Page 6 of A Meddlesome Match (The Vaughns #3)

It was said that a lady’s countenance must remain as serene as a pond on a still morning no matter the storm swirling beneath its surface. Long before a hostess mastered the nuances of seating arrangements and menus, she first learned to never betray her nerves. If the cook burned the lamb, if the flower arrangements wilted, or if a guest snubbed her, not even a hint of distress was to reach her eyes. Her composure set the tone for the entire evening, and the merest flicker of unease could ripple through the gathering, casting a pall over her well-laid plans.

Indeed, the true mark of a hostess was the ability to smile warmly whilst her heart raced and her mind spun in a hundred directions. A dropped teacup or an unexpected arrival at the door might jolt her inwardly, but outwardly, she was implacable.

Of course, if one couldn’t master that skill, money proved quite useful in overcoming any deficiencies, and marrying into one of the premier families in the area had granted Mrs. Dora Gibson much grace over the years. With her husband’s vast coffers, local society was quite willing to tolerate Dora’s “eccentricities.”

It wasn’t that she couldn’t bottle up her emotions like some eau de parfum from Paris—she wasn’t a child, and self-mastery was something every adult ought to practice—but Dora cared little for the absurd hypocrisy that plagued society. Those who worshipped at the altar of decorum also gallivanted about parlors, playing games that would shock in any other setting. A lady’s reputation would be ruined if she were caught kissing a gentleman who wasn’t her intended, yet when it was a penalty accrued during a bit of revelry, it was considered “good fun.”

So, why must someone feign indifference when one cared greatly? And Dora cared greatly about her plans for Miss Vaughn.

Stepping into the corridor, she glanced at the clock standing along the wall and frowned. It wasn’t like the young lady to be late. But then, it wasn’t like her to not respond to an invitation. Granted, Dora’s note hadn’t indicated that one was required, yet Miss Vaughn was the thoughtful sort to confirm or reject the offer.

Dora turned on her heel and marched back into the parlor, planting herself before the window. Of course, it didn’t face the front drive but the far prettier grounds—an undulating expanse of green framed by towering trees. On any other day, the view might have soothed her, especially with the dappled sky casting a vivid contrast of sunlight and shadow, each made more brilliant because of the other. But today, her nerves were strung too taut to be calmed.

“Are you expecting someone?”

asked Howard from the writing desk as his pen scratched along the paper.

“To whom are you writing?”

she asked in return.

“William,”

he said in a distracted tone that said only part of his attention was on the conversation. “But why are you stalking about?”

Dora rested her hand on the windowsill. “I invited Miss Vaughn for tea.”

A sharp huff and the clatter of a pen drew her around to face her son.

“Why would you do that?”

asked Howard with a scowl.

Brows raised, Dora crossed her arms. “She is your friend, and we embarrassed her. She deserves an apology.”

With a scoff, Howard turned back to his letter. “Miss Vaughn isn’t one to hold grudges. We were distressed, and she will not hold our words against us, so there is no need to add to our discomfort by dredging up that business again.”

“I did not raise you to hide from your responsibilities,”

said Dora with a frown. “We embarrassed her, and whether or not she is angry, she deserves an apology.”

But her words faltered at the sound of conversation. As the servants wouldn’t be having a coze, Dora knew it must be the young lady herself—an assumption confirmed when the footman entered the parlor.

“Miss Vaughn to see you, madam,”

he said with a bow, and Dora waved for him to fetch her.

Turning to her son, she gave him a hard look. “Be kind to her, Howard.”

Setting down his pen once more, he stared back at her. “Why wouldn’t I be? I may not wish to trot out this embarrassing interlude again, but that does not mean I will be beastly. She is a friend, after all.”

Dora brushed off her skirts and straightened when Miss Vaughn appeared. Thankfully, she had been divested of her things, meaning she might stay for a proper visit. However, the young lady’s posture was stiff and her expression too hesitant for Dora’s liking.

“Oh, my dear,”

she said, sweeping forward to greet Miss Vaughn with a buss on the cheek. “Thank you for coming.”

“You sound surprised,”

said Miss Vaughn with raised brows. “Why wouldn’t I come? We are friends, after all.”

Turning to lead the young lady to the sofa, she gave her son a narrowed look, and he rose from the desk to join them. Howard moved to sit opposite, but Dora slipped into the seat before he could, forcing him onto the sofa beside Miss Vaughn.

Perched on the edge, Dora leaned forward. “Perhaps I ought to be more circumspect, but I would rather arrive at the point of this invitation—besides wishing to see you, of course. I know I embarrassed you greatly the other day, and I am so very sorry for that. I do hope you know it wasn’t my intention. Please forgive me.”

