Page 19 of Love Thy Enemy (The Vaughns #4)

T he fields surrounding Thornsby stretched wide, their gentle slopes bathed in honeyed light as the grasses bobbed up and down in slow rhythm with the breeze.

Dry stone walls cut through the expanse in tidy lines that were softened by moss and time, and beyond them, sheep moved in lazy clusters.

The world felt unrushed here, suspended in that quiet hour before dusk, when those who claimed daytime were settling in for the evening before the creatures that ruled the night rose from their beds.

Just beyond the village’s edge, Eden Place rose from the grasslands, the warm brown stone looking as though it had sprouted from the soil, and the last rays of sunlight gleamed off the polished windows like flecks of gold.

The gardens had softened in the fading light, the breeze that stirred the hedgerows carried a coolness that promised dew by morning, and somewhere near the orchard, a thrush sent up a few final notes before settling in for the night.

The sun slipped lower, and one by one, windows began to glow from within, candle by candle, lamp by lamp. Though the hour was quiet and the world seemed momentarily still, Eden Place was very much alive. Watching. Waiting. Holding its breath as night settled.

And Tessa stood at the gate, wondering if this were a mistake.

She was simply following Mr. Vaughn’s summons, yet staring at the building that had once been her husband’s home, Tessa couldn’t help the twist of dread that sat heavy in her stomach, though her pulse quickened at the thought that perhaps—just perhaps—this was a good thing.

Surely the gentleman wouldn’t send for her simply to chastise her.

Drawing in a deep breath, she forced her feet to close the final distance, and she was ushered into the house.

The servant led her through a maze of corridors and stairs, though Tessa hardly noticed it as she scoured every chamber they passed.

No doubt Mr. Vaughn had the children tucked out of sight, but it didn’t stop her from searching.

Then, with a bob, the servant motioned for her to step through a final doorway.

Despite her having never set foot in Eden Place, the study felt so familiar.

Of course, there was something to say about the utilitarian nature of such masculine spaces, which varied little from one to the other, but as Tessa stood on the threshold, it felt as though she were transported back in time to their home in Leeds.

For all that Rodney had been gone some weeks now, the space still smelled of him, and she half expected to see him seated behind the desk on the far side of the room.

But Mr. Vaughn occupied that place. Though there was something of Rodney in the hard set of his jaw.

Tessa held a steadying breath and reminded herself—once again—that the best course was to be civil. Obliging. Obsequious, if necessary. Aggravation would only be returned tenfold, and for her children, she needed to keep a level head. For them, she could sacrifice her pride. She must.

“What do you mean by sending presents to the children?” he demanded as she came to stand before him.

As Tessa refused to look like an errant child receiving a lecture, she lowered herself into the chair facing him. “I wished to give my children presents. That is not out of the ordinary.”

“I have made my feelings clear on the subject, and if you think going behind my back and being secretive about it will win you any goodwill, you are sadly mistaken,” he said, leaning his weight on his forearms.

Tessa straightened. “I hardly went about it in secret. As I knew you would not wish me to meet with them alone, I sent the gifts by messenger. I did not hide my identity nor indicate that they must keep it from you. As I have been clear about my intentions, I have broken no trust.”

“I have been clear on my position regarding your relationship with the children,” said Mr. Vaughn. “That alone is a breach of trust.”

Pain sparked in her chest, and it prodded her to speak—to defend or attack, it mattered not which—but Tessa forced the instinct down. She would not allow her emotions to run roughshod over this moment.

Besides, Mr. Vaughn wasn’t wholly wrong. The tiny voice of reason that had warned her about acting so rashly made itself known once more, and that niggling of guilt held her tongue in check.

Another calming breath, and Tessa asked in as calm a tone as she could, “Did you send for me to give me a tongue lashing? Or to warn me away from the children again? Or to dole out more threats?”

“I wish to ensure that you will not continue to cause them more heartache.”

“I have never set out to cause my children any heartache.”

“Yet you have done so all the same.” Mr. Vaughn’s voice was cold and hard, slicing through her words with a quick flick of his tongue.

“Are you trying to buy your way into their good graces? Did you think that a poppet or a few trinkets would heal the breach between you after all the heartache they’ve suffered because of you? ”

Try as she might, Tessa couldn’t help gaping at the accusation.

The heat in her cheeks grew, creeping down her neck and prickling beneath her collar.

Her throat tightened, and she pressed her lips together as if that might keep the rising flush from blooming any brighter, but she felt his gaze upon her like a spotlight, highlighting every flaw and foolish decision she’d made in her youth.

Her spine stiffened reflexively, her hands clasped so tightly in her lap that her knuckles strained white. Words clawed at the back of her throat—half defense, half disbelief—but all of them tangled together the moment she tried to summon them.

“I am trying to make up for the time I have lost with them,” she said.

“Come now, Mrs. Stuart. If you continue to speak as though you had no hand in this separation, it will only strengthen my fears surrounding you,” said Mr. Vaughn.

Shoulders dropping, Tessa drew her brows together as she stared at the stony visage glaring back at her. “Nothing I do will ever be enough, will it? You are determined to hate me.”

The moment she said the words, Tessa felt the truth of them.

The hardness in his features strengthened and twisted, his eyes boring two judgmental holes into her flesh, burning through her with all the pent-up fury of her former husband.

Mr. Vaughn had made up his mind about who she was and would not be swayed.

