Page 32 of A Meddlesome Match (The Vaughns #3)

There was no reasoning with stubbornness. It stood like a stone wall—unyielding and immovable. No force of persuasion could shift it, no appeal to sense could soften its edges. It clung to its own certainty with an iron-fisted grip. And the most maddening sort was not loud or blustering but quiet and resolute, setting its jaw whilst refusing to acknowledge even the possibility that an error had been made.

Sadie Vaughn had never considered herself stubborn. Quite the opposite, in fact. As was evidenced by her long history of relationships that were more akin to indentured servitude. Such “friends”

did not prize free thinking or strong wills, preferring immediate surrender to their every whim. And Sadie had always obliged. Although her clinging to such useless connections boasted a morsel of obstinacy.

Regardless, Sadie hadn’t thought herself pigheaded enough to cast aside assistance and good sense. Even wet, Mr. Reed’s wool coat would’ve staved off the chill that had settled into her bones, and with her anger piqued, she had forgotten just how long the walk back to Thornsby was.

Stubbornness and a temper. A sennight ago, Sadie wouldn’t have believed herself capable of either, yet the people of Danthorpe seemed determined to draw both out of her.

Her throat tickled, bringing with it a cough that sounded far more sickly than she felt. The thing was a pest, troubling her again and again until she snatched the teacup from the stand beside her father’s seat and downed the whole of it. Giving a cursory blow into her handkerchief (though there was nothing to be gained from that), Sadie settled into the armchair again.

Father reached over and rested his hand against her forehead for several long moments before nodding to himself and turning back to the fire, its coals glowing orange and red. There was no chill in the air to warrant the extra heat, but with two Vaughns recovering, Mama was taking no chances. Though it would serve Sadie right if she fell properly ill.

Taking hold of the teapot, she poured herself another cup. The dredges were still warm enough to heat the porcelain, and she held it close, savoring the scent of mint and lemon.

And she was not thinking about Mr. Walter Reed.

Sadie stared at the cup, her brows lowering as she tried once more to comprehend what had happened. The Mr. Reed of yesterday had been more akin to her original perception of the fellow—mulish, domineering, dismissive—but it was incongruous with the Mr. Reed she’d come to know—deliberate, considerate, thoughtful. They were so dissimilar that she couldn’t imagine they were the same man.

Sighing into the cup, she considered the picnic. Was she a fool for thinking that they’d shared a moment? An “almost.”

Yet had Mr. Reed only been rushing about, doing what he must to please his mother? With a wry smile to herself, Sadie doubted the lady had suggested dumping them into a puddle.

“I received word that the gig has been freed and will be returned to us shortly,”

said Papa, taking a sip of tea. “Mr. Reed’s note assured me it was in good condition.”

With the bandages now gone, Sadie spied his gaze pointed toward her, and there was no mistaking the knowing glint there.

“I am happy to hear that,”

she replied, taking a prim sip of her cup. Silence followed, and though she felt Papa’s attention on her, her mind drifted far from the parlor.

Counting back the weeks, her brows rose as she realized it had been only a month since the wedding—or attempted wedding, as it turned out to be. Only four weeks, and in that time, Sadie had lost an old friend. Gained a new one, and lost that one as well. Been proposed to. And though she couldn’t say for certain, she swore that Mr. Reed had nearly kissed her at the picnic.

So much change. So much upheaval. And yet, what lingered in her heart was the inkling that she had misjudged Mr. Reed.

A deep, twisting ache settled in her chest, heavy and unfamiliar, as if something vital had come undone inside her. Sadie couldn’t make sense of it any more than she could reconcile the man she thought she knew with the fool who had tossed her into the mud. That hurt was an open wound that she had no means to tend, and with every breath, the pain spread. But buried deep within it was a spark of recognition.

Howard’s behavior had stirred bursts of fury and wild vacillations of emotion, the likes of which she’d never felt before, but they were only flashes, evaporating soon after. However, the outburst she had unleashed on Mr. Reed had burned hotter than anything Howard ever provoked, and the smoldering embers of that blaze still lingered two days later.

It was illogical. Nonsensical. This new friendship (or whatever it was) had lasted only a few weeks, while she had known Howard nearly two years. Surely the latter should have outweighed the former. Yet it wasn’t thoughts of Howard that haunted her now, pulsing through her like a second heartbeat.

Then again, Howard’s motives had always been clear.

“I heard you accompanied Mr. Reed on a picnic,”

said Papa in a tone that was likely meant to be innocent but was far too pointed.

“His pupils wanted to learn about local flora used in our medicines,”

said Sadie. “As Mama and Gregory were too busy for such things, I was happy to be of service.”

“Oh, I didn’t hear that he asked your mother first,”

said Papa with raised brows.