Miss Vaughn held herself stiffly, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, though she nodded and affected a smile. “Of course, Mrs. Gibson.”

For all that Dora had hoped to hear those very words, they came too quickly to be believed. Yet despite preferring bluntness, she knew better than to press the issue if she wished Miss Vaughn to be at ease. Better to let things be, and allow it to run its course. The lady was here, after all. Surely all was not lost if Miss Vaughn considered the Gibsons friends.

“I feel as though I haven’t seen you in an age,”

said Dora with a bright smile. “I have been so busy of late that I haven’t had the opportunity to speak with you, and I want to know everything that is going on at present. Are your parents still in London? No doubt they’re enjoying their time with their family.”

Miss Vaughn’s shoulders stiffened, though she gave no other sign of distress and said, “Yes, though they should return home soon.”

“I am certain you are eager to see them,”

said Dora, nodding. Then straightening, she drew forth her best acting abilities and adopted a startled expression. “I forgot to speak to the servants about some refreshment. Do excuse me. I shall return in a tick.”

Rising to her feet, Dora gave them a bright smile and ignored Howard’s narrowed gaze and Miss Vaughn’s clenched hands. Her son may be a stubborn fool, but she was certain that with a few well-placed nudges, the matter would be settled to everyone’s satisfaction. A bit of time alone was all that was required.

*

Sadie Vaughn was a fool. No amount of common sense or wisdom was of any value if one ignored those keen instincts, and from the moment she had received Mrs. Gibson’s invitation, Sadie had known—positively known—that it was merely an opportunity to throw her at Howard. Yet she had come nonetheless.

Fool, indeed.

Doubly so when one considered the fact that despite Howard’s clear disinterest and his public rejection, Sadie had arrived still fostering the ridiculous hope that something might have changed. After all, her brother hadn’t loved Joanna until months into their unexpected marriage, yet no one could doubt the depth of his affection now. And the pair had known each other far longer than Sadie and Howard.

Yet wasn’t that the trouble? Sadie embraced even the slightest sliver of hope with all her heart. The silly thought stuck to her like tar, refusing to leave her be. Didn’t she have any self-respect?

Apparently not.

Howard cleared his throat. “I apologize on my mother’s behalf. She doesn’t know the meaning of subtlety.”

“No, she does not,”

replied Sadie with a pained chuckle.

Silence settled once more like a cloak of iron. In all their time together, she couldn’t recall a moment when it had been difficult in his presence. Certainly, she’d suffered bouts of discomfort, but solely because her heart felt liable to burst in his presence. And though the door was open (and Mrs. Gibson was likely eavesdropping), it felt as though it was just the two of them. Howard and Sadie.

“Is it going to be this uneasy between us from now on?”

asked Howard, slanting her a smirk.

Sadie turned a raised brow on him.

“Come, now. You did say you forgive us,”

he added, holding up his hands in supplication whilst batting his eyes at her.

“There is a vast difference between forgiving and forgetting, Howard Gibson.”

“Ought I to prostrate myself more?”

he asked, quickly dropping to his knees, inching close enough that when he raised his clasped hands, they rested in her lap. “Oh, benevolent Miss Vaughn—a queen amongst women—do say you forgive me and my foolish progenitress. We are most unworthy of such beneficence, but I do humbly plead for pardon.”

Sadie huffed a laugh, shaking her head. “You are absurd.”

His muscles relaxed, though Howard’s hands remained in her lap, and sadness filled his eyes as he met her gaze. “With everything that has happened of late, it feels as though I haven’t seen you in a month of Sundays. I miss my friend.”

Breath stilling, she forced herself not to look away from that intensity. “Truly? You have?”

“Of course I have.”

And the tightness in her chest eased.

With a wink, he added, “Who else will listen to me complain for hours on end?”

Sadie laughed. “Ah, is that so?”

Howard’s expression sobered, his gaze holding hers for a long moment before he nodded. “It has been a difficult few days.”

Patting the cushion beside her, she urged him to return to the sofa, and he rose from his crouch with a sigh that seeped from his very bones. Sadie twisted in place, turning to face him better, and propped herself up with an elbow on the back of the sofa as he stripped off his frock coat and cast it aside before sinking low in his seat, his feet stretched out before him and crossed at the ankles.

Sadie let the silence linger as he stared at the ceiling, his hands clasped on his stomach, and she considered what to say, hoping she had the proper words to offer her friend.

“Odette eloped,”

he whispered, his brows twisting together.