Page 5 of A Meddlesome Match (The Vaughns #3)

“I didn’t mean to intrude, sir,”

said Sadie.

“It is no intrusion.”

Glancing about, the gentleman tucked his hands behind him and shuffled toward the door. “Remain as long as you like.”

“You are leaving?”

Mr. Reed shifted in place, and the silence stretched like taffy. “I wouldn’t dream of damaging your reputation.”

Sadie couldn’t help the self-deprecating huff that shot from her lips, and her hand flew to her mouth as though she could stuff it back in. Mr. Reed’s brows rose, and she stifled a wince. Could she not interact with him without making a fool of herself? Heaven knew she ought to manage it.

“That is kind of you, sir,”

she hurried to explain. “However, I have little dignity left to protect.”

Mr. Reed’s brow furrowed all the more, his features growing stonier.

“Please,”

she said, motioning to his seat. “I refuse to chase you from your sanctuary. The door is wide open, and there is a large gathering close by. There is little risk of impropriety.”

And still, Mr. Reed watched her with cold calculation, though she couldn’t imagine what he was thinking. No doubt he was shocked that she would suggest such a thing; likely Mr. Reed was the rigid sort who believed she ought to have a chaperone on hand at all times, despite being nine and twenty and of an age where such things were quickly becoming unnecessary. Besides, this wasn’t London, and one needn’t adhere to such hard strictures in the country.

“If not for that false door, I wouldn’t have intruded at all,”

said Sadie with a brittle laugh. “Why would anyone build such a thing?”

Clearing his throat, Mr. Reed shifted in place, his eyes finally falling away from her as he glanced about the room. “Such things are common in larger houses built during the previous generation. Neoclassical styles prize symmetry, and at times they installed false doors to maintain it. And it has the added benefit of making the house appear grander, with more rooms.”

Mr. Reed expounded on the subject of architecture and the unique properties of neoclassical styles, reaching far beyond the basic answer to give a detailed critique. Good gracious, when the gentleman chose to speak, he did so thoroughly. It resembled a lecture more than conversation, but he wasn’t retreating, and for that, Sadie was grateful. She couldn’t bring herself to stay if her presence drove him away.

*

Though possessing many qualities (both of the admirable and lamentable variety), Walter Reed had never thought himself a babbler. Far too many people preferred quantity to quality, and there was no need to use ten words when three suited quite nicely, yet at that moment, Walter couldn’t deny the fact that he was babbling.

Quite thoroughly.

Confound it, man! After having bungled the opportunity to drive Miss Vaughn home just three days prior, Walter hadn’t believed his luck would provide him with a second attempt, yet here he was, making a proper mess of things. Again.

Forcing his mouth shut, he tried not to gape as she turned her attention to the shelves around them, which were filled to the brim with a selection of books that would make any reader salivate. Leather tomes on every subject and genre lined the walls around them, and her eyes drifted down the neat row whilst Walter struggled to breathe properly.

Say something! Don’t allow another opportunity to pass—

“What are you doing in the Sempers’ library?”

asked Miss Vaughn, her eyes quickly swinging to his with a raise of her brows as though only just realizing the strangeness of their position.

“I am their sons’ tutor, and Mr. Semper gave me free use of it.”

There. That wasn’t so difficult, was it?

Miss Vaughn nodded. “Ah, yes. I had forgotten that. It is a beautiful selection.”

As she turned her gaze back to the books, a smile tickled the edge of her lips, and Walter couldn’t look away. Though many deemed her looks middling, he couldn’t fathom why.

Miss Vaughn rarely grinned with abandon or displayed grand expressions, but her feelings shone in her eyes. Despite their narrow shape—narrower still when she was particularly amused—there was such life in those brown depths. And when she smiled, crinkles formed at her eyes and lips like graceful quotation marks framing the unspoken delight in her heart.

Her tresses, light enough to almost pass from brunette to blonde, held a gentle curl far lovelier than the stiff coiffures other ladies labored to achieve. Her height lent her a regal bearing, and though many favored a petite frame, Walter found her loftiness becoming—and perfectly suited to anyone with sense. And he would have told her so if only he could loosen his tongue enough to say anything at all.

