What could she do? The question haunted her, forever stirring up her fears and never providing any answers. Or none that she liked.
Even if she managed to solve the issue with Toliver Campbell, it didn’t change the fact that they could hardly afford the supplies to make the medicines that were keeping them from being entirely bankrupt. Violet couldn’t snap her fingers and double Oakham’s population. They certainly couldn’t make more of them ill (not that Violet would wish such a thing if they could). Mama would never agree to leave, and even if they did, Violet couldn’t imagine how Isaac would secure another position.
Mr. Finch and Felicity stood at the front, welcoming them to the evening’s entertainment, but Violet’s attention wasn’t ontheir hosts any more than it was on the people around them. The troubles at her doorstep and the gentleman at her side occupied all her thoughts as she rested on the same solution once more.
No matter how much she enjoyed Dr. Vaughn’s company, how kind the gentleman was, and how much he did not deserve it, she had to get him to leave Oakham after the birth.
Violet’s eyes fell to her hands, which lay knitted together in her lap, and her shoulders bowed beneath the knowledge. Pain throbbed in the back of her throat, pulsing outward as her ribs constricted, and she tried once more to set the world to rights. To allow both the Templetons and Vaughns to coexist. To turn time back to before he arrived. Yet the thought of having never met him made her heart twist like a well-used dishrag before it was hung up to dry. Which only made the pain and pressure build within her.
What sort of person was she? To simultaneously wish Dr. Vaughn miles away yet mourn the loss?
Friend though he may be, they never lasted; one day he would marry and erase her from his life without a second thought, so why did the thought of doing the same hurt so very much? To choose between her family’s survival and his—no matter how good and wonderful a friend he was—was no choice at all. Was it?
Fate had dropped her into an impossible solution, and no matter how she tried to work out a way for everyone to be happy and provided for, Violet knew she was powerless to protect everyone from this pain. One gentleman’s temporary comfort or the long-term well-being of her mother, sister-in-law, and niece or nephew.
Violet forced her gaze to the front as the performers took their turns, filling the room with a myriad of melodies, though her thoughts were far from the concert. Even when Mama took her turn, Violet could hardly enjoy it, though the lady was quite in her element as she shared her love of country tunes with each note.
Having enough presence of thought, Violet applauded alongside the others before Isaac moved to join their mother on the stage. Her heart stuttered in her chest as the pair began a duet, their voices blending perfectly together as Mama beamed at having her son at her side.
What sort of person was she? The sort who both delighted in and hated seeing her loved ones so happy.
Apparently, it was a night of contradictions for Violet Templeton.
Not that she begrudged their connection. Her mother loved her. She did. But Violet couldn’t help but notice how much more she enjoyed Isaac. Just as Papa had preferred Martha. But why was it that no one preferred Violet’s company best? Even Diana and Felicity, both of whom adored her as much as any friends could, had others they turned to first.
Was it selfish to want someone to desire her as much as she desired them? To be another’s priority? To have them love her as deeply as she loved them?
Brushing those thoughts aside, for they were not helpful at present, Violet considered the trouble with their finances but was left as frustrated and directionless as before. What was she to do?
And that was the moment Lewis Finch took the stage, sitting before the pianoforte with the air of one who knew his business. Violet perked as the first notes rang out, and she grasped onto the distraction he presented, but a mournful tune echoed through the room, ringing out with the desperate sorrow that already choked her heart. The notes felt ripped from deep inside her, their agitation growing to a tumultuous crescendo as they gave voice to the feelings churning through her.
Violet embraced the sound as though the composer had written it solely for her, perfectly articulating the sea of troubles that threatened to drown her in their depths. And her eyes began to sting.
Chapter 25
For all of his two and thirty years, Arthur Vaughn hadn’t realized it was possible to feel both elated and frustrated simultaneously. Surely, such incongruous emotions ought to be experienced separately in entirely different circumstances, yet he couldn’t deny that both were present in great abundance.
Just the thought of that Gadd fellow cozied up to Miss Templeton made Arthur’s pulse quicken, his hands clenching into fists. Kissing her hand in such a public place? And the easy signs of affection that had passed between the pair? To say nothing of the flowers—though he had to concede that such a thing was not untoward between a gentleman and the lady he was courting, they irritated him nonetheless. That Gadd was a cad to be certain. And Miss Templeton was clearly taken with his charms.
Yet she sat beside Arthur. The chairs were close enough that he was quite cozily situated, with her leg brushing his when she shifted in her seat. Miss Templeton had accepted his invitation. Surely, that was significant.
But Arthur had to wonder why Gadd, with his obvious interest in the lady, hadn’t bothered to do so first. He’d had ample opportunity.
He wished he could simply ask Miss Templeton about the nature of their relationship. Of course, there was nothing simple about posing such a question. Assuming his tongue allowed him (which was not guaranteed), to state it so boldly would demand an answer that Miss Templeton might not be ready to give. Her affections might be split, and to press the issue would only drive her into Gadd’s arms. Or sour her opinion of Arthur before he’d had a proper chance to demonstrate his charms. Few though they were.
If he could only get her to consider him as more than a friend. Actions spoke louder than words, or so said the adage, which had been passed down for countless generations. It wasn’t as though Arthur’s attempts to woo Miss Templeton had been subtle. Whether or not she considered him a friend at present (a distinction that might be shifting even at this very moment!), the lady couldn’t fail to see his overtures for the romantic proposition they were. If Miss Templeton still welcomed his company, despite Gadd’s pursuit, then surely, there was still a chance for Arthur to win her heart.
Do not surrender! Simply formulate another plan of attack.
Arthur tried to turn his attention to the performers, as was their due, but it was difficult with Miss Templeton so near. Most ladies employed soaps and perfumes that held hints of flowers or citrus, but Miss Templeton smelled distinctly of her work; a blend of herbs and oils that might make one think of a medicine chest but perfectly encapsulated her. Drawing in a deep breath, he caught hints of mint and sage, though his nose was not so good as to distinguish between the other earthy aromas that enveloped her.
With each breath, her arms moved, brushing against his sleeve and drawing his attention back to her regardless of how he tried to give his full attention to the musicians. His gaze kept drifting to her. Thankfully, their being in the back meant no one noticed his divided attention.
Miss Templeton’s own was fixed to the performers, and her expression lightened when her mother took the stage. The ladydid a fine job, but more than that, it was clear from her expression how much she adored performing, and Arthur’s smile grew in response at the sight of her pleasure.
Only to fall when Mr. Templeton joined his mother on the stage: the fellow hadn’t bothered to return home to help his sister, but apparently, he was quite eager to return to sing for a concert. The jackanapes. Miss Templeton may adore her brother, but the more Arthur knew about him, the less he liked Mr. Isaac Templeton.
Then Finch took the stage, and Arthur perked. The offerings tonight had been finer than he’d anticipated for a country affair, but he’d heard Finch play a time or two, and Arthur knew well enough that this performance was well worth giving one’s full attention. And the gentleman didn’t disappoint.
