Page 31 of A Meddlesome Match (The Vaughns #3)

The mere thought of finding Miss Vaughn lying in the mud, as broken as her gig, set Walter’s pulse racing. It fluttered like a hummingbird’s wing, beating so fiercely it felt ready to lift him off the ground. Even the sight of her so dejected and dispirited, with tears carving trails through the mud on her cheeks, was something he wished to erase from his memory. His mother’s actions had been reckless and could have ended in far more suffering and sadness.

With Miss Vaughn now nestled beside him, his heartbeat had yet to calm, though the pounding had shifted into something far more pleasant—though just as powerful. Walter couldn’t approve of his mother’s rash behavior, but with Miss Vaughn safe, unharmed, and holding his arm, he couldn’t help savoring the outcome all the same.

Glory slowly followed after them as they stepped away from the gig and made their way down the road. And it seemed Fate was smiling down on him once more, for just ahead was a sizable puddle. Miss Vaughn didn’t slow as they approached it, but Walter freed his arm and bowed.

“Allow me,”

he said, reaching to grab her up.

“What are you doing?”

she demanded with raised brows, hopping out of reach.

Walter nodded at the veritable lake. “Being of assistance.”

Holding up a hand to ward him off, she shook her head. “No, thank you. I am quite capable of managing a puddle.”

“I know you are, but there is no need when I am capable of carrying you across,”

he said, moving once more.

“It is slippery, and I would feel more comfortable walking across on my own two feet.”

Miss Vaughn pulled further away, her arms tugging his coat tighter around her.

Would she allow Mr. Gibson to carry her across? That voice—oh, so unhelpful yet far too insightful—rose to his thoughts, pulling with it Mother’s warnings. This was just the sort of gallantry that might win the day.

She doesn’t want our assistance.

Or she believes she doesn’t want it.

Holding up a staying hand, she added, “I am your height and far heavier than I appear, Mr. Reed. Though it is kind of you to offer.”

Understanding dawned as he considered the situation anew. Miss Vaughn simply thought him incapable, and though he may not be as much of a sportsman as Howard Gibson, that did not mean Walter Reed was some feeble creature, unable to lift a lady.

On the other hand, it may simply be a reflection of her own poor opinion of herself; Walter had heard enough complaints from his sisters and mother to know many women fretted over their figures. Casting his mind to his pupils, Walter contemplated what he would do with a student in a situation where fear or modesty kept them from doing what was best.

The answer was easy enough. Taking the bull by the metaphorical horns was often best.

“It is nothing,”

he said, swinging his arms under her legs and sweeping her up. “You are as light as a dried leaf.”

Miss Vaughn squeaked, her brows shooting upward as she went rigid in his hold, and though Walter had seen others do this very thing with their lady fair, he had never considered the logistics of carrying it out. Her skirts were voluminous, being an entire armful themselves, and the mud caking the bottom made the weighty petticoats heavier than usual—though that was only a morsel of weight compared to the body in his arms.

How did others make it seem so easy? Walter didn’t think himself weaker than the average gentleman, yet every muscle strained to keep the lady aloft as he took the first step. His right ankle wobbled, his shoe struggling to find purchase. His pulse stuttered as he fought to keep upright, and he let out a heaving sigh as he found his balance once more.

“Mr. Reed, put me down,”

she hissed, though she remained blessedly still as he moved into the quagmire.

“Just a moment,”

he said, though it was more of a guttural groan than comprehensible words.

Another step and his foot caught on something—which he belatedly realized was the edge of Miss Vaughn’s skirts, having slid loose of his hold to drag along the ground—and the tug of the hem ripped her from his arms. Walter lunged to grab her up again, but she was propelled into the water, and the mud combined with the shift in his balance slid his feet out from under him, bringing Walter down atop her with a mighty splash.

*

Water engulfed her. The puddle hadn’t been more than shin deep, and Sadie was able to keep her head above it—until that lumbering lummox of a man landed atop her. Elbows and knees jabbed at her, and limbs flailed as the two fought to free themselves of the tangle. Every time she thought she had her bearings, her knee or hand slid out from under her, bringing her back into the water for another soaking.

Being dunked and dragged about, Sadie discovered a newfound respect for the abuse their poor clothes underwent with every laundry day. Except she was growing more filthy with each pass.

Finally, the hulking weight lifted, allowing Sadie to turn over and get her hands and knees beneath her. Holding there for a moment, she tried to catch her breath, but hands yanked at her, pulling her off-balance and nearly sending her face-first into the water again.

“I apologize, Miss Vaughn. I didn’t mean…I hadn’t intended…”

If Sadie were of a mind to find anything about the situation amusing, it was hearing the soft-spoken Mr. Reed babbling as thoroughly as Joanna was wont to do, fluttering about like a fretful society matron with a lace handkerchief clutched in her fingers, ready to swoon at any moment.

