Page 24 of A Meddlesome Match (The Vaughns #3)

After days of uncertain clouds and fickle winds, the heavens had cleared, and the day dawned with unparalleled brilliance. Walter couldn’t help but marvel at the simple good fortune of the crystalline blue sky, the golden sheen cast over the fields, and the breeze stirring just enough to cool without disturbing the picnic cloth.

Such a simple thing, yet its perfection settled in his chest with a surprising weight and power. Grand miracles were well and good, but life would seem a dark and terrible thing if there were only the occasional blast of blinding light with long stretches of nothingness between. Better to have those little flickering flames that warmed and comforted along the way.

Miss Vaughn squatted down, pointing out a patch of foliage as the boys gathered round her. “What is this?”

“Meadowsweet?”

asked Humphrey.

“Correct,”

she said with a smile so broad and bright that it overshadowed the sun.

He ought to pay attention to the lesson, as his pupils needed to continue it at home, but Walter’s wits had completely abandoned him today, leaving him unable to do anything but stare at Miss Vaughn. Especially when it was the only time in which he was able to do so without raising concern. He was simply being an attentive student.

“I have spied two plants in this field that are used for treating wounds. Can you find them for me?”

asked Miss Vaughn.

Before the punctuation was placed at the end of her question, the boys bolted off in different directions, weaving through patches of deep grass and shrubbery to scour for the prize. Brushing off her hands, Miss Vaughn straightened as she watched the mayhem unfold.

“Speak up if you locate them—and I would suggest searching closer to Orson,”

she called out, and the two older boys veered toward the younger, nearly trampling the lad in their determination. Miss Vaughn’s hands flew to her mouth as she watched the near miss, her eyes darting to Walter in apology.

“You have certainly stoked their interest,”

said Walter.

Dropping her hands with a shake of her head, she said, “I’ve found contests are very good at motivating children.”

The trio rushed back to her side, each holding up torn and crumpled specimens, and Miss Vaughn’s eyes widened.

“Unless we intend to use it…”

she prompted.

Though Orson remained unrepentant, the elder two grimaced as all three echoed, “…we do not pick it.”

“There is no reason to destroy senselessly. We do not want to thin the local supply—not only for the animals and insects but those who rely on foraging for their medicines,”

said Miss Vaughn, hands on her hips.

Once the boys were suitably chastised, she studied their plunder.

“Very good,”

she said, gracing Humphrey and Orson with more praise and smiles before expounding on the plants they’d chosen. But when her gaze fell to the eldest, she held up one of the leaves with a shake of her head. “Almost, Rolland—”

Orson let out a sharp and mocking laugh whilst Humphrey stuck out his tongue at his elder brother, but before Walter could stop them, Miss Vaughn did so with a single hard look.

“Do you like it when Rolland teases you?”

she demanded, her eyes spearing the two of them.

“No,”

said Humphrey, shoulders drooping whilst Orson shook his head.

“Then you have no right to do so to him,”

she said, her gaze moving between the boys.

“But—”

began Orson, though he stopped when she held up a staying hand.

“No,”

she said with a sharp shake of her head. “People do not always treat us as we wish, but that doesn’t mean we ought to do the same. It is easy to be kind and forgiving to those we deem ‘deserving.’ Especially regarding family.”

Too many favored either sternness or indulgence, ignoring that the wiser course lay when one combined firm boundaries and clear consequences with generous praise. In life, one needed both the carrot and the stick—not one or the other—and Walter watched as the lady deftly lectured and encouraged in equal measure.

“What is the matter?”

asked Miss Vaughn, her eyes darting to Walter once the lesson had come to a close.

“Pardon?”

he replied.

“You are looking at me strangely, Mr. Reed.”

Unease skittered along his skin as he considered what his expression might’ve been whilst his mind was drifting far afield, but Walter decided there was no reason not to disclose his thoughts.

“I am merely admiring your skill with the children.”

Miss Vaughn sorted through the leaves the boys had presented, tucking them carefully into her apron pocket. “I have spent a fair bit of time assisting with our parish school. It was frightening at first, but I found my footing in time.”

