Page 25 of Love Thy Enemy (The Vaughns #4)

N ews of Mrs. Stuart’s impending departure ought to stir some sentiment within him, but Gregory couldn’t say what he felt or thought about that development. A few days ago, he likely would have celebrated the victory, but a hollowness settled into his chest as he stared down at Rodney’s journal.

Pulling open the cover, Gregory turned to the first section he’d bookmarked, his list of evidence poking up from the pages. Far too many passages left him feeling as though his clothes were made of homespun fabric, the fiber itching his skin.

Such vitriol. Animosity. Perhaps they were just the hyperbolic words of a man betrayed by the woman he loved, but Gregory couldn’t imagine saying them to anyone, let alone wallowing in the sentiment for so many years—as was evidenced by Rodney’s own pen.

And the list of contradictions grew with every page. Memories were flawed things, and a man’s recollection was bound to alter over the years. So Rodney’s fallibility was hardly a sign of guilt.

And yet…

Those two words kept bringing him back to the journal again and again, only to find more passages that sent shudders of dread running through him.

The more Rodney wrote about his wife, the more it felt as though the fellow was trying to convince himself to despise everything about her.

And the more Gregory searched for concrete evidence of Mrs. Stuart’s wrongdoing, the more he questioned why Rodney believed so wholeheartedly in it.

Gregory couldn’t help himself as he dove deeper into the journal, skimming over entries that had nothing to do with his quest.

Tessa arrived on my doorstep today, demanding she be granted time with the children, claiming that she cared about their well-being—despite the fact that her very presence threatens to ruin them.

If not their reputations, then their spirits.

What sort of children would benefit from engaging with their jezebel of a mother?

We’ve lived apart for two years. Not amicably, to be certain, but we had reached a détente of sorts until I uncovered the truth about Eva. How can I trust her near my children when it is clear she is devoid of kindness and wishes to hurt their father?

But even with my plans to separate them from her influence, I have no guarantee that she shan’t appear on my doorstep in Thornsby with demands, eager to spoil the haven I wish to build for my family.

As much as it pains me to write this, I do not regret the action I had to take.

Tessa only desires control over the children because of the generous allowances I would grant them if we were parted.

The only choice I had was to threaten to disinherit the children if she persisted in making a nuisance of herself.

Of course, no matter how much I despise their mother, I would never cut them off, but selfish creature that she is, Tessa readily accepted that a parent could be so cruel to his offspring.

Gregory’s stomach turned in a sharp twist, and he stared at the page, the words blurring, reforming, and blurring again as if his mind refused to believe his eyes.

His breath came shallow, and a cold sweat broke across the back of his neck.

His fingers curled around the edge of the desk, gripping hard enough to blanch the knuckles.

Disinherit the children? Threaten them to win an argument? Gregory could scarcely comprehend it. The same man who’d spoken so passionately about protecting his legacy and ensuring his children’s future had wielded them like a weapon.

Gregory rose abruptly, the chair scraping behind him, and he paced in a tight circle, the journal still open in one trembling hand.

It felt as though the walls were closing in, the familiar scent of licorice root and sage was suddenly cloying, and he needed air.

He needed distance from the journal, from the office, from the growing certainty that he had been deceived in every possible way.

A hundred questions surged through his mind, but no answers accompanied them. How many other truths had Rodney twisted? His friend. His brother. The man Gregory had defended to others. And even to himself.

Rodney had lied. There was no way around it.

His own words confirmed what Mrs. Stuart had said.

His friend had forced her from his home and threatened their children to keep her away.

Perhaps—just perhaps—that was warranted to protect the children, but Gregory couldn’t say for certain that he believed anything Rodney had told him. Not anymore.

And he had to sort it out before Mrs. Stuart left Thornsby.

***

Curiosity killed the cat. The idiom may be truthful, but it provided not a shred of useful advice on how to avoid curiosity’s all-too-alluring trap.

After all, instinct usually warned of the danger to come, so adding an idiom was as useful as squeezing a bit of lemon into a papercut.

Truthful it may be, but useful the phrase was not.

Staring at the paper, Tessa knew she ought to toss it into the fire and be done with it.

Only someone whose faculties were greatly damaged would deign to read another word from Mr. Gregory Vaughn, let alone cling to the paper as though it were a lifeboat in a tempest. No matter how many times Tessa read it, the words remained the same.

Please come to my shop. — G.V.

There was no further explanation as to the purpose of the visit or what business he had with her, but Tessa didn’t trust herself to be in the same room as that gentleman. Not without reverting into some twisted form of herself. And heaven help her, she didn’t want that.

In her youth, Theresa Rush Stuart had believed herself a confident woman, avoiding both the dreaded pride and self-deprecation which led one to believe oneself better or lesser than others. She had achieved that beautiful balance between confidence and humility.

Then age and childbirth robbed her of her figure, leaving her without the strongest allure she possessed—the one that had secured her husband and the admiration of others.

Without it, she was left to realize she hadn’t been confident at all.

Not when that trait had remained untested, for it crumpled as easily as tissue paper when the first hint of doubt stirred within her.

After years of effort, Tessa could finally say without hesitation that she admired the person she was. Imperfect and flawed though she may be, she accepted that work-in-progress and continued to improve with each passing day.

Yet Mr. Vaughn had a way of sapping that strength until she was the weak, vengeful creature she didn’t wish to be. Clearly, the foundation Tessa had built over the past few years wasn’t without its weaknesses, and the gentleman found each and every one.

Tessa shook that thought aside. It wasn’t fair to lay the blame on him. She was the mistress of her thoughts and actions, and she had allowed them to pull free of her control.

