Page 35 of A Meddlesome Match (The Vaughns #3)

Sadie’s paintbrush moved in slow, deliberate strokes, and pigment bloomed across the paper, spreading outward in delicate wisps. A tilt of the wrist sent a ribbon of blue unfurling into gray, the edges feathering as the water carried the color along. Another careful sweep and a deeper shade settled into the wet surface.

Stillness settled over Hawthorne House like the heavy velvet drapes that framed its windows, but that quietude was deceiving—as was Sadie’s attention on her painting. Lifting her hand, she considered the landscape. Not her best work by even the most generous standards. Hardly passable, in fact. But painting from memory wasn’t a talent she possessed, and any effort to do so was stymied by the fact that her mind was far more occupied with Mrs. Gibson’s visit.

“…I do not want you to stumble into regret because you are judging Mr. Reed by the Gibson standard.”

Hearing her admit fault and offer up an apology was startling enough without the added shock of having Mrs. Dora Gibson rise to Mr. Reed’s defense. Her words stirred memories from the past few weeks as Sadie considered the man she had come to know. All those heartfelt conversations. The tender silences. That almost moment at the picnic.

However, the tickle in her lungs kept the memory of their last interlude fresh in her mind. Her second disastrous romantic interaction in as many days; it was almost as if Howard and Mr. Reed had coordinated their half-hearted attempts at chivalry.

Sadie rubbed at her forehead as she brushed aside the memory of that abysmal proposal.

The first time anyone had expressed an interest in marrying her, and it was only because Howard was tired of searching and had no better possibility. And it would make his mother happy, of course. Many a prospective bride longed to gain the approval of her sweetheart’s family, but that was predicated on the idea that the gentleman approved of her first. Nothing made a woman feel less desirable than to have a man approach such a momentous moment with the verbal equivalent of a shrug.

A droplet fell from her brush, falling before Sadie caught it, and the dab of yellow spiraled out, reaching its tendrils along the wet patches on the paper. Ruined. No amount of dabbing would lift that bright streak. Her shoulders sagged.

Sadie sensed Mama watching her, though the lady feigned great interest in her own artistic endeavors. Questions hovered in the air between them, silent and unspoken, but Mama kept her curiosity in check. In other circumstances, Sadie might’ve saved her the agony and simply told her what she was thinking and feeling, but she didn’t know how to quantify either of those things at present.

A knock on the parlor door had her straightening, and she wiped her hands on her apron as Mama called for the maid to enter. Bonnie peeked into the room and glanced at Sadie before going to her mistress, but no matter how quietly the girl tried to speak, it was easy enough to overhear.

“Mr. Reed wishes to speak to Dr. Vaughn, madam.”

Mama’s brows rose at that, her eyes darting to her daughter and back to the maid. With Papa resting upstairs, he wasn’t in a position to receive visitors, and Sadie didn’t know if her own heart could manage it.

“See him in,”

said Mama, rising to her feet as she stripped off her apron.

Shock held Sadie fast, though she moved by instinct, following her mother’s lead and removing her apron before setting her painting supplies aside. In a trice, the two stood before the sofa, ready to greet their visitor—though Sadie couldn’t look up from the floorboards as she recalled the hard words she’d spoken to him. They had felt warranted at the time, and she couldn’t say she was ashamed at having expressed herself so forcefully, but Sadie was a muddled, confused mess all the same.

Mr. Reed came through the door, but his footsteps halted at the threshold. And he cleared his throat.

“I was hoping to speak with Dr. Vaughn.”

Mama clasped her hands before her. “My husband is indisposed.”

The silence that followed was a palpable thing, and Sadie peeked up at the gentleman to find him staring at Mama like a startled deer. Clearly, that wasn’t the answer he wanted. Yet Mr. Reed faltered only a moment before stripping away that fretful demeanor and gathering himself once more. And Sadie couldn’t help smiling at that display of courage—until she recalled her complicated feelings for that gentleman and tucked the grin away once more.

“May I beg an audience with Miss Vaughn, then?”

he asked, his eyes turning to capture hers before she was able to look away.

Mama waved at him to speak, but the gentleman cleared his throat.

“I meant a private audience,”

he amended. Those little signs of his nerves (which she would’ve dismissed as cold arrogance just a few weeks ago) surfaced, and Mr. Reed fidgeted with his cuffs.

But he remained firm.

Meeting her daughter’s gaze, Mama arched a brow, silently asking what Sadie wished. She couldn’t help nodding.

“I will grant it, Mr. Reed,”

said Mama, turning a gimlet eye on the gentleman as she strode across the parlor. “However, I will leave the door open.”

Heat swept through Sadie, settling into her cheeks, and Mr. Reed looked equally discomposed by the inference as he shifted from foot to foot. But a moment later, Mama was gone, and though anyone in the corridor could eavesdrop, the pair were as alone as possible.

Sadie’s eyes met Mr. Reed’s, but they darted away once more. Between the lingering interest she still felt for the gentleman, the frustration over his behavior (and that of mothers everywhere), and her embarrassment at having lost her temper so thoroughly, Sadie didn’t know what she ought to feel. Just that she couldn’t quite face him.

“I owe you an apology, Miss Vaughn.”

Those words drew her gaze to him—only to find that his own eyes were fixed on the ground, his head bowed low as he let out a heavy sigh.

“The only excuse I can offer is that my intentions were good, but that doesn’t dismiss the fact that I ignored your wishes.”

