What sort of man allowed a thriving estate to fall to ruin? A man was the head of the household and controlled the family finances. If the estate failed, it was his doing and his responsibility. Yet for all the pomposity of that rhetoric, it assumed all women were delicate and demure flowers who willingly subjugated themselves to their husband’s rule. And while that was true of many, there were and always would be women who refused such a role.
Yes, some men were the solitary heads of their households, ruling the family without input from their wives, while other men chose to partner with their spouses, dividing the roles and responsibilities of husband and wife between them. However, some wives were dictatorial and controlling, clutching the reins of their family with a firm grip; there wouldn’t be so many jests about women being harpies if they were all sweetly sitting at their husband’s feet, awaiting his dictates.
Dolores had held the purse strings, casting their money about on expensive gowns, lavish parties, and anything else required to maintain her position as queen of Bristow. Oh, he had attempted to curtail it in their early years, but shopkeepers had been bullied and badgered into ignoring the limits he placed. When he confronted her about that subterfuge, it had led to all-out war, and for all her prim and proper manners, Dolores could sling a vase with the strength of a milkmaid. Though she preferred using her greatest weapon—her sharp tongue.
A boat could not remain afloat if the two inside it were working at cross-purposes; no amount of him bailing out the water did any good while his wife drilled holes in the hull. One could only leave the boat or evict the troublemaker.
However, marriage bound the two together irreparably, and there was no undoing it. Divorce was only available to a small few, and Baxter had not the clout or legal justification to secure one. Had he separated from her, not only would the scandal have harmed his children, but his finances would’ve suffered all the more; maintaining two households was far more expensive than one.
For better or worse, Baxter and Dolores were husband and wife, and all his attempts to set them to rights had only succeeded in turning Juniper Court into a battle zone, heaping misery upon everyone residing within its walls. And so, he’d kept his head down and avoided his wife whenever possible. Until the finances were strained enough that letting Juniper Court was the only option.
Would it have been better to turn every day into a battle with his wife, waging a never-ending war in which the main casualties would’ve been his children? Baxter believed he’d made the proper choice—better to let his estate suffer than his children—yet didn’t that prove he wasn’t fit to manage the place? A master’s main priority was maintaining the family legacy, after all.
“You forget yourselves, brothers,” said Charity in a hard tone. “Or are you simply ignoring the fact that Papa is the head of this family, master of Juniper Court, and the one who ought to be managing this business?”
All eyes turned toward him, and Baxter managed not to flinch. Heat swept over his skin, settling in his cheeks, and he dropped his gaze to the floor.
For all that she was entirely correct, no one in this room believed him the best caretaker for the family estate. Baxter had worked hard to keep the misery hidden behind closed doors, and he’d done a thorough job of it.
Stanley and Matthias were kind enough not to scoff at Charity’s question (though Camilla’s lips curled in distaste), but neither did they countenance it. They launched back into their argument once more, and Baxter couldn’t help but wonder if he would’ve been so very happy for Stanley to be named his grandfather’s heir if he’d known what contention it would cause between the two. But that was nonsense, for it was a far better living than Baxter could’ve secured for Stanley.
Charity glanced in his direction, but Baxter pretended not to see it. What right did he have to wade into their argument? It was his bungling that had landed them all in this mess, and he couldn’t blame either son for snapping and nipping at each other when they were made to bear the brunt of their father’s mistakes.
“Enough!” Charity shouted, rising to her feet. Or trying to, rather. It was her second attempt that allowed her to stand, and she glowered at both men. “This is ridiculous!”
“What is ridiculous is a married lady wearing mistletoe,” murmured Camilla, gazing at the greenery in her sister-in-law’s hair. “Your husband is miles from home, trapped aboard a smelly ship whilst exploring some heathen shore, and you’re making yourself merry? Flirting and inviting men to kiss you?”
Charity’s eyes narrowed, and though Baxter fully expected her to respond in kind, his daughter surprised him with an even tone and calm response. “I know full well how far away my husband is, and I know he would rather I make myself merry than languish in misery, bemoaning his absence. And my ‘condition’ is healthy and hale. I have no intention of hiding away—”
The door to the parlor opened, and the conversation ceased when the butler stepped inside with a deep bow. “I do apologize, sir, but the first of your guests have arrived.”
The air in the room shifted as Stanley and Matthias stepped apart, the scowls evaporating as pleasant smiles replaced them. Camilla drew up next to her husband, and they took each other’s arms, looking the picture of matrimonial bliss as their host for the evening positioned himself at the fireplace, though he spared a narrowed look at his elder brother before adopting the commanding stance of the man of the hour.
Only Charity gave any sign of the previous argument, leveling a hard stare at her brothers before resuming her position on the sofa with a huff. As the Stillwells were announced, all signs of the disagreement were gone.
And Baxter remained tucked away in his corner.
*
Families fought. Children pestered their parents. Siblings disagreed. Even the closest families were plagued with the odd argument, the timing of which was not always convenient for those involved. And one could do only so much to cover that fact.
As Hettie followed her brother and niece into the parlor, it was evident from the stiffness in the various postures and the tightness to their expressions that something was amiss. Of course, their raised voices had been audible even from the entryway, giving stronger proof of discord, but the Baxter family feigned ignorance, so hers followed suit.
However, there was no overlooking the disjointed feel of the room, for despite the rigid air of the people inside, the parlor was attired in its Christmas finest. Evergreen boughs and holly festooned every free surface, with red and white ribbons nestled amongst the dark green of the foliage. A fire raged in the fireplace, and the air was sweet with the smell of spices, promising a delectable feast awaited them.
Mr. Goswick stood at the fireplace, looking quite dapper in his evening clothes, and the others (whom she supposed were his siblings) were in various states of repose in the room. But there was no sign of their patriarch.
“Welcome,” said Mrs. Camilla Baxter, sweeping forward to greet the others with all the grace and poise of a seasoned hostess whilst the true host of the party watched her with narrowed eyes before sweeping into introductions. Ah yes, families did bicker, didn’t they?
But Hettie ignored that and wondered where Mr. Baxter had gotten himself to. When they’d spoken last, he’d assured her he was attending the dinner party, but then, she supposed such times were trying for widows and widowers, especially when the loss was so fresh. She didn’t begrudge him the escape, though her heart sank at the thought of an evening of polite chatter with strangers who would likely be closer to their host’s age than hers.
But when she turned to take a seat, her gaze swept the back corner and saw the man in question tucked into the darkened recess. The others began exchanging details concerning the goings-on in their lives, and she cast a glance at his son, though the gentleman didn’t seem to notice that he’d overlooked an important introduction, as her brother hadn’t met Mr. Baxter. But Mr. Goswick didn’t seem to notice the fellow or the oversight.
Striding across the room, Hettie met Mr. Baxter with a smile. “Might I join you in your hiding place?”
Mr. Baxter didn’t lift his gaze from the rug at his feet. “I am visible to anyone who bothers to look, so it is hardly a hiding place.”
Hettie did not respond to that, for her description had been apt. Despite being visible to the whole of the party, Mr. Baxter blended into the shadows and furniture until no one but she noticed him.