“I wish I had your talent,”

he admitted.

Her brows rose at that, her smile growing bemused. “You do, Mr. Reed. And then some. But it is kind of you to say—”

“I am famished,”

groaned Orson, hurrying over to Walter’s side with the expression of a dying man. “Can we eat now?”

“Food!”

cried Humphrey whilst Rolland sped over to the blanket that was laid out for them.

“Wait,”

called Walter before the boy could dive into the hamper.

Rolland’s hand rested on the lid, a clear temptation lying before him, and when he glanced at his tutor, Walter leveled a look that made the seriousness of his order clear. Shoulders sagging, the lad collapsed onto the picnic blanket as though the last of his strength had failed him, leaving him naught but a deadened husk of a boy.

In a trice, Walter and Miss Vaughn had the boys seated and the food arranged. And despite all the clamor, the trio hardly touched the offering, taking only a few bites before scurrying off with a pork pie in hand.

“Eat, boys!”

called Walter, but the lads were tearing across the field, deafened to anything but their game.

“They can always eat on the drive home,”

said Miss Vaughn as she helped herself to some roast beef.

As that was true enough, and Walter had other plans for the afternoon (which didn’t include forcing them to sit still unnecessarily), he dug into the basket and freed the novel from its hiding place.

“Would you care if I read aloud?”

he asked, holding up the book for her to see.

“The Vicar’s Daughter?”

she said, brows rising. “I have been meaning to read that.”

“Yes, you mentioned it.”

With as casual a tone as he could manage whilst his collar was choking him, Walter added, “I thought we could enjoy it together.”

Miss Vaughn’s fingers brushed against the edge of her plate, her eyes sparkling as a gentle smile drew up her lips. “That would be delightful.”

***

Giddy energy thrummed beneath Dora’s skin, a lightness that made every movement feel effortless. She smoothed the linen covering the tea table, the fabric crisp beneath her fingers, then set about arranging the tray of sweets with meticulous care. The biscuits had already been laid in perfect rows, but she straightened them anyway, unable to keep still.

The world, for once, spun about on its axis precisely as it should without a bump or jostle to upset the pieces that were neatly falling into place. As though life itself was conspiring in her favor.

Her heart beat a little faster, not from nerves but from sheer delight, the kind that made everything feel brighter, sharper. The scent of fresh scones drifted from the platter, mingling with the delicate fragrance of the roses she had placed in the corner of the room earlier that morning. She stepped back, surveying the parlor with satisfaction. It was warm. Inviting. The very definition of happiness.

Perfect.

Dora lifted the teapot with a steady hand, setting it gently on the tray before adjusting the placement of the sugar bowl—when a sharp knock at the door broke through her pleasant haze, jolting her from her thoughts.

“Mrs. Tumble, ma’am,”

the maid announced with a bob.

Dora’s brow furrowed. Mrs. Tumble? A flicker of uncertainty stirred in her chest, but she swiftly smoothed it away. Whatever had brought Mrs. Tumble to her door, Dora would manage it in a trice and have the lady on her way in time for Miss Vaughn to arrive.

With a nod, she motioned for the maid to show the lady in.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Gibson,”

said Mrs. Tumble. “I do apologize for arriving early, but I have a great many ideas, and we have so little time before the flower show. This sennight will fly by in a snap.”

The lady set down a notebook on the sofa, took a seat without being invited to do so, and began admiring all the sweets and treats arrayed before her.

“You are such a dear,”

said Mrs. Tumble, looking over the fare. “I have been run off my feet today and have hardly eaten a thing. I am desperate for refreshments.”

Dora hadn’t moved since the lady appeared in the room, and she stared at the intruder, trying to discern what was happening. As she couldn’t sort out the truth from Mrs. Tumble’s babbling, Dora was forced to address the issue bluntly.

“Do forgive me,”

she began with a gracious smile, sliding into the seat opposite her guest, “but I am at a loss. Did we have an appointment?”

Mrs. Tumble straightened, her brows rising. “Did Mrs. Reed not tell you?”

That name settled hard in Dora’s insides, sending out a wave of dread.