“Is it so shocking that I enjoy a library?”

asked Miss Vaughn, her brows pinching together, which was the moment that Walter realized he had been staring at her for far too long.

“Not at all,”

he murmured, shifting in place.

Miss Vaughn glanced at the door, and Walter’s pulse quickened. Think of something to say to keep her here. Do not waste another opportunity!

*

Realizing one’s mistake was essential to personal growth, for one couldn’t learn from the past without identifying the misstep that had led to the wrong path; unfortunately, knowing an error had been made did little good when one was still trapped in the consequences of that poor decision. The library had seemed her salvation, but no amount of awkwardness in the parlor compared to having Mr. Reed stare at her with those hard eyes. And she had chosen this torture. This was her doing.

What did the gentleman find so distasteful? Sadie forced herself not to fidget or cover her nose. It was a touch too large for her face, but surely not enough to warrant ridicule or such determined gawking.

Glancing at the door once more, she wondered if it would be rude to simply leave without warning, for her thoughts refused to supply a reasonable excuse for fleeing.

“What do you enjoy reading?”

asked Mr. Reed.

Forcing her shoulders to relax, Sadie attempted a smile. “That, unfortunately, doesn’t have an interesting answer, as I fear I like everything. It simply depends on my mood.”

His brow pulled even further down. “And that is unfortunate?”

Sadie glanced at all the books around her. A veritable fortune. “Only because it has all the hallmarks of a thoughtless answer. As though I cannot make up my mind.”

“Nonsense. It sounds as though you are well-read with diverse interests.”

Straightening, it was her turn to stare at him. Was that a compliment? His tone was so stern it was impossible to say, though the words had all the appearance of praise.

Sadie nodded at his abandoned book. “And what are you reading?”

“Henry Standish by Edmund Cartwright.”

A brief pause before he added, “I am considering it for my students’ curriculum.”

“A novel?”

asked Sadie with raised brows. “How strange.”

“The right novel can teach much about the world, and the boys are far more liable to pay attention when the lesson is wrapped in an appealing package,”

he replied.

“Then that is a good book to choose. The juxtaposition between the father’s story and that of his son is quite enlightening, and Cartwright has a way of capturing human nature that leaves me viewing others in a new light. He gives me a glimpse into another’s thoughts and motivations, which in turn provides me a greater understanding of my fellow man.”

Mr. Reed’s posture relaxed, and though she couldn’t say he smiled, something softened in his features as he nodded. “Precisely. I enjoy a good tale of adventure, but what draws me into a book again and again are the characters and their struggles. It is one of the reasons I return to Jonathan Marlowe’s works again and again.”

“Marlowe?”

said Sadie, straightening. “I adore his novels.”

There! A smile. She fought not to gape, but a frisson of pleasure ran down her spine at the sight, for it transformed the gentleman’s features, softening them in a way she hadn’t thought possible. With a subject that appealed to them both, Sadie’s reasons for fleeing vanished, leaving her to sink onto the sofa opposite his armchair, and the gentleman followed suit as they began to debate the merits of Marlowe’s work.

*

Remain calm. Walter reminded himself of that often whilst Miss Vaughn eased into the conversation, her posture relaxing as he coaxed her deeper into the subject. Her interest was hardly surprising—he’d discovered Marlowe after she recommended the author to his mother. The works had quickly become favorites, and he’d often wished to thank her, but even a simpleton knew that admitting to eavesdropping was a sure way to scare her off.

His pulse quickened as he tried to assemble a list of topics, ready to leap in should the moment falter. But it never did. The longer they spoke, the more their conversation drifted, unhurried and sincere, and she seemed utterly absorbed in each new thread. Walter wanted to match her ease—but a part of him couldn’t stop marveling that this was real, that she was here.

Miss Vaughn was speaking to him!

Not only that, but nothing in her expression hinted that it was out of obligation or unpleasant. Her gaze didn’t drift about. No long pauses. And that warmth in her eyes grew as she defended her favorite books, arguing with great passion as to why they were superior in every fashion. Seeing her in such a happy state made him long to concede every debate to her.

However, Walter wouldn’t allow her to slander his beloved Highclere.

