“To say nothing of your coiffure,” said Felicity with an envious glance at her curls. “Though my hair has just as much natural curl as yours, mine is more wild and unruly.”
Holding up her hands to hold them off, Violet shook her head. “I didn’t say such things to elicit compliments, ladies. It was an off-the-cuff remark. That is all. I adore my dress and am happy with my appearance. I was simply laughing to myself because Mama tries so very hard to hide her disapproval and fails miserably every time.”
And perhaps she had been a touch jealous of their finer gowns, but their enthusiastic praise banished the last of those thoughts. Less because of the compliments and more because they allowed her to recognize that insidious envy did nothing but sour a lovely night. Violet Templeton would never be as graceful as Felicity or petite like Diana, and wallowing in such unassailable and unalterable truths did no good.
“Mrs. Finch, you must explore Exmoor before the summer is over,” said Violet, grasping onto a change in subject. “And the coast, if you can manage it.”
“But you must make a trip there in August when the heather is blooming,” added Diana. “It is divine with all the moors covered in a purple haze.”
Violet nodded emphatically. “Quite so.”
“Oh, I had forgotten about the blooming heather,” said Felicity with a sigh and a wan smile. “It’s been so long since I last lived in Oakham that it slipped my mind. If I’d been thinking properly, I would’ve scheduled our wedding a month or two earlier so Lewis and I could’ve arrived in time to see it last year. I still have fond memories of picnicking on the moors as a child.”
As though summoned by magic, Violet’s mind flooded with memories of those times they’d shared before Felicity’s father passed, leaving her in the care of her uncle and taking her to far away Plymouth. The girl had left at the tender age of twelve, so many of Violet’s memories were hazy things, but a few remained as bright and happy as ever.
Violet felt a prick in her heart as she recalled the many times she’d visited Farleigh Manor, searching for news thatFelicity and her uncle had returned for a visit—only to be disappointed again and again. Violet still couldn’t quite believe that the newly married Mrs. Felicity Finch had chosen to settle in Oakham, rather than in her house in Plymouth.
“Do you recall the time Father insisted on taking us all out on a fine summer’s day, but by the time we arrived, a deluge was pouring from the heavens?” asked Violet, her tone far more wistful than intended.
Felicity’s eyes widened, a laugh escaping as she glanced at her sister-in-law. “He’d made such a fuss about this perfect day that we were giddy by the time we arrived, and we couldn’t be stopped.”
But Mrs. Finch took that confession with wide eyes. “It is so like a man not to worry about giving you a chill.”
“Father always said it made no difference,” replied Violet. “Temperatures aren’t the culprits, rather miasmas in the air. People get sick as often on dry days as they do rainy ones.”
“I am certain that is not true,” replied Mrs. Finch with a frown. “If I get caught in a downpour, I always feel poorly afterward.”
“Perhaps, but I find that people often feel poorly when they expect to,” added a voice from behind Violet.
Turning, she spied Dr. Vaughn standing there, his hands tucked behind him, and her heart sank to her toes.
Chapter 7
“Are you claiming it is imagined, sir?” asked Mrs. Finch. “I assure you, my sore throat and pounding head are not feigned.”
“I would never dare to say so, madam,” replied Dr. Vaughn with a slight bow of his head. “I am merely stating what I have observed in my profession.”
“Isn’t that like a physician?” asked Mrs. Finch with a dismissive wave. “Each is convinced they hold the answers to life’s mysteries, yet it is near impossible to find two who agree. My doctor is convinced cold temperatures are deadly.”
Dr. Vaughn gave her a faint smile. “I understand your frustration, madam, and I assure you that despite the assertions of most medical practitioners, medicine provides few answers. Most of it is guesswork and supposition.”
Felicity’s brows rose at that. “Your colleagues would burn you at the stake as a heretic if you said as much to them.”
“My father would flog me,” he replied with a smile. Then, turning his attention to Violet, he added, “I wanted to tell you that I called on Mr. Evans this afternoon.”
Her muscles clenched as surprise jolted through her. There was only one reason a farmer’s family would send for a doctor. “Please tell me his leg is not infected. I called on him yesterday and all seemed well.”
Dr. Vaughn held up a calming hand. “Not at all. I visited to set my heart at ease, and I only wanted to assure you that he is healing nicely. I spied a little redness, but not a worrying amount, and if it grows any worse, I will bleed him, which should set him to rights in a trice. They cannot afford to do so unless necessary, so I am hoping it will sort itself out on its own. And though I advised him to keep weight off his leg for a while longer, I do not believe the bone is fractured.”
Violet let out a gust of breath, her body relaxing once more. “Thank heavens. I feared the worst.”
“And how are you two acquainted?” asked Felicity with a frown, her gaze darting between the pair.
“You haven’t heard about the gallant Dr. Vaughn, who performed surgery in the middle of the road?” asked Diana with far more enthusiasm than Violet liked hearing when discussing the interloping physician.
“Between being ill and occupied with settling our visitors into Farleigh Manor, I fear I haven’t heard any of the tittle-tattle,” said Felicity. “Usually, there is little to miss, but I fear this was not a good time to be out of touch with the village rumor mill.”
In quick succession, Diana relayed that which was common knowledge (much of which was far more than Violet had recounted), and the Finch ladies took in the story with bated breath. Mrs. Finch even opened her fan as though the very mention of the surgery was causing her to grow faint, and her sister-in-law patted her hand.