“Have you done anything to earn my trust? For I have plenty of evidence to the contrary,” said Mr. Vaughn, motioning to the books along the side of the room.

Rodney had always been such an avid journalist that she recognized the personalized bindings the moment she spied them.

They stood there like little soldiers, ready to combat any move she might make.

“So, it is my word against Rodney’s,” she said.

“And your own behavior, madam. Abandoning your children—”

“I never abandoned my children!” Tessa’s voice rose of its own volition, and she fought to keep herself in check, but the words began flowing forth, slipping out of her grasp.

“I was forced from my house by my jealous husband, who convinced himself I had broken my vows. He stole my children and kept me away by threatening to disinherit them.”

“Not this again, madam,” he said with a sigh.

“Believe what you will, but it is the truth! I kept my distance to protect them from my husband’s anger. He may have loved them dearly, but he hated me more.”

Mr. Vaughn’s expression remained unmoved. “Perhaps he hated your thieving ways. One might explain away taking money from your husband if you required financial assistance, but that isn’t the extent of your sins, is it?”

Tessa straightened. “Pardon?”

“I know about the larceny charges,” he replied with a challenging raise of his brows.

“And any lady will attest that you cannot trust larceny charges,” she replied with a scoff.

Mr. Vaughn leaned back, folding his arms. “Ah, now, are you going to blame the entire judicial system as well as your husband for the ills in your life?”

Jerking up to her feet, Tessa was standing upright before she knew what she was doing, her hands hitting the desk with a crack.

“No, but I will blame corrupt shopkeepers, who are known to slip extra bits and bobs into a lady’s purchase in order to extort her for a few extra coins under threat of a ruined reputation.

I refused, fought the charges, and was found innocent.

Something your spy in Leeds, whoever he is, ought to have known if he’d bothered to do proper research! ”

That temper slipped through her fingers once more, but Tessa hadn’t the strength to care. With this unfeeling, wretched man standing between her and her children, there was no reason to play nicely any longer.

Stomping over to the journals, she jerked out one of the volumes, checking the year before tossing it aside and going to the next.

Mr. Vaughn leapt from his chair and hurried over to her, but when he yanked the tome out of her hands, she simply went to the next one.

Finding the proper era, she spun to face him, shoving the book into his chest.

“You want to see how terrible and wretched Tessa Stuart is? Read it in his own hand,” she said, jabbing the cover with her finger. “But be warned: Rodney had a talent for twisting a narrative with each retelling. I doubt the stories he shared with you bear any resemblance to what he recorded here.”

Forcing her feet away from that odious man, Tessa hurried out of the room.

*

The study door slammed shut behind Mrs. Stuart, and Gregory moved to the sofa.

Sinking onto it, he rubbed his face with a groan.

That hadn’t gone as he’d hoped, though he also couldn’t say how it ought to have gone differently when that infuriating woman was determined to lay the blame on anyone and everything but herself.

As his friend of some years, Gregory was very familiar with how mercurial Rodney’s moods could be and how bright his anger flared—Mrs. Stuart’s matched it—but the fellow hadn’t been this vengeful, cruel being she claimed him to be.

And with each explosive interlude, Gregory rather thought his friend had been charitable toward his wife.

Most men wouldn’t have minded taking the vixen to court and legally separating the moment the infidelity was known.

Without the right Parliamentary connections, a divorce was nigh on impossible, but a legal separation would’ve been simple enough; then his finances would be protected and his children safely kept out of their mother’s reach.

And though they couldn’t remarry, they would be individuals once more for all intents and purposes.

Yet Rodney had protected his family’s reputation. And Mrs. Stuart’s.

Setting aside the journal, Gregory tugged the letter from his pocket, rereading the lines he knew all too well.

In Rodney’s own hand, it spelled out the facts: Mrs. Stuart had been unfaithful and left the family for her paramour, contacting the children only when it suited her and not at all when they weren’t within easy reach.

Gregory knew the details, yet Mrs. Stuart claimed them to be false.

Did she truly believe he would take her word over his friend’s? A stranger over someone he’d known for years, who had been like a brother to him, the father of his wards?

Gregory glanced at the book Mrs. Stuart had shoved at him.

For the briefest moment, he wondered how it might exonerate the lady.

But there was no reason to read the thing.

These were Rodney’s personal musings. Beyond those few entries he’d glanced over a few weeks ago, Gregory felt no need to intrude further into his friend’s privacy. The letter alone was evidence enough.

With the courts swaying more and more in favor of the mother—despite a father’s right to decide what happens to his children and most especially his heir and the family holdings —I fear for the future.

This letter is but a small record of what passed between us, and should a more detailed record be required, look to my journals for the entirety of the story.

Surely that should be sufficient to keep my children from her clutches.

Even Rodney, himself, was telling him to read the book. Yet it felt like an invasion. It was bad enough that Gregory slept in the fellow’s bed and used his study. Was there nothing of Rodney’s that would remain his and his alone?

Yet he was charged with protecting the children. That was the most pressing issue. More than safeguarding Rodney’s privacy. If Mrs. Stuart was lying, then it was time that he armed himself with the truth.

Not if .

Mrs. Stuart was lying. And clearly, the lady wasn’t going to leave Thornsby of her own volition. Understanding one’s foe was paramount, and Gregory needed all the ammunition and weapons he had to defend his charges.