“That is the purpose of the story. You are not meant to ‘like’ the characters, as they are deeply flawed,”

he said with a shake of his head.

“But surely I ought to enjoy them,”

she replied in a dry tone.

“I cannot say that I would enjoy spending time with them in reality, but their false goodness is what makes them so compelling,”

he insisted, his finger punctuating that by poking the arm of his chair. “Morality isn’t proven during times of plenty. They are quick to believe themselves righteous but prove their goodness is only surface deep the moment they abandon the better path in favor of their baser desires, all while shouting justification’s rallying cry: ‘I have no other choice.’ Yet they always do.”

Miss Vaughn’s head canted to the side, her eyes drifting to the ceiling as she considered that. “I suppose I hadn’t thought of it in that manner before. It felt as though the author was merely painting those actions and that philosophy as acceptable, which I hear too often slip from people’s lips.”

Walter shook his head again and cast his eyes about to look for his copy, though he knew it to be safely tucked in his bedchamber at home. “He wrote a brilliant forward to later editions that clarified his meaning. He left his feelings vague to show how readily those in the real world do the same as they try to justify the characters’ behavior—”

A sharp brass chime rang in the room, slicing through the wonderful moment and eviscerating Walter’s happiness as readily as a stiff breeze pops a soap bubble. Miss Vaughn straightened, her brows flying upward as her gaze snapped to the clock on the mantelpiece. He supposed it was some comfort to know that she had lost track of time as readily as he had, but it was a small consolation when she rose to her feet.

“I should return. I have been gone far too long,”

she said as she stood, drawing him up to his feet as well. Never in his life had Walter longed to attend a social call, but at that very moment, he wished with all his heart that he had an invitation to Mrs. Semper’s afternoon tea.

“My thanks for this enjoyable conversation, Mr. Reed,”

she said, gracing him with a true smile, her eyes and cheeks crinkling with all their might as she paused at the doorway.

Ask her to the Overtons’ ball!

The demand rang in his thoughts, loud and bold, as he tried to formulate the proper words for such an invitation. But just as readily, a stream of warnings flooded his mind. Laughter, sharp and biting, rang from his memory, but Walter refused to think of her. Miss Vaughn wasn’t Miss Weathersby in any way, shape, or form, and thus it was foolish to fear the same response.

Yet Walter’s tongue petrified, hardening until it refused to move.

Come now! Gibson was a fool for letting Miss Vaughn slip through his fingers. Are you going to follow suit?

Walter opened his mouth, but the lady waved a farewell and disappeared through the doorway before he could stop her.

“You fool!”

he hissed at himself.

“Pardon?”

Miss Vaughn peeked back through, and Walter’s blood ran cold. “Did you say something, Mr. Reed?”

Fixed in place, Walter stared at her, his mind doing its best to mimic a startled deer, standing in the roadway as a carriage barreled toward it. Miss Vaughn’s brows drew together, the light in her eyes dimming as she stood there, silently waiting.

“N-nothing,”

he managed.

Miss Vaughn looked at him askance. “Oh. Yes, well…once more, thank you for allowing me to invade your sanctuary.”

“Any time, Miss Vaughn,”

he whispered, his heart pounding against his ribs as he realized that she hadn’t called him “sir”

in quite some time. An improvement, indeed.

Her lips pulled into a crooked smirk. “I will keep that in mind the next time I attempt to walk through a false door.”

Walter tucked his hands behind him. “If I am being completely honest, Miss Vaughn, I learned about the reason behind them after walking straight into one during my first visit to Montmore Hall.”

Miss Vaughn chuckled at that. “Thank you for keeping me company. I thoroughly enjoyed our conversation.”

“Have I convinced you to give Highclere its due?”

Where that teasing question came from, Walter didn’t know, but he forced himself not to grin like a fool when the lady laughed.

“Almost, Mr. Reed,”

she said, giving him another wave before disappearing.

Letting out a heavy breath, Walter collapsed into his chair, his limbs hanging limply over its arms.

“Would you attend the Overtons’ ball with me?”

Is that so blasted difficult to say? A silly question, for the answer was quite clear enough: Walter Reed was a coward.