But this wasn’t amusing. Not in the slightest. This was discomforting. Infuriating. Humiliating. And so many other “ings”

that Sadie didn’t know which one to address first.

“I know it was foolish…but Mother thought…”

All other feelings fled as one rose to the forefront, burning hot and fiercely as Sadie pulled herself upright and wiped at her face. Just hearing the word “mother”

from Mr. Reed’s lips was enough to galvanize every bit of her fury until she was a solid piece of iron.

Yet another gentleman keen to please his mother by any means necessary. Desperate to make those conniving ladies happy, no matter the cost to anyone else—most especially Sadie, who wasn’t worthy of being a friend, companion, or sweetheart in her own right. No, she was merely the mother’s choice.

They ought to write it on her forehead so that everyone knew her value.

After all, what woman couldn’t secure a beau? Or even a man willing to spare her a dance? If the only ones interested in pursuing her were the ones whose mothers pressed the issue, wasn’t that a measurable and definitive manner of establishing worth? How could one argue with half the population?

Sadie had spent a lifetime seeking gentlemen’s approval, forever hoping that one amongst their ranks would see past the silly surface details that were as fleeting as the bouquets they bestowed upon their lady loves. Yet all it had secured her was torment, pity, and now, a soaking in a puddle.

Mr. Reed lunged forward, brushing at the mud dripping from her sleeves and skirts.

“Do not touch me!”

she growled, slapping his hands away. “You have done enough, Mr. Reed.”

“I didn’t intend—”

“No, of course you did not. Few ever ‘intend’ to be callous and rude. But that doesn’t alter the fact that you ignored my wishes and did as you pleased.”

Or rather, as his mother pleased. Sadie glared at the man, her eyes ablaze as she scowled. “I told you I did not want to be carried! I was clear and emphatic, and you waved my objections away like I was an errant child refusing to eat her vegetables.”

“I—”

“No!”

she shouted, her hands clenched at her sides. “I do not wish to hear your excuses. They do not matter in the slightest because there is nothing you can say that will erase what you did. I am not a toy to be tossed about and used at your discretion, Mr. Reed!”

*

A heavy weight settled in Walter’s chest, solid and immovable, as though the very air in his lungs had turned to stone. His throat tightened, dry and aching, but no words would come—not that there were any to suffice. What could he say? He had no defense to mount. He had dismissed her—ignored her judgment as if it held no weight—and now the truth of his failure stood stark before him.

Heat prickled at the back of his neck, creeping upward, a slow and relentless burn that did nothing to chase away the cold twisting in his gut as her voice rang through the afternoon air, cutting away at him. But it was the bitter knowledge that he deserved her condemnation that sliced deep.

This was no mere misstep. And his motives hadn’t been selfless.

“Leave me be!”

she shouted, and those words were like the slamming of a door, closing him off forever.

Turning on her heel, Miss Vaughn waded through the puddle, her legs heaving as she fought against the layers of petticoats that were thick with muddy water.

The stone in his lungs grew heavier, spreading outward until it settled into the very hollow of his bones, the weight of his mistake anchoring him in place. Miss Vaughn was slipping away, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. The thought lodged deep, an unbearable certainty that tightened around his ribs and sent a sharp, lancing pain through him.

His coat lay abandoned in the puddle as she stormed away, but even from where he stood, Walter saw her shiver. Snatching it up, he wrung out the worst of the water and chased after her.

“Leave me be,”

she repeated.

“The coat won’t help much, but—”

“I do not need anything from you or that hapless fool, Howard Gibson,”

she said, not bothering to slow or look at him. “I am done with this nonsense.”

Walter’s brows rose at that as he struggled to keep pace whilst his feet slipped about in the mud. “I do not understand—”

“I am not a half-wit, Mr. Reed,”

she said with a scowl. “I knew from the start that your mother wanted this match more than you, and I refuse to be part of this tug-of-war between her and Mrs. Gibson any longer.”

“I promise that isn’t—”

“Do not insult my intelligence,”

she said, pausing to face him, her hands on her hips. “You never looked at me until the Overtons’ ball, when your mother did everything in her power to toss me in your path.”

Walter gaped at that, but though he longed to refute those claims, his attention was stolen away by the chattering of her teeth. “Please, Miss Vaughn. Even wet, my coat will do some good.”

“Listen to me!”

she said, her voice rising once more. “I do not want it! I don’t want anything from you!”

Holding up his hands in surrender, Walter recognized the temper that was properly stoked and knew she was in no state to hear explanations. Head held high, Miss Vaughn spun around and continued on her way, leaving Walter to watch her as she disappeared into the distance.

What had he done?