All these thoughts flew through Violet’s mind, making the stark reality clear in a heartbeat. Mrs. Lark had asked a simple question, but in it, she’d provided a possibility.
Refusing to question it further, Violet hurried to add, “And it is a good thing I was there, for Dr. Vaughn required much assistance.”
Not a single word was untrue; she refused to allow a false word to slip past her tongue after having given her brother alecture for his lies. Just a touch of emphasis placed on the final word. That was all. A little thing. Hardly noteworthy.
But both ladies perked at it.
Though far more well-intentioned than most, Mrs. Lark couldn’t ignore such a juicy morsel. And though she called Bentmoor home, her reach extended far beyond its border.
“Is that so?” she asked, glancing at Mrs. Wolverton, whose only sign of surprise was a slight raise of her brows.
“Do you not think it odd that a man of his education would choose to settle in a village like Oakham?” asked Violet. “Even your Bentmoor, which is far larger and with far higher demand, has only locally trained physicians and surgeon-apothecaries, who learn at their father’s or uncle’s knees just as they’ve always done. Not one of them is a proper doctor.”
Not a lie. Not a single falsehood. Every word Violet spoke was true and naught but the same questions she’d asked herself since having met him—even if she knew the reason wasn’t incompetence.
Glancing between two of the most influential ladies of Bentmoor, she added, “Why would a gentleman go to such effort and expense to earn a doctorate, only to move to an inconsequential village? Surely, of all the towns in our quiet corner of Devon, Bentmoor would be the more logical choice.”
The pair perked again at this mention, their minds whirling with that implication.
“That is odd, indeed,” said Mrs. Lark.
“I heard he hails from a very prestigious medical family in London. Surely, their connections could’ve secured him a better situation even if his skills were only mediocre,” added Mrs. Wolverton.
“And can we trust a physician who cannot even treat himself?” asked Mrs. Lark with a faint grimace. “Surely, if he were skilled at all, Dr. Vaughn would’ve cured his baldness. He is far too young to be afflicted with such a disease.”
Violet said nothing as the two discussed the peculiarity of Dr. Vaughn’s choice, allowing the ladies to take the insinuationfrom there. Soon, more of Bentmoor would be whispering, and it couldn’t fail to catch the attention of Oakham in time. Perhaps a few other well-placed whispers might help it along.
Pain spiked in the back of her throat, and Violet couldn’t ease the guilt that drove it. She hated to darken Dr. Vaughn’s reputation, but Oakham could not support two physicians, and Violet would do what she must to ensure the Templetons remained.
Chapter 13
Despite Miss Templeton’s apt description of how bleak an assembly could be by the end, this had been one of the most enjoyable social outings Arthur had experienced in some time. Yes, the room was stifling—both from the heat and stench of the candles and guests. And his ears rang from the constant thrum of conversations. And his feet ached, longing for a chair. To say nothing of the bone-deep desire to cast off his frockcoat and tug off his cravat.
But those feelings were nothing out of the ordinary.
The assembly might’ve boasted numerous attendees, but it still felt like an intimate evening. And the townsfolk were so welcoming. In London, Arthur was merely another of the Vaughn boys but without Franklin’s prestige or Terrance’s swaggering appeal. A rather unimportant person in his own right.
Yet for all those blessings, he couldn’t shake the feeling of unease as he followed the Finches in bidding farewell to the master of ceremonies.
His gaze drifted over the faces of those who remained, but no matter how many times he tried to conjure Miss Templeton, he had to admit that she had left already. Had he offended herby asking for a second set? He didn’t think so, as she had willingly accepted and the vast majority of the dance had been utterly enjoyable with easy conversation and lively debate; Miss Templeton had spoken to him like an equal, sharing in the discussion with a matching eagerness.
But then, she’d run off when the music had ended. Perhaps she’d required a chamber pot. Heaven knew Arthur had been forced into abrupt departures before, for one did not always realize it was needed until after the dance began, and some of the sets lasted an inordinate amount of time. To say nothing of the hopping and bouncing about that did nothing to improve matters.
Yet Miss Templeton hadn’t looked happy when she’d stood up with Finch afterward, and though she’d been quite actively engaged in conversation the rest of the evening, there was something about the situation that gave Arthur an uneasy feeling. His thoughts drifted through the evening, bringing up every moment he’d shared with Miss Templeton. Surely, he hadn’t done something to sour her feelings toward him. He hoped not.
Those thoughts drifted away as the party squeezed together into the carriage; though spacious, it wasn’t designed for six. Thankfully, Finch and the ladies were of a slender build, which helped matters some, but a heavy feeling settled into the carriage that had nothing to do with the tightness of the confines and only added to the discomfort.
During the ride to Bentmoor, Finch’s wife had happily cozied up to his side, but now, she sat with the other ladies, her arms crossed tight against her chest with her gaze turned to the window in a posture that signaled her displeasure far better than words. The rest of the Finches all feigned ignorance, attempting light conversation, though their fidgeting testified that they felt the tension as well.
“Felicity,” whispered Finch, leaning forward, but his wife drew in a sharp breath.
“No,” she snapped.
“Miss Templeton spoke to you,” he muttered.
The elder Mr. Finch raised his voice to speak to his wife, and the pair engaged their daughter in conversation about the goings-on of the assembly and how their three sons would soon join them when the school term ended. Though it was polite to ignore the spat between spouses, Arthur couldn't do so while pressed up against Finch’s side. Or so he told himself, but the truth was that he found it impossible to ignore any mention of Miss Templeton.
“She didn’t have to, Lewis. I was bound to discover the truth, so why didn’t you tell me when you introduced us, instead of allowing me to think Dr. Vaughn was simply passing through Oakham for a visit?” asked Mrs. Finch shooting her husband a narrowed look.
