Page 34 of Love Thy Enemy (The Vaughns #4)

A s much as the weather had been cooperating of late, one could not depend on it being kind for long, yet anyone with sense knew there were ways to enjoy the world despite its fickle behavior. Thankfully, Edward and Joanna were quite sensible. At times.

With little work, canopies were hung from the side of the house, ensuring that if any rain fell, the revelers remained dry.

Then mounds of blankets were produced for the older generation, who were more apt to enjoy the food and conversation than run about like little wildlings, who paid the weather no mind.

Another Sunday, another family gathering.

Edward and Joanna sat side by side, watching the mayhem unfold as the children flitted about, quickly dividing into teams and games, some choosing to playact whilst others insisted on some entertainment with winners and losers.

Tessa occupied a chair near them, and she and Joanna spoke of the goings-on of the village.

Though Walter and Sadie were conspicuously absent (having chosen to attend their parish), those children in attendance did their utmost to ensure that the noise and chaos made up for their cousins’ absences.

Shirley snuck a slice of cake from a tray, hurrying out of reach before her mama could stop her and dividing the treat between Caro, Eva, and herself, though their fits of giggles made it difficult for them to eat properly.

And Mother and Father had chosen not to attend. Once again.

As much as Gregory enjoyed watching the Stuarts and Vaughns blending, the thought of his parents being alone settled uneasily in his stomach, and with a nod at the adults, he left the children in their care and made his way down the road to their home.

Rehearsing in his mind how he might convince them to join in the revelries, Gregory wondered what he would find. With both of them absent, Father must be in a truly dour mood.

Yet when he climbed the stairs to their rooms and found his way into their parlor, he discovered the pair curled up on the sofa together. Father’s frock coat was cast aside, his arm wrapped around his bride as she reclined into him, her feet upon the cushion as she read aloud.

“‘Thunder cracked overhead as the great doors flung open,’” she read, her voice coming quicker as she sped through the sentences. “‘Dripping with rain and cloaked in shadows, his eyes blazed with fury and some darker purpose not yet known. The count had arrived at last—’”

“Dearest,” said Father, brushing a hand along her arm. “We must stop. Your voice needs a rest.”

Mother gaped as she glanced at him. “Nonsense, I can read for some hours more, and the count is at the castle—”

“Our son has come to pay a call,” he added with a smile.

Turning her head, Mother lowered the book and straightened as she stared at Gregory as though he had appeared from the ether, rather than the front door. Perhaps he ought to have flung it open in the pouring rain as the thunder crashed overhead.

“You knew it was me?” asked Gregory. He strode across the room to the chair beside them as his mother rested her head against her husband’s shoulder.

“Only family arrives unannounced. Sadie and Joanna are always accompanied by at least one of the grandchildren, and Edward seems to rush everywhere he goes,” said Father. “Your footsteps are far too purposeful for that. And Walter makes no noise at all. It startles me every time.”

Gregory didn’t know what to say to that, for he didn’t know how a footstep could be “purposeful” nor how that would sound, but it was unimportant at any rate.

“And how are you this afternoon?” he asked, glancing between his parents.

“Oh, that is such a serious tone,” said Father with a sly grin.

Leaning closer, Mother whispered sotto voce , “And his expression is equally grim.”

Gregory frowned. “You needn’t laugh at me. I was concerned because you did not attend Edward’s luncheon today.”

The laughter fled his parents’ expressions, and Mother settled her feet on the ground as Father straightened.

“We didn’t mean to upset you, dearest,” she said.

“It is kind of you to be concerned, but we are doing well,” added Father. “We didn’t come because your mother is too impatient to wait to see what happens in our book. I was afraid she might perish on the spot if I required her to put it aside until tonight.”

“Then I shall leave you to it,” said Gregory, shifting his weight to rise, but Mother leaned forward and caught his arm.

“Please do not leave yet. With all that has happened of late, we hardly see you,” she said with a frown. “Having six children in your care is difficult, yet you rarely ask for assistance. To say nothing of having lost your friend. We worry for you, dearheart.”

Ignoring the oddity of her saying that when Gregory had arrived on her doorstep for that very same reason, he considered the whole of his situation.

As was true in most instances, his life boasted both sunshine and rain, being difficult in many facets yet simple in others.

Regardless, his parents had enough difficulties of their own without his adding to their burdens.

“I am managing,” he said.

But Mother’s brows rose at that. “Something is amiss. I can tell, and it isn’t like you to beat about the bush. Out with it, Gregory.”

“There is one reason a man ‘beats about the bush,’” said Father in a dry tone, his sightless eyes turning toward his son without focusing on him. “Does this have anything to do with that sweet widow you are spending so much time with of late?”

Gregory huffed at that, though he couldn’t look directly at the gentleman (even though his father couldn’t meet his eyes). “She is the mother of my wards. Of course, we spend time together.”

“That was a palpable hit, my love,” whispered Mother as she leaned into her husband. “He is avoiding looking at you, and I do detect a hint of a blush in his cheeks.”

Despite Gregory forcing his gaze to them once more, he couldn’t erase the telltale pink in his cheeks, and he cursed both it and his parents. Murmuring a curt farewell, he rose to his feet, but Mother once more snatched him by the arm and forced him back into his seat.

“Peace, son,” she said with an apologetic wince that was almost genuine. “You must forgive your parents for a little teasing, but you look so stern. You need a bit of twitting from time to time.”

Rodney’s words rose to his thoughts: “You need Stuarts in your life to pull you from that solitary rut you enjoy far too much. Without us, you are bound to grow so dour that even the maid’s lotion shan’t be able to save your face.”