His brow furrowed as he hurried to add, “And I do not wish to force my company on you again, and I know you insisted that I leave you alone, but you deserved to know I am ashamed of my behavior—though I recognize even now that by doing so I am once more ignoring your will in favor of my own.”

Mr. Reed cleared his throat before launching into the sort of rambling exposition Joanna gave when well and truly agitated. His words bounced back and forth like a shuttlecock, attempting to explain his presence whilst honoring her dictate to leave her be. Though Sadie couldn’t recall saying such a thing.

“If nothing else,”

he continued, “I must correct a misconception that is clearly coloring your opinion of me. If it changes nothing, then so be it. I will leave and never bother you again.”

Sadie straightened at that, her pulse skipping erratically.

“The other day, I acted rashly because I was afraid of losing ground to Mr. Gibson, and my mother suggested it would make my intentions clear and win your favor. But I ought to have simply been forthright from the beginning,”

he said, his brows pulling low. “Unfortunately, you know I am a coward, Miss Vaughn, and I was afraid you might laugh if I dared to tell you how much I fancy you.”

Everything stilled inside her, and Sadie hardly dared to hope she understood his meaning. Surely he couldn’t mean…Did he…?

“Laugh?”

she asked, latching onto the only thing she could think to say.

Mr. Reed let out a shaky breath, his fingers tapping a halting rhythm on his thighs. “I fear my experience with courtship has taught me to expect that behavior. The first lady I attempted to woo set that standard when she burst into laughter after I asked her to attend an assembly with me, though she isn’t the last to have found my overtures amusing or distasteful. I was afraid—”

“That I would do the same?”

Sadie gaped at him while her heart did a decent imitation of an acrobat.

“They say a rejection is the worst that can happen to a gentleman, but Miss Weathersby proved that wasn’t true,”

said Mr. Reed with a pained smile, his shoulders drooping.

“Miss Weathersby?”

Brows jerking upward, she considered that lady. Though Sadie had never spoken to her before, she had heard gentlemen bemoan the heartbreak they’d suffered at her hands often enough to know precisely the sort of woman she was.

Sadie had seen many of her ilk before and witnessed the devastation they left in their wake. They possessed a magnetism that enticed men who, despite knowing the women’s reputation, eagerly lined up to have their hearts trampled. The power they held was a mystery—an inexplicable, infuriating, and altogether absurd mystery.

“Why would you give your heart to someone who treats others with such disdain?”

she asked with a huff. Then placing her hands on her hips, she added, “And for that matter, why would you think I would treat anyone so cruelly? Even if I didn’t wish to accept your suit, I would never be so cold-hearted. Surely you must know that.”

“‘Even if’?”

he said, his brows jerking upward as his gaze finally rose to meet hers.

Sadie slapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes widening as she realized the implication.

Dropping it once more, she added in a rush, “Not that I am saying I wish to be courted by you. Or that you are implying that you wish to court me. Or that there is any understanding…or interest…”

“Then you are not interested?”

he asked, his shoulders falling. “I didn’t mean to press the issue—”

“No,”

she said, raising her hands to stall him. “Not unless you mean…that you intend…that…”

The two stammered and stuttered, stumbling over one another to both reassure whilst tiptoeing around the truth, and though Sadie recognized what was happening, she couldn’t stop the babbling.

Mr. Reed held up a staying hand, and Sadie heaved a breath as she tried to gather her thoughts.

“I came here with every intention of a forthright conversation, but I am falling into old habits once more,”

he said with a wince. “Miss Vaughn, I—”

“Mr. Reed, you wished to speak with me?”

Papa’s voice rang through the parlor, silencing the gentleman, and Sadie nearly shouted at the intruder to leave, but her father’s hard expression forestalled any arguments.

“Yes, sir,”

said Mr. Reed, glancing between father and daughter.

Nodding out the door, Papa strode down the corridor, and Mr. Reed’s eyes held Sadie’s for a long moment before following.

*

Dr. Vaughn wasn’t a violent man. Walter didn’t know the gentleman well, but he knew that much. The local physician was renowned for his kindness to those in their most vulnerable moments, and Walter had seen the evidence of that himself. Yet he felt like he was being marched to the gallows as he trailed behind the gentleman; all traces of the soft-spoken physician were gone, leaving only the protective father in his wake.

Matters weren’t helped by the unspoken words that hovered on the tip of his tongue. For once, Walter had been ready to declare himself—boldly, without hesitation. The moment had risen between them like a cresting wave, sweeping him along in its unstoppable power, and all he’d had to do was allow the current to pull him along and speak the words he’d long held back.

And then Dr. Vaughn had interrupted, allowing the weight of everything unsaid to drag Walter beneath the surf.

The gentleman led the way through the hall without a word, and though Walter hesitated at the threshold, Miss Vaughn swept past him, planting herself inside. Her father gave her a pointed look, but she refused to leave.

Drawing on her example, Walter stepped in and shut the door before coming to stand before the desk. And though it was impossible to draw upon his schoolmaster’s tools (for he felt like an errant pupil coming to stand before his headmaster), the rightness of his purpose settled into Walter’s bone. And he did not quake.

“You wished to speak to me?”

asked Dr. Vaughn, settling heavily into his seat without offering his guest one.

Walter drew in a deep breath and recited the words he’d rehearsed during the drive to Thornsby: “I am here to ask permission to court your daughter.”