Sadie sighed.

“You know, that is the twenty-first time you have sighed in the past half an hour,” he added.

“Are you joining the ranks of the busybody matrons? Spending your days winkling gossip out of unsuspecting young ladies so that you can meddle all the more in their lives?”

Though Sadie had begun the question as a jest, her voice quivered, and she was forced to clear her throat and take another sip of her tea.

With a brittle chuckle, she added, “This tickle is going to be the death of me.”

Papa’s eyes (which had been his bane for so long) softened as he held out his hand to her, a sad smile on his lips. “It is a father’s prerogative to winkle the truth out of his children, especially when his dearest daughter is so obviously distressed. Even if I can do nothing for her.”

Taking hold of his outstretched hand, she joined him on the sofa and leaned into him. “No one can solve these troubles, Papa.”

Settling his arm around her shoulders, he held her tight, and Sadie sniffled as she fought to keep control. She had cried enough of late. And bless her father, the fellow left it at that, allowing her to revel in the silent companionship; there was no need to speak of her dark musings and sodden heart, and simply having his stalwart presence holding her together was worth more than any number of discourses he could’ve given.

Papa jerked, his free hand rising to his temple to knead it, and Sadie straightened, reaching for the wet cloth she’d kept on the side table. Having been propped beside the teapot, it was still a little warm, and she pressed it to his forehead. And now, it was his turn to sigh.

“But if we are speaking of paternal duties,”

she said, seizing the opportunity, “it is incumbent for me to say that foremost among them is to safeguard your life and not risk it so.”

“It is just a little megrim,”

he replied. “It comes with the disease.”

“We both know that it is also a side effect of too much belladonna in your system,”

she said with a scowl. “And I wasn’t speaking of only that.”

“There’s no need to fret—”

“You know there is. Mama is beside herself,”

she replied, pulling away the cloth so he could see her. Those blue eyes still looked perfect, though they struggled to focus on her.

“That may be true, but I need to heal myself,”

he insisted. “Most treatments carry a level of risk, and I would be doing us all a disservice if I abandoned possibilities.”

The Sadie of four weeks ago would’ve quietly accepted that argument, but having lost her temper so spectacularly over the past two days, she couldn’t help the flare of anger that sparked to life, setting those smoldering embers ablaze once more.

“Why is that?”

she demanded.

Papa’s brows rose at the sharpness in her tone, but the surprise faded as his expression pulled into a frown.

“I would think that obvious, Sadie. I need my sight. What good am I without it?”

Holding up the rag as though it was evidence in his argument, he added, “I would be a burden to you and your mother, helpless and forced to be waited on, hand and foot.”

“You are never a burden! Don’t you see how much you matter to us? I may be grown, but I still need my father.”

And latching onto the words her mother had spoken, Sadie added, “We can manage without your sight, Papa. We cannot manage without you.”

Silence followed that, and she spied tears gathering in the corners of her father’s troublesome eyes, though he angled his head to hide them. She prayed for the right words to say—for anything to convince him—but her mind was blank.

The parlor door creaked open, revealing Mama listening from the corridor. Slipping through, she came to her husband and crouched before him, taking his hand in hers.

“In sickness and in health, Arthur. That was our vow.”

Papa huffed, his head falling as he murmured, “Would you have made it knowing—”

“Don’t you dare finish that question, Arthur Vaughn,”

she said in the same stern voice Sadie had employed moments ago. “I knew when I married you that it would come to this in time, my love. Whether it is today or twenty years from now, we all become dependent on others. And even if this had happened before our marriage, I would still have made each and every single one of those vows because my life is infinitely better with you in it.”

Her lips trembled, and her brows twisted together as she struggled to speak. “Please, Arthur. If nothing else, I cannot bear to see you torture yourself again and again with useless treatments. To see you in such agony with no hope of reward is excruciating. I cannot do it any longer.”

Mama clung to him, and Sadie took his other hand in hers, resting her head on his shoulder; too many words and feelings plagued her to speak, and she showed her silent support in the only manner available. Papa’s hold on them tightened, and his breath shuddered as they sat in silence for several long moments.

“I am afraid,”

he whispered.

“I know. So am I,”

said Mama. “But I am more afraid of losing you.”

“Then I suppose I shall have to do what I must to remain with you as long as I can,”

he said with the faintest of smiles.

Mama gave a halting, bubbling chuckle and leaned forward to throw her arms around them both, and Sadie reveled in the joy of the moment, grateful that her prayers had been answered this time. Relief swept through her in a slow, steady wave, loosening the tightness in her chest, while the dread that had hovered so near melted away, leaving only the quiet ache of release.

“Thank you, Papa,”

she whispered.