The two stood there in silence as the others milled about, awaiting the arrival of the rest of the guests. Drawing in a deep breath, she considered what to do and say, but Hettie felt the invisible wall placed between them once more. It hadn’t made a reappearance since their first outing to the opera, and feeling it there once more made her heart sank.
Though she couldn’t claim to know the gentleman exceptionally well, the past three weeks had given her much insight into Mr. Baxter. He was such a sad soul. Hettie’s brow furrowed as she considered that. Sad wasn’t the proper descriptor, for when put at ease, he was as amusing and engaging as one would wish in a friend.
Weary.
Once that word popped into her head, Hettie latched onto it, for that was far more apt. Though many thought it merely a physical condition, she knew better than most that it was a sentiment as real as joy, sadness, or anger. It often traveled hand in hand with sorrow, but in truth, it was the remnants left behind once hope had dried up.
Hettie didn’t know a spinster who wasn’t well-acquainted with weariness. It was impossible to avoid when one longed to find a partner with whom to share this journey through life, who desired her company as much as she desired his. A lady of Hettie’s status couldn’t help but stir some interest amongst the gentlemen, but none of them had truly desired the plump and dowdy Stillwell girl, and when the time had come to acknowledge that marriage and children were not in her future, weariness had seeped into her soul.
Fighting hard to move past that heaviness, Hettie had learned to focus on the lightness and warmth rife in her world—with or without a family of her own—but the lesson had been hard won. That experience had to be earned, but Hettie wondered how she might help Mr. Baxter to grasp the joy inherent in every life.
“And how are you faring?” she asked, glancing at him from the corner of her eye.
“Well enough. And you?”
She drew in a deep breath. Apparently, skirting the issue wasn’t enough. Thankfully, he seemed to welcome her blunt manners, so she dove straight into what she wished to say.
“I am well, though I imagine it must be difficult to face your first Christmas season without your wife.”
Mr. Baxter stiffened, his gaze dropping once more to the ground. Shifting in place, he tucked his hands behind him. “I thank you for your concern, but please excuse me. I have something that requires my attention.”
With a stiff bow, he turned away, and though Mr. Baxter didn’t rush away, he spared no time in putting distance between them. He strode right for the door, and though it would be easy enough to excuse his behavior and believe something dire truly required his attention that very moment, Hettie recognized an escape when she saw it. She’d employed that same verbiage many times when wishing to flee a social situation.
Drawing in a deep breath, she clasped her hands before her and refused to be ruffled by that dismissal, though it was difficult not to feel as though she was back at the very beginning, needing to rebuild the friendship they’d developed over the past weeks. Her heart sank as she considered that.
His conversation had promised to be the one shining consolation to spending her evening with a small group of strangers. Hunting down conversation during a party was daunting and hardly an enjoyable way to pass an evening. Even if one secured it for a time, inevitably, the companions parted ways, leaving Hettie to search for another safe harbor in the social storm.
With Victor present and the intimate setting tonight, Hettie needn’t remain at Alice’s side. Clearly, Mr. Baxter wasn’t going to entertain her, and though the butler announced two more couples, they were closer to Mr. Goswick’s age, which was no surprise. However, it also provided Hettie with no clear alternative for companionship.
Until her gaze fell to Mrs. Callaghan, seated on the sofa. The others sectioned off into smaller conversations, but Mr. Baxter’s eldest daughter remained where she was, seemingly unbothered by her solitary state. The lady was at that stage for which Hettie couldn’t help but wince in sympathy, for Mrs. Callaghan looked entirely uncomfortable and unable to alter that until her child made its debut.
Slipping onto the seat beside her on the sofa, Hettie gave Mrs. Callaghan a broad smile. “And how are you this festive evening?”
Chapter 6
Mrs. Callaghan’s lips twisted into a wry smile, her brows twisting up in challenge.
Hettie held her hands up in surrender. “Insipid question, I know, but I fear I am out of anything clever to say.”
“That doesn’t bode well for the evening. It has only just begun,” replied Mrs. Callaghan. Then, with an arched brow, she added, “But then, I suppose a quiet, dull evening is precisely what my family ought to strive for after beginning it with such fireworks.”
Hettie paused, but before she could think what to say, Mrs. Callaghan hurried to add, “Or are you going to pretend as well that you did not hear my brothers enacting their own Battle of Trafalgar?” Canting her head, she amended that. “Though I suppose since it was a land battle, Waterloo is a better comparison, though my naval husband would shudder to hear me choose it over Trafalgar.”
“Ah, yes. Your father mentioned you were married to a navy man,” said Hettie. “A lieutenant, isn’t he?”
Mrs. Callaghan smiled, her hand reflexively resting against her child. “Yes. Unfortunately, they’ve taken him far from our shores at present, though I am glad to be able to spend the holidays with my family. There is little I can do for my father at this difficult time but keep him company.”
“I know he appreciates it. He has said so a few times,” said Hettie, though she omitted the guilt that had often accompanied his admission, for Mr. Baxter didn’t wish his daughter to know. Staying in Bath was Mrs. Callaghan’s sacrifice to make, and the anguish he felt over it was Mr. Baxter’s secret to keep.
“I certainly hope so,” said Mrs. Callaghan. “I—”
“Charity,” said Mrs. Baxter, sweeping over with a furrowed brow and another lady in tow. “Are you certain you ought to join us tonight? The numbers will be uneven, but that is of little consequence. You ought to be resting.”
“I am quite well, Camilla,” replied Mrs. Callaghan, not bothering to disguise the impatience in her tone.
Her sister-in-law held up placating hands before motioning to a lady at her side. “I do not mean to vex you. I was simply speaking with Mrs. Potter, and we were discussing our lying-ins. I did not stir from my bed for a month before the blessed event.”
Mrs. Potter’s brows rose at that. “For my first, I didn’t see another soul for a good two months before. Gatherings and crowds can be