“The poor dear,” murmured Violet, taking the proffered cup.
Though she wasn’t happy with her tardiness, one blessing (beyond her helping Mr. Evans and Dr. Vaughn) was that the tea had cooled enough for her to enjoy it immediately. Violet hadn’t noticed until that very moment just how parched she was, and like the ill-mannered swine she was proving to be during this visit, she emptied the cup in one drink. Diana’s brows rose and a hint of a smirk twisted her lips as she poured another.
“This is heavenly,” said Violet after a genteel sip. “Is it lemon and elderflower? I can taste a hint of something else, though I cannot say what it is.”
“Apple,” supplied Diana before quickly rushing to add, “But enough of that. I want to know what happened. Tell me all.”
And in quick succession, Violet supplied the details, though so much of it felt like a jumble of actions and worries. As shespoke, her heart opened in a silent petition that Mr. Evans’ leg healed properly. Dr. Vaughn had done his work well, but the farmer and his family’s future rested on the hope that he would heal without complication—of which there was no guarantee. Though his sons were old enough to manage the farm on their own, to lose a leg would be a mighty blow to them all.
Or to lose him altogether.
“We were lucky that such a talented surgeon was on hand,” said Violet. “It seems he is settling in the area. Bentmoor, I believe.”
Diana’s cup lowered, hitting the saucer with an undignified clink of the china, but it was her friend’s ashen expression that had Violet straightening.
“What is it?” she asked, but Diana merely shook her head. “Out with it. What is the matter?”
“I haven’t wanted to say a word because I couldn’t believe the rumor. It seemed too ludicrous. Ridiculous, in fact. It is entirely insensible,” rambled Diana, her brows pulling tight together.
“Please say what you are thinking.” Violet set her cup down with more delicacy than her friend had demonstrated, though her nerves were strung tight because of the agitation vibrating from Diana.
“I heard a physician is moving to Oakham. He let the Roberts’ home and means to practice here.”
Ice ran down Violet’s spine as she clasped her hands tight in her lap.
“I know it is far from ideal, but I am certain all will be well,” said Diana, shifting closer to take her friend’s hands in hers. “Your brother is a fine physician.”
Yet the lady spoke with the same tone she’d employed to assure Violet that she didn’t look as though she’d been ravaged by a pack of wolves. Despite valuing honesty in their friendship, this was just the sort of moment when such gentle lies were needed—yet they did little to calm Violet’s churning insides.
“I do not understand what has come over him,” said Violet with a frown. “Isaac always struggled to apply himself to his studies, but he did well enough under Father’s tutelage. But since Papa’s passing, I feel like I must forever harp on Isaac to do anything.”
“No doubt he feels the loss keenly,” said Diana.
Violet did not respond to that, for it would do no good to point out that it had been four years, and the time for deep mourning had long passed. To say nothing of the fact that she had also suffered that loss and managed to do the work required to help her family survive and serve the people of Oakham. If not for Violet’s skill, which quite compensated for Isaac’s deficit, they all would be in dire straits.
“But regardless, there is no need to fret. Your family’s medicines are a wonder,” added Diana with a bright smile. “Father says he would rather purchase Templeton tablets and tinctures than any he finds in London or Bath. This Dr. Vaughn cannot compete with that.”
For all that her earlier statement had been born of kindness rather than truth, Diana’s tone shifted, ringing with the conviction she felt, which helped to soothe Violet’s troubled heart. Whatever else, she could be proud of that.
Yet it wouldn’t be enough. Not if Dr. Vaughn truly were here to stay.
“And it is only a rumor,” continued Diana. “I didn’t say anything earlier because there is no reason to borrow trouble. Why would Dr. Vaughn settle in Oakham of all places? It is ridiculous.”
“No doubt you are right, Diana,” said Violet, offering up her own delicate deception. It was silly to speak the words aloud because neither party truly believed them, yet there was nothing to be done at present, so they embraced denial for a little while longer.
Chapter 5
When people tossed about the word “assembly,” it conjured all sorts of images. A spacious room with a flock of musicians stationed at one side and every living creature within several miles crushed together. Then there were the obligatory card and tea rooms, in which the older generations hid lest they be subjected to the exhausting country dances and reels, which were far less dignified than the stately minuets and cotillions of their youth.
The master of ceremonies always did his best to outdo his predecessor, ensuring he wrung every last farthing from the ticket fees and poured it into more candles, better musicians, and finer food, though the offerings always paled in comparison to the private balls the upper crust favored.
Yet all of Arthur’s experience was for naught when he stepped into Bentmoor’s assembly rooms. Or rather, its coaching inn. It was entirely logical that such a remote area wouldn’t boast a building set aside specifically for public functions, yet Arthur was still astonished to see such a lively party stuffed into such a small setting.
The dark wood walls gave the illusion that it was an even tighter fit, and though there were a handful of candles burningin the sconces, it wasn’t enough to combat the illusion. A few fellows sat to one side with a trio of stringed instruments and a flute, and though Arthur wasn’t certain how the music would carry above the crowd, it was probably for the best. They couldn’t fit much more inside, for there were dozens of people milling about. Perhaps a few of the rooms upstairs had been pressed into service for tea and cards, but Arthur couldn’t say for certain.
It was an odd sight. Jarring, really. When he’d been told of the assembly, his mind had summoned far different images than what stood before him. Yet Arthur couldn’t say he disliked the foreign yet familiar feel to the gathering.
And despite all the differences between London and Bentmoor, one thing remained the same: the chaos. One would be forgiven for assuming a quiet country town would have a similarly quiet country dance, but in that regard, the assembly rivaled anything Town boasted. People shuffled about the room, carefully weaving between the circles of friends, and though Arthur was certain they would manage space enough for dancing, it was difficult to see how.
