Bentmoor certainly boasted “a crush.” And Arthur was already exhausted.
“Stop looking so dour, Vaughn,” said Finch, glancing at the fellow from the corner of his eye. “From your expression, one might think you were facing an execution.”
“With the manner in which the ladies are eyeing me, it isn’t far from the truth,” said Arthur as yet another feminine gaze turned in his direction. There was a pointedness to the attention that made his throat tighten and his palms sweat in a most embarrassing fashion. Thank goodness for evening gloves.
“It is good for you to mix in society,” said Finch, nodding at the gathering. “As a new addition, you need to seize every opportunity to mix in good company. Many here are from Bentmoor and other nearby towns, but many of your potential patients will be in attendance as well.”
Arthur’s heart sank like a stone at the statement. There was nothing more likely to set his stomach churning than the term “potential patients.” It was the rallying war cry of doctors before they ventured into battle, determined to carry off as many as they could and secure victory over all the other hapless doctors attempting to provide for themselves and their families. For all that medicine was a gentlemanly profession, they were as cutthroat as pirates and willing to stab their friends in the back if it meant securing a new patient.
“You are one to talk,” replied Arthur. “You look as pleased to be here as I am.”
Finch’s brow furrowed, and he slanted a look at the crowd. “I would be far more pleased if my family didn’t insist on monopolizing my wife’s time.”
Following the fellow’s gaze, Arthur spied Mrs. Felicity Finch at the far end of the room with several others gathered around her. With a broad grin, the lady led her sister-in-law around, introducing her to the neighborhood, and for all of Finch’s faux grumbling, there was a tenderness in his eyes as he watched his wife. And Arthur couldn’t help smiling in turn.
Though he hadn’t known Finch well when they’d both lived in London, their paths had crossed enough to know the gentleman hadn’t been searching for such felicity. Yet now, Finch was settled in the country with a wife and a child on the way.
Good for him.
Yet even as that thought settled in his mind, Arthur’s heart gave a pang. At two and thirty, he was hardly past his prime, yet with each passing year, he couldn’t help but wonder if Mrs. Vaughn would ever appear. Granted, in order for her to do so, he’d have to find a way to string comprehensible words together, which was far from a given, but surely, there was a lady in the world who fit the bill.
“My dear Jack,” called a gentleman as he sidled up beside Finch and threw an arm around his shoulder, jostling him in a manner that elder brothers everywhere employed to annoy their siblings. “This is a far finer evening than I’d imagined.”
“My name isn’t Jack,” said Finch with a frown.
The elder Mr. Finch’s expression dropped to match his brother’s before lightening in a smile once more. “Do not be so serious, Lewis. It’s only a nickname. A jest. That is all. I meant no harm by it.”
“You are the only one who persists in using it, though the rest of the family honors my request,” replied Finch. “And only my wife calls me Lewis.”
“As ‘Finch’ is my name as well, you cannot expect me to use it,” replied his brother. “That is ridiculous.”
Despite several decades to their credit, the brothers continued to bicker back and forth. Perhaps not in the same manner as they had in their youth (as they didn’t resort to fisticuffs), but for all that people claimed to mature as they grew older, every heart hid a child just beneath the surface.
With two older brothers, Arthur was all too familiar with such matters. Though Franklin had followed in Father’s footsteps to become a respected surgeon and teacher in London, in private, such maturity evaporated when his younger brothers were on hand to tease and twit. Terrance had chosen to employ his skills in the navy, and despite having learned discipline in that profession, the ships were akin to schoolyards when the men were not engaged in battles. Whenever his brother returned home for a visit, Arthur was still subjected to pinches, punches, and comments that ended with “it’s only a jest.”
Arthur’s attention drifted from the brotherly spat, and his gaze roamed the room—though he was only slightly willing to admit that his eyes sought out a particular figure. With her height, it ought to be easy to spy Miss Templeton. He searched several times to no avail, but Arthur wouldn’t admit defeat.
“Do many people from Oakham attend?” he asked, the question coming before he could think better of it. “It is quite a distance for an assembly.”
Finch paused in his argument with his brother long enough to reply, “Oakham is too small to warrant many such gatherings, and so those who can manage the journey do. Tonight,every carriage will be filled to bursting to bring as many as possible—”
“Why, Mr. Finch and Dr. Vaughn, how lovely to see you tonight,” said a young lady who threw herself in front of the gentlemen before sweeping into a curtsy. “Mama and I were hoping you wouldn’t be too fatigued to attend. With the journey from London, settling into your new home, and entertaining your callers, you must be exhausted.”
An older lady (presumably the aforementioned mother) joined her at her elbow, the pair beaming at Arthur as though he were a roast dinner after a particularly long Sabbath. Scouring his memory, he dredged through the various names he’d learned over the past week, straining to recall all the many Smiths, Thompsons, and Joneses that had called on him.
Rush? Rowe? It was something with an R.
“It is good to be here, Miss Roper,” replied Arthur, speaking the name just as it came to the tip of his tongue. In his mind, he repeated it several times, looking between mother and daughter to fix it in his memory.
For all that he was keen to start this new chapter of his life, he’d underestimated just how tiresome it was to be surrounded by strangers. His father’s reputation and status in the medical profession had provided Arthur with an easy entrance into society, and though there were always new acquaintances to make, one wasn’t engulfed in a sea of strangers. But then, this area was small enough that once Arthur managed this hurdle, there would be far fewer new names to learn, as the populace rarely changed.
In the meantime, he simply had to struggle along.
Though he recalled their names—which earned him beaming smiles from mother and daughter—he couldn’t say whether they were residents of Oakham, Bentmoor, or one of the other villages in the area. His home had seen a flood of visitors as people welcomed him into the neighborhood, and it was difficult enough keeping their names straight, let alone any other details.
“And how are you settling in?” asked Miss Roper with a smile and a tilt of her head that caused the ringlet framing her face to bounce. Her expression was so bright, her attention fully fixed on him as though his answer was of utmost importance as she batted at his arm.
Which was precisely when Arthur forgot how to form words.