But the question remained: did she wish to put herself in another situation in which she might fall to pieces?

Ignoring crumbling mortar and stones only led to more deterioration, and now that Tessa knew that the strength she’d gained wasn’t foolproof, would she cloak herself in self-delusion and pretend all was well?

Or would she use the opportunity to shore up that weak foundation?

That thought rattled about in her heart, and before she knew it, Tessa stood before Vaughn & Co.

, its windows gleaming bright in the afternoon light.

Her palms dampened her gloves, and she fought the impulse to rub them against her skirts.

The paper was crumpled in one hand as she reached for the door handle with her other, her pulse quickening as she stepped into the shop.

She prayed that this time she would behave with more decorum.

And that Mr. Vaughn hadn’t summoned her for a tongue-lashing.

Before her pulse quickened further, she reminded herself that his note had said “please.” Though it may be simply a bit of ingrained politeness, that word was one of the reasons Tessa had allowed herself to be lured here.

“Good morning, Mrs. Stuart,” called a fellow from behind the counter. “Mr. Vaughn said you would be stopping by for a consultation. Please follow me.”

Tessa hid her initial surprise, but she supposed that ruse was true enough, and it allowed them to meet without drawing speculation.

Following the man into the corridor, she was ushered into the office in which their first true battle had been waged.

Mr. Vaughn popped up from his seat behind the desk and motioned for her to sit before doing the same.

Again, such politeness signified nothing—though he’d shown little of it in the past.

But when they settled into their chairs, Mr. Vaughn remained silent.

“Why am I here, sir?” she asked.

“Firstly, I wish to apologize for my behavior.”

The statement was so wholly different from that which Tessa had expected to hear that she was certain her ears were playing tricks on her.

She couldn’t think of another man (let alone such a masculine specimen) willing to beg forgiveness of anyone.

Especially a lady. And one who had been so vexing of late.

Mr. Vaughn’s gaze didn’t waver, meeting hers with determination, as though willing her to believe the sincerity of his words and tone.

“I am ashamed of what I said to you, madam, and I hope you understand that it was born of frustration and anxiety, though I do not want you to think that I am using that as an excuse for the inexcusable,” he added with a frown.

“No matter the troubles between you and your husband, I haven’t the right to say what I did and treat you so poorly. ”

Again, Tessa sat there. Thankfully, her mouth was not agape, though it longed to hang open like the fool she was.

“I do not know what to say to that, Mr. Vaughn.”

“You needn’t say a thing,” he said, easing back into his seat. “But it is high time for a frank discussion. One that doesn’t devolve into an argument.”

“Perhaps if we both do our best to hold onto our tempers, we might manage it,” she said with the faintest of smiles.

But Mr. Vaughn’s frown deepened. “I’ve never had a temper before.”

That struck Tessa deep in her heart. Though he did not specify that it was meeting her that had brought out that hardness in his character, it was implicit in the statement, and a hollow ache opened in her chest, sudden and unwelcome.

Glancing away from his eyes, which were too piercing and saw too much, Tessa tucked her hands in her lap with care, as if precision might make up for all the disorder she had caused.

Her throat tightened, and the apologies she yearned to offer dissolved on her tongue.

“Mrs. Stuart, are you leaving Thornsby in hopes of drumming up sympathy?” Though the question was blunt, it lacked the sharpness of an accusation, and Mr. Vaughn watched her closely with a gaze that was wary but far gentler than before.

Tessa huffed. “I have no wish to playact, nor do I believe such deceptions would work. You have made your feelings clear. I am leaving to see to some business that requires my attention.”

Forcing her tone to remain even, she added, “But in truth, I do not know if I shall return.”

Mr. Vaughn gave a sharp hum that drew her gaze to him, only to find him watching her with raised brows. “After waging so many fierce battles, you are surrendering?”

Eyes fixed on her hands in her lap, Tessa fought against the blush that warmed her cheeks. Oh, how she longed to simply walk out the door and leave this conversation behind her. What good would it do?

Yet lying to herself was useless. If she were truly defeated, she wouldn’t have answered Mr. Vaughn’s summons.

Whether or not victory felt far out of reach, that little glimmer of hope that sparked in her heart, which dreamed of healing the breach between her and the children, had brought her to this seat, and it wouldn’t allow her to leave Mr. Vaughn’s workshop any more than it would allow her to accept Clark’s dismissal.

Mr. Vaughn had asked for frankness. And he’d done so politely. If her marriage had taught her nothing else, it was the importance of honest and calm dialogue. Even if she hadn’t managed to do so with Rodney.

“I am not surrendering. I am acknowledging that it is unfair of me to force my company upon my children,” she said, fighting against the quiver that threatened to take hold. “I love them with all my heart, but I will not allow my feelings to run roughshod over theirs—”

Tessa’s voice stumbled, and she tamped down the pain that prickled through her heart.

Forcing her gaze to Mr. Vaughn, she asked once more with far too much desperation in her tone, “Why am I here, sir?”

Mr. Vaughn drummed his fingers against his desk for a long moment.

“You are here because I took your advice and read Rodney’s journals,” he said. “I’ve hardly done anything else for the past few days.”

Giving him a closer look, Tessa spied the signs of sleepless nights. The dimness of his gaze. The darkness beneath his eyes. The disheveled quality to his coiffure. Even his cravat seemed deflated. She took it all in in a heartbeat, assessing the whole of it in the pause between Mr. Vaughn’s words.

“I need more answers, Mrs. Stuart.” His tone was cautious. Even a little resigned. “And I believe I am finally willing to hear what you have to say.”