Page 13 of Love Thy Enemy (The Vaughns #4)

N arrow lanes criss-crossed through the village, cutting paths around cottages of weathered stone.

The little patches of earth that abutted the buildings were bursting with color, brimming with hollyhocks, delphinium, and lavender, which added their heady fragrances to the scent of hay and sun-warmed earth that permeated the air.

The village felt as though it had grown from the grey stone that jutted from the surrounding fells.

A part of the very ground beneath their feet.

Cultivated like a flower in a garden, it had been pruned and guided to suit the needs of its inhabitants, yet it still felt as natural as anything found in the meadows and forests.

Thornsby did not bustle. It breathed. And that peace nestled beneath Tessa’s ribs, making itself at home in her heart. Having spent her entire life in Leeds, she’d been unprepared for the beauty of this quiet corner of Yorkshire.

But no amount of quaintness and calm could withstand the sight of the shopfront before her.

A sign hung above, and just like its proprietor, it eschewed the usual flourishes and embellishments, proclaiming in simple block letters to all and sundry its owner and purpose. Tessa did not require the latter, but she most certainly needed to speak with the former.

The freshly painted trim and spotless windows stood out smartly against the aged buildings that lined the street, and the careful arrangement in the display window (with a perfect pyramid of bottles and a marble pestle poised just so) spoke of a man who valued order over ornament.

Even from the outside, the place exuded discipline.

Everything inside her clenched, pushing her nerves to the very edge of their endurance.

Two days was hardly anything at all, yet it had felt like a lifetime to her.

Now that she was in Thornsby, Tessa couldn’t bear to wait, but neither would it do to rush matters.

Clearly, Mr. Vaughn required time to acclimate, and if she pressed the issue too aggressively, all would be lost.

After so many years of hoping for the opportunity to heal the breach, having the possibility lying just within reach was a temptation the likes of which she hadn’t faced in years. Yet to let things lie as they did might allow resentment to fester and misunderstanding to grow.

Touching a hand to her forehead, Tessa considered her course of action.

Business had taught her to barter. Marriage had taught her patience and self-control.

Surely, together they provided enough experience to manage the forthcoming conversation.

Yet this was no contract negotiation, and the man inside that shop held all the power over her children’s future.

She straightened and drew in a deep breath.

Mr. Vaughn had seemed a level-headed fellow.

Before the unfortunate ending, their conversation had been lively and cordial, and Tessa had to hope that without the years of resentment and bitterness festering between them, they might come to a more amicable arrangement than she and Rodney had ever managed.

Negotiating from a place of desperation or antagonism did nothing to further one’s goals.

Yet as Tessa reached for the door handle, she couldn’t help the frisson of fear that settled into her stomach and made her muscles jittery.

Losing in business only meant risking money.

A frustration, to be certain, but not devastating.

But to lose her children once more? She refused to contemplate failure. Success was the only possibility.

The chime of a bell announced her arrival, and Tessa examined the shop interior, which matched the pristine and orderly exterior.

It was the sort of business that invited confidence, demonstrating in a visual manner the meticulousness of these medicine makers.

There was no clutter, no frippery, only purpose and order.

Not fussy, but intentional. Just as the owner himself seemed to be.

That knowledge settled into Tessa like a warm coal on a frigid winter’s eve. Carrying on a conversation with Rodney had been impossible, but Sir Stoneface (née Mr. Vaughn) was level-headed. Logical. Tessa was certain that if she approached the situation with caution, she could win the day.

“May I be of assistance, madam?” asked the apprentice. Shelves lined the walls behind him and the counter he stood behind. Bottles and jars filled every space, the sides neatly labeled, though the words meant little to Tessa.

“I wish to speak with Mr. Vaughn.”

“I assure you I am well-trained—”

Tessa held up a staying hand. “This does not concern a medical matter. I have business to discuss with him.”

The apprentice nodded and ushered her through the shopfront and into a corridor that sprouted from the back, which led to two doorways that stood opposite one another.

One room held several other young men, who were grinding and boiling various ingredients, but the other was closed, and when the apprentice knocked on the door, a voice called from within for them to enter.

Tessa drew in a steadying breath.

Mr. Vaughn stood over a countertop with more jars and vials neatly arrayed along the shelves beneath.

His attention was fixed on a book that stood open, his weight propped on his hands, which were planted on either side, and Tessa gave a start as she realized he was standing in his shirtsleeves, the cuffs rolled up to his elbows.

“Sir—” began the apprentice, but when Mr. Vaughn glanced in his direction and spied Tessa, he jolted upright and lunged for his frock coat. The gentleman tried tugging it on, but his rolled cuffs caused the sleeves to bunch awkwardly, forcing him to tug it back off and straighten his cuffs.

“Mr. Caney.” The name came out like a censure, and the young man glanced between his master and Tessa, his eyes widening as understanding slowly dawned; the apprentice nudged her back into the corridor and shut the door behind him as his cheeks blazed a bright red. “Mr. Vaughn will be a moment.”

Soon the door reopened, and the gentleman in question appeared, his apron gone and his frock coat in place. Giving the young man a nod, Mr. Vaughn sent the lad scurrying away before leveling an inscrutable look at Tessa as the silence stretched out.

Clearing her throat, she attempted a smile. “We need to finish our discussion, sir, and I thought it best if I approach you here, where there is no chance the children will overhear.”

“I wasn’t aware there was anything more to discuss, madam,” said Mr. Vaughn with raised brows. “If I wasn’t clear enough, I am certain Daphne was.”

Those words cut straight into her heart, digging deep with their sharp claws.

Her eldest daughter’s fury and cold expression still haunted her, plaguing her day and night, but Tessa refused to allow it to cow her.

No doubt the children were confused about everything that had passed between their parents and were understandably overwrought after their father’s passing.

When Mr. Vaughn tried to shut the door, Tessa stuck out a hand to stop it.

“I understand this is all very confusing and even upsetting, sir, but I have traveled a good distance to see my children, and I will not leave until we discuss this.”

The gentleman did not force the door closed (though his expression said he wished to do just that), but it was clear that an abrupt approach was doing her no favors, so Tessa added something that needed saying.

“And I wish to apologize, Mr. Vaughn.”

*

Her words made Gregory pause with the door caught halfway between open and closed. Barely holding back a scoff, he studied her expression, but her earnest tone matched the openness of her features as her eyes pleaded with him to forgive her. No doubt it was a trap.

“I fear my temper got the best of me the last time we spoke. I believe I called you a ‘lummox,’” she said with a grimace that was, no doubt, intended to make her appear sweetly coy with its amusing dash of self-deprecation.

Yet there was a ring of truth to the affectation that made it difficult for him to dismiss her apology so readily.

“It was unkind of me,” she continued, “and I am ashamed that I allowed my shock to loosen my tongue. I thought I knew better. I have tried so very hard to curb my temper, but it appears there is still much improvement to be made.”

Mrs. Stuart shifted from foot to foot as she seemed to struggle for words.

Gregory didn’t think himself a savant when it came to comprehending human nature, but he possessed the ability to see beneath veneers.

It had aided him many a time during his professional career when taking on clerks and apprentices, to say nothing of the various actions he’d taken to broaden his family’s business.

Such matters always required an ability to see the truth veiled beneath the polished lies.

And every instinct within him believed this apology to be genuine.

“The only excuse I can offer is that I was startled to discover that the gentleman with whom I had been speaking was the very same guardian I was so anxious to meet,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

“Since hearing of Rodney’s tragedy, I have wondered about the man he entrusted with our children, and it never crossed my mind that he was the source of such a diverting conversation on the road to Thornsby. ”

Drawing in a breath, Mrs. Stuart steeled herself, and Gregory sensed what she would say next a mere second before she spoke. Any hint of softening in his heart fled as she arrived at what she truly wished to say.

“Please, Mr. Vaughn. I know my arrival must’ve been a shock to you as well, and I can well imagine that my husband has said some…

” Mrs. Stuart sucked in a sharp breath, “…colorful things about me and my past, but I assure you that I am not some villain wishing to swoop in and pester my children. I only wish to see them again.”

“Colorful?” he repeated, latching onto the word that fell so terribly short of what ought to be said. Rodney’s letter still burned bright in his memory, helped along by multiple rereadings, and “colorful” was not the word Gregory would choose to describe the Stuarts’ past.

Mrs. Stuart’s gaze dropped away, her cheeks pinking. “I can well imagine that my husband has told you much, and I assure you that it is not as terrible as it appears—”

“Then the business of which you so proudly spoke wasn’t financed by selling off stolen heirlooms?” he asked with raised brows, his eyes scrutinizing every detail of the lady who stood before him.

With her hands clenched in her skirts, Mrs. Stuart’s gaze fell away from him, dropping to the floor as the pink in her cheeks deepened.

No doubt she was furious at having her sins spoken of so plainly.

The little shift in her weight as she moved from foot to foot and the way she pressed her lips into a line testified to her annoyance at having been found out.

Her posture screamed of one steeped in discomfort, and Gregory could well imagine that she had thought a few bats of her lovely eyes and a little flirtation would be enough to ensure his cooperation.

And now, with her plans stymied, the lady was in a fluster to change course.

“I did steal from Rodney,” she whispered.