A sharp breath filled her lungs, and Violet straightened as she stared at her friend. Clearly, Diana believed him, and she couldn’t imagine Dr. Vaughn saying such a thing if it wasn’t true.
That fool!
***
Standing amidst the chaos that was his parlor, Arthur studied the crates surrounding him. Thankfully, he hadn’t gathered many new possessions in the two and a half months since arriving and wouldn’t need a great many things sent to London, buthe’d brought mounds of books and medical equipment that all needed to be carefully packed back in straw before they could be carted back.
He rubbed his forehead as he examined the mess. It was the way of such things that everything grew messier before they righted themselves in the end, but when trapped in the disorder, it was difficult to see one’s way past it. Hands on his hips, Arthur examined the bottles and glassware that were key to making medicines. In truth, he needn’t pack it all away immediately, but now that the plan was set in motion, there was no need to put it off. None of this was needed in the interim.
A sharp rap on the door drew his attention, and Arthur moved toward it to find Miss Templeton on his doorstep. But before he could ask her what she was doing here, the lady pushed past him.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I think I should be asking that question,” said Arthur with a frown. “My knowledge of country manners may be lacking, but I doubt it is acceptable even here for a lady to call on a bachelor. It isn’t as though you require a physician, and we do not share any professional overlap any longer to excuse such behavior.”
“I do not care in the slightest,” she said with a frown. “What is this about you leaving Oakham?”
“How are you surprised by this?” Arthur asked with a sigh as he perched on the back of his sofa.
“But this is your dream.” The lady looked so genuinely angry and desperate, her eyes pleading with him to change his mind and readily accept her position.
“I am going to remain for a fortnight or so, to ensure Mrs. Finch and her babe are thriving, but need I remind you that your brother and I cannot both practice medicine here?” asked Arthur with a raised eyebrow. “You were quite insistent about it for a long time, and though I have been foolishly optimistic on that score, I now realize you are correct.”
Miss Templeton scowled at that. “Isaac has chosen his path, and if not you, then someone else will settle here and run him out of business. But if you remain at least something good will come from it. I want you to be happy. To have your dream—”
“You think I could be happy at your expense?” he asked, folding his arms.
The lady had the gall to scoff at that. “Don’t be a fool. I always knew being a governess would be my path eventually, so it is nothing to mourn. With Felicity’s assistance, I am bound to find a good position somewhere, so there is no need to take me into account. I will not allow you to surrender your dream and return to London!”
“Dream?” The word came out louder than he meant, but Arthur couldn’t hold back the temper that was now rising inside him. Disappointments and heartache surfaced, blending until he couldn’t say what he felt beyond exhaustion. The last of his composure slipped from his grasp, leaving him unable to consider the brashness of his actions and freeing his tongue entirely.
“What happiness do you think I could find here in Oakham? Do you think I could enjoy life here, surrounded by the memory of your rejection? To be forever tormented by having that dream within my grasp—only to have the lady I love choose servitude rather than accept my suit?”
Miss Templeton stared at him, and Arthur let out a frustrated breath, allowing it all to seep away from him. Though there was a kernel of truth in that final question, he knew he had no reason to be angry. Miss Templeton was free to shape her life as she saw fit, and though he couldn’t erase the pain accompanying that choice, there was no reason for his temper.
Yet his heart throbbed at that realization. For the first time in his life, a lady had crossed his path who enjoyed his company and made him feel at ease, and Miss Templeton preferred toiling away as a governess. What was so very wrong with him? Was he entirely unlovable? Arthur didn’t think his appearancehad anything to do with the situation, but old wounds pulsed in time with his heartbeat, making their insidious selves known.
Forcing his focus away from her, Arthur stood once more and set about his work, forcing the glass into the piles of straw with more haste than care. And with it, he tried to take strength from what Miss Templeton had shared at the Finches’: stuff his hopes deep down and bury them out of sight so they couldn’t plague him any longer.
*
Dr. Vaughn had been correct. Being in his home was unacceptable, yet Violet couldn’t feel even a niggling of apprehension standing there—or from seeing the gentleman standing there without his frockcoat, his sleeves rolled up to display his forearms. But then, she couldn’t feel anything at all in that moment. The gentleman returned to his work, and she stood there mute and staring as Dr. Vaughn seemed not to realize that the very ground beneath her feet was trembling.
“Pardon?” she whispered, though her throat was so dry and her muscles so weak that she barely formed the word. But even when she repeated herself, Dr. Vaughn did not look in her direction.
“The lady you love?” she said, forcing the question out loud enough for him to hear.
Violet was certain her ears were in perfect working order, yet she could not believe they’d heard him properly. Surely, not. A slip of the tongue perhaps? Had Dr. Vaughn’s wits fled him? Or was he feverish, finally succumbing to the influenza in town? Any number of possibilities lurked in her mind, insistent that they were the clear answer to her question.
Violet stood silent, staring at his back, willing him to answer, but the gentleman only gave a vague grunt. The glassware he was packing clattered ominously as he shoved it into the straw.
Coming closer, she grabbed his arm and repeated, “The lady you love?”
Dr. Vaughn’s gaze fell to her touch, his expression falling as his muscles sagged.
“What do you mean, ‘love’?” she asked, her fingers gripping his forearm tightly. “Surely, you do not mean ‘love.’ Or the lady you speak of is someone else? You cannot mean you love me.”
He drew in a sharp breath, his features hardening. “Do not mock me, Miss Templeton. You are free to reject my suit, but you needn’t laugh—”
