***
Drawing in a deep breath, Violet reveled in the scent of the summer air that wafted through the carriage window and the chill that helped to cool her cheeks. With Dr. Vaughn’s words still coursing through her, there was no helping the heat that consumed her.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out the handkerchief. Despite having taken to carrying it around at all times, she’d still forgotten to return it to him. It was nearly black in the carriage with only faint moonlight coming through the windows, but she didn’t need a lamp to see the image of his monogram. Her fingers had traced over the threads again and again, memorizing the pattern.
How many times had she heard ladies discuss in awed tones the idea of a gentleman reciting poetry? Lines about love and beauty were the romantic ideal—the pinnacle of every young lady’s fantasy. However, Violet couldn’t think of anything more wonderful than hearing a gentleman pour out his soul, describing with such longing his dreams for a family.
Dr. Vaughn was no orator. He never would be. Yet his heart had been in every syllable as he described a paradise, his passion lending it more strength than if he possessed Shakespeare’s talent with words. But then, Dr. Vaughn certainly knew how to craft a compliment. His words played through her mind, and she closed her eyes, lifting her hand and pressing the place he’d kissed to her cheek.
She jerked her hand down, her eyes popping open.
No.
That was dangerous ground. Whether or not the feel of his lips made her pulse quicken and her skin flush, it mattered little. Violet didn’t love Arthur Vaughn. She couldn’t. Refusing to examine the palpitations that had taken hold of her heart, she shoved those thoughts and feelings deep into the darkness. Never to be seen again. Violet was mistress of her heart, and she wouldn’t allow it to dictate to her anymore.
“Any man with an ounce of sense would be lucky to have you as his wife.”
A compliment and a cut all wrapped into one. How many times would she build castles in the sky only to have the gentleman take a pickaxe to it with that little phrase? They were the words friends and family slathered on her whenever her heart suffered another wound, plying her with that bitter salve as they assured her she was a prize for any man. Some other man, that is.
Friendship was one thing. Love was another. And no amount of honeyed words would alter that. Or the fact that Violet hadn’t the means to provide Dr. Vaughn with his dream. At her age, a large family was not in her future.
Drawing in a sharp breath, she forced the air out, shoving back those insidious thoughts that threatened to upend her equilibrium. How many times must she repeat this heartache before she learned? How many friendships needed to crumble beneath her expectations before she accepted she was a chum and not a sweetheart?
Felicity’s words came back to her, swooping in with startling clarity. Would she allow herself to poison a perfectly good friendship simply because Dr. Vaughn couldn’t meet her romantic ideals?
Violet tucked the handkerchief back in her pocket. Best return it tomorrow during their picnic. Dr. Vaughn needed his handkerchief, and Violet needed to get her head out of the clouds and stop hauling it about like some silly love token.
Dr. Vaughn was her friend. That was a blessing in and of itself. What better friend could she ask for than him? He deserved to see his dream fulfilled, and as his friend, Violet would do everything she could to help him along.
Chapter 39
Asmall patch of blue hung above Arthur’s head, and he focused on it rather than the charcoal smudge of clouds that loomed on the horizon. The weather would hold out. It had to. A jaunty tune entered his thoughts, and his footsteps fell in time with the rhythm. It was only with the greatest show of self-restraint that he didn’t simply start dancing on the spot.
But he couldn’t stop grinning like a fool.
With the bout of influenza now receding and the Finches’ baby delivered, Arthur’s day was free. Thankfully. Though he’d never thought himself impetuous, he’d set a time for the picnic without giving a thought to his responsibilities. For once, fate was kind and aligned with his plans.
The picnic basket bounced against his leg as he strolled down the lane. Thank goodness his maid had packed it thick with straw for it was so laden down with food that Arthur couldn’t keep it from swinging haphazardly, and he was liable to break the bottles of lemonade. There was enough to feed a family for a week, but as he didn’t know what Miss Templeton preferred, he didn’t feel safe leaving anything out, and the entirety of his pantry was stuffed inside.
Arthur frowned at the posy of wildflowers in his right hand. While there was heather aplenty to be found, he’d not had time to trek out to the areas where they bloomed, and the readily available offerings were rather lacking. But there wasn’t time enough to send to Bentmoor for flowers, and Arthur had learned his lesson—no more pilfering from others’ gardens. With leggy stems and scraggly blossoms, this posy was pitiful compared to his previous bouquets, and he couldn’t help but mourn the loss. Though the wildflowers would have to do.
Pausing, he tried to shift the knapsack on his back without using his hands (which were both occupied), but it continued to dig into his right shoulder. With a shrug to himself, he continued on his journey. It wasn’t far to the Templetons’ cottage, and he wasn’t going to abandon the blanket contained within. For all that the weather was somewhat cooperative, there was a bite to the air, and Arthur wouldn’t risk a chill cutting their outing short.
In quick succession, he went through his list of items again, ensuring that he had everything, and as the Templetons’ home came into view, Arthur steeled himself with a deep breath. The familiar feeling that always left his tongue uncooperative surged to the surface. This wasn’t some mere flirtation or casual meeting. He was paying a call on his sweetheart.
Or at least Arthur thought of her thusly. They were going on an outing together alone, so surely, that earned her that all-important distinction.
That thought distracted him for only a heartbeat before reality snapped back into place. With Arthur’s heart well and truly besotted, far more was at stake now, yet nothing was set in stone. Despite his success of late, he was just as likely to ruin it all, and that knowledge settled deep into his wayward tongue.
Forcing in a breath, he stood on the doorstep and closed his eyes. She’d accepted his invitation and the kiss on her hand: she wasn’t apathetic. And this was Miss Templeton. His friend. Not some mysterious creature that he’d watched from afar. Arthur knew her. Knew how easy conversation could be between them.
Yes, he could do this.
Rapping his knuckles against the door, he waited for Peggy to answer and usher him in. His breath caught as he crossed the parlor’s threshold, his eyes landing on Miss Templeton as she rose to greet him. And then the air fled him in a sharp exhale when Miss Diana Gadd stood as well.
“Good afternoon, Dr. Vaughn,” said Miss Templeton with a broad smile that set his mind at ease once more, though there was a strain in her eyes that had his shoulders tightening. “I was speaking with Miss Gadd and mentioned our picnic, and I thought it would be wonderful to invite her along. I hope you do not mind.”
Arthur’s mind ground to a halt as he stared at the two ladies, both of whom were dressed to venture out into nature and gazing at him expectantly.