And heaven help him, Gregory couldn’t help but think of Mrs. Stuart’s knack for doing just that.

Of course, Rodney hadn’t meant that Stuart, but it was true nonetheless.

Whenever his troubles weighed him down, she nudged him into a brighter mood with a lighthearted comment and the proper amount of jesting—and she managed to do so without irritating, as his family were wont to do.

“Please talk to us,” said Father, giving him a warm smile. “We are a troublesome old pair, but every young man needs a bit of help when it comes to courting.”

Gregory held up his hands. “I have said nothing about courting.”

“You ought to,” replied Mother in a dry tone. “I cannot say I know her well, but I like Mrs. Stuart more each time I speak to her. She is good for you.”

“That well may be, but it isn’t as simple as me deciding to court her,” he murmured.

“The good ladies always require a bit more effort,” said Father, lifting his wife’s hand to his lips.

Shifting in his seat, Gregory cleared his throat. “Effort isn’t the issue. I do not fear hard work, but it isn’t my feelings alone that I must consider.”

And with that, he unwound the tale of Rodney and Mrs. Stuart, passing over many of the details of their past together; it was not his tale to tell, nor were the details relevant to this conversation.

But his parents were familiar enough with Rodney’s feelings for his wife that they didn’t require much explanation as Gregory detailed his struggles with accepting Mrs. Stuart’s presence and the mounting contention amongst the older children.

“Daphne and the Spooner boy?” asked Father with a grimace.

“He is hardly a boy any longer,” said Gregory. “It matters not that such age differences are common enough with courting couples; he is far too old to be sniffing around a young lady who isn’t out yet. To say nothing of the rumors circulating about his behavior.”

“Daphne is aching from the loss of her father and struggling with her mother’s reappearance,” said Mother. “But she’s a sensible girl and will see through his artifice soon enough. Clark is more concerning.”

Gregory sighed and considered the massive pile of kindling at Eden Place. “Matters have improved over the past sennight in regards to his temper. I am more concerned about the fact that I could destroy the tenuous hold I have on their affections if I actively pursue their mother.”

Closing his eyes, he rubbed his forehead. “And not just with Clark and Daphne. All the children have been distant since the festival, and I cannot consider anything with Mrs. Stuart if it risks their happiness. My first responsibility is to them, and I will not shirk it.”

The silence stretched, and each second passed with excruciating slowness, drawing out each breath and heartbeat until the quiet became a living thing. Its presence settled into every corner, watching and waiting for someone to break it. Daring them to.

What was the good to be had in discussing this?

There was no altering the facts. The children may be accepting her more and more, but they would not welcome their guardian courting her.

And Gregory would not hurt those children.

He could not. Whatever his feelings for Mrs. Stuart, there was no good to be had in placing his desires above theirs. They had suffered so much already—

Father cleared his throat. “Son, do you believe it is detrimental if their mother is more fully ingrained in their lives?”

“Absolutely not,” said Gregory, straightening. “Mrs. Stuart is a good mother. An excellent one, in fact. She is patient and insightful, and the children are blessed to have her example.”

With a sharp nod, Father concluded, “Then what else do you need to consider?”

Gregory’s brows pulled low. “I am their guardian, and I must put their needs first—”

Holding up a staying hand, Mother gave him a wan smile.

“Raising children means sacrifice, and it is good that they are foremost in your thoughts, but that does not mean you must ignore your needs entirely. Even if you are a lesser priority, you are still important. And dearest, I fear you are allowing the responsibility you feel for those children to keep you from what could be a good match.”

“By all means, tread carefully,” added Father.

“However, it is your decision who you marry.

Not theirs. This will impact the rest of your life.

Not theirs. They will grow and build lives of their own.

Be their own people. For goodness' sake, the youngest could be stepping into society in ten years, but your wife will remain at your side for decades more.”

Mother nodded, her brow furrowing as her voice grew heavy. “Do not sacrifice all that simply to appease them for a few short years. The children are your responsibility—your family—but that does not mean you must surrender the whole of your happiness for their sake.”

Lifting Mother’s hand once more, Father pressed a kiss to it, his sightless eyes gleaming with such tenderness that Gregory felt he was intruding on a private moment.

Dropping his gaze, he considered their advice; there was wisdom in their words, though he couldn’t say if he wanted to accept it simply because it gave him what he wanted or because it was the right choice.

Clearing his throat, Father added, “And Mrs. Stuart lives in Leeds.”

Gregory sighed and rubbed his forehead once more. “Yet another hurdle to face. Even if I wished to pursue her, she cannot remain in Thornsby indefinitely and see to her business. Mrs. Stuart depends on that income.”

Father chuffed, and Mother struggled against a smile.

“Like father, like son,” she murmured.

“Like mother, like son, you mean,” he whispered back. “You eagerly threw yourself on the metaphorical altar as a sacrifice for your family. And I wasn’t this clueless.”

Mother brushed her thumb against his cheek. “You were going to abandon me and return to London.”

“In my defense, I didn’t realize you fancied me.”

“If you had said the word ‘courtship’ even once, I wouldn’t have assumed you thought of me only as a friend,” she replied with an arched brow.

Father bowed his head in acknowledgement. “Touché.”

Apparently done twitting one another, they turned their attention back to their son.

“I wasn’t meaning that she ought to move here,” said Father, the corner of his lips pulling into a wry smile, though there was a tinge of sorrow to it. “We know you wish to live in Leeds.”