of Miss Vaughn’s talent.”

Mrs. Reed’s smile tightened a fraction, her gaze sharpening even as her tone remained smooth and gentle. “While that is quite considerate of you, Mrs. Gibson, Miss Vaughn already agreed to assist me. And I would add that the bunting represents a collective effort from several villages. Not only does it require someone reliable and organized to ensure it is completed and gathered, but an artist’s eye is necessary to hang it properly.”

Dora inclined her head slightly, her voice steady but firm.

“Of course, Mrs.

Reed.

Yet Miss Vaughn was instrumental in the archway’s design, and she ought to oversee it until the construction is complete.

To say nothing of the effort it will take to cover it with our floral decorations. This is going to be a major showpiece on the stage. A focal point of the decorations.”

A polite murmur rippled through the gathered ladies, and several heads nodded in quiet agreement as Mrs.

Reed regarded Dora with a carefully neutral expression that couldn’t quite hide a flash of frustration that sparked in her eyes.

The two pressed their cases, and each gentle retort was matched with sugary politeness.

Dora’s smile grew brighter, her voice lighter, though her jaw tightened incrementally with every exchange.

Mrs.

Reed tilted her head graciously, her expression flawlessly serene, even as her words sharpened with pointed elegance.

The ladies countered every argument with delicate precision, each remark carefully chosen to avoid open conflict as the subtle duel unfolded with neither willing to yield.

Dora found herself increasingly impressed—and more than a little frustrated—by Mrs.

Reed’s unexpected skill in navigating this delicate contest of wills.

If not for the fact that the lady was determined to upend all of Dora’s plans, she might’ve been impressed by the display.

“Ladies,”

said Mrs. Elkington, her brows pulled tight together as she stared at the pair. “There are plenty of others capable of assisting. We needn’t monopolize Miss Vaughn’s time.”

“True,”

said Mrs. Reed, the faintest flush coloring her cheeks, and though she opened her mouth as though to give one last thrust, she snapped it closed again.

“It seems prudent for Miss Vaughn to continue her work on the archway,”

said Mrs. Elkington, glancing between the two ladies as though expecting a brawl to erupt.

Mrs. Reed held Dora’s gaze a moment longer, her lips still curved in a pleasant smile, though something steely flickered beneath the surface. Then, with the grace of a seasoned diplomat, she inclined her head ever so slightly.

“Of course,”

conceded Mrs. Reed. “If Miss Vaughn’s talents are best suited to the archway, I would not dream of interfering.”

Dora did her best not to gloat, though victory tasted so very sweet. Yet as Mrs. Reed settled back into her chair, there was no trace of disappointment in her manner, and a faint prickle of unease crept down Dora’s spine.

This retreat was no surrender—it was a calculated withdrawal. And Dora had the distinct feeling her rival was already planning her next move.

***

Something about a tea tray encouraged one to carry more than was advisable. Like a puzzle, one piled dishes upon dishes, poked silverware in corners, and filled every conceivable space with refreshments. Then when one attempted to heft it about, one had to creep along so as not to overturn the delicate balance, likely going slower than if one had made multiple trips.

But Sadie didn’t care. If she did, she would’ve simply asked the maid to see to it.

Moving carefully up the stairs, she took each step slowly, her eyes trained on the stack of biscuits that were swaying precariously. When she arrived at her parents’ bedchamber, Sadie stared at the door for a moment, taking stock of how to go about this business before shifting her hold so she could knock—only to realize that it was cracked open already.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Arthur!”

Mama’s sharp voice sliced through the quiet of the house, startling Sadie, though she managed not to clatter the tray. She leaned closer, her breath stilling as she listened to what was clearly an old argument.

“It was you who pressed me to seek out professionals—”

Mama scoffed. “And had I known it would turn you into this desperate creature, willing to sell everything for a few magic beans, then I would’ve left things be.”

“But all our efforts will be wasted if we surrender now.”

“You cannot be serious, Arthur! That is a poor excuse if ever I heard one.”

“If there is a chance, then we must take it,”

insisted Papa.

“Not when it is more likely to kill than heal. You are a sensible man. You know the science behind it and how little we understand the issue. Do not place your well-being in the hands of quacks!”

Sadie felt those words stab into her, slicing through all the delicate layers of her heart to bury themselves deep within her. Mama was not one for hysterics, yet the sharpness in her tone made it sound as though she was just as close to breaking as her daughter.

“Please, Arthur. We can manage without your sight. We cannot manage without you. I cannot bear to lose you.”

Drawing in a sharp breath, Sadie set the tray on the corridor floor.

The voices inside paused as the dishes clanked against one another, and she seized the moment to escape, hurrying away from the discussion she was not meant to hear.

Hands trembling, Sadie swept down the stairs.

Foolhardy was never a word she’d used for her father, but Mama didn’t fall to pieces until well past the point most would break.

And the lady had been near tears.

Sadie pressed a hand to her stomach as she perched at the foot of the stairs.

That bewildering bouquet and the mystery that was Mr.

Reed awaited her in her bedchamber, so there was no refuge to be found there.

Edward had taken his leave, so the parlor stood empty, but Sadie needed conversation.

A distraction, rather.

Yet the thought of being in company had her blanching; with her own emotions surging through her, she couldn’t bear adding another’s into that torrent.

Pointing her feet toward the kitchen, she filled a kettle and hung it over the fire.

Thankfully, Mrs.

Thomas was still seeing to her errands, and though Bonnie passed through the room with an armful of laundry, Sadie waved the maid’s assistance off as she set about her business.

There was no reason she couldn’t fetch herself a cup of tea, and the simple movements helped to calm her as much as the blend of lavender, chamomile, and mint.

And a dash of rooibos.

Taking it into the parlor, she sank into her favorite armchair, twisting her knees toward the fireplace as she did on winter nights; though the glowing embers were absent, she imagined the world blanketed in snow, and the stillness and calm that accompanied it.

But Mama’s words pestered her.

What had happened in London? What were his next plans? Mrs. Violet Vaughn wasn’t one to worry unnecessarily or fall to pieces without serious provocation, and that thought alone caused Sadie’s heart to sink. Curling in on herself, she sent out a silent prayer that Papa would see reason.

A knock at the parlor door had her snapping upright and wiping at her cheeks, and when Bonnie poked her head inside, Sadie managed a semblance of a smile—though with a brittle edge to it.

“You have a visitor, miss,”

said the maid.

“I am not at home,”

said Sadie, shaking her head and turning her attention back to the empty fireplace. But when she didn’t hear the door close again, she looked over to see Bonnie shifting from foot to foot.

“I do apologize, miss, but he is very insistent. Said he wouldn’t leave until you saw him.”

Closing her eyes, Sadie forced herself to ask the question she didn’t want answered. “Who is it?”

“Mr. Howard Gibson,”

replied Bonnie.

“Send him away.”

“But miss, he is very keen to see you.”

Digging into her apron pocket, she pulled out a coin with a furrowed brow as though confessing a great sin. “Paid me a crown to pester you until you agreed, but I don’t want to pester you, miss. Please, see him.”

As padding one’s income with bribes was a time-honored tradition, and Bonnie was hardly selling off family secrets, Sadie hadn’t the slightest interest in flogging the maid for enjoying the benefit of the situation. Yet if she barred Howard from the house, it would be Bonnie who would bear the brunt of his bedevilment, and the girl was too kind-hearted to stand firm against the likes of Howard Gibson. Sadie couldn’t bear the thought of placing her in the middle of this mess.

All of which the gentleman knew and was using to his advantage.

“Send him in,”

she said with a half-hearted wave.

Bonnie bobbed and hurried away as Sadie awaited her fate. That was the trouble with properly laid traps: if they preyed on one’s good nature, they were impossible to avoid.

Rising to her feet, she turned to the door as it swung open again and Howard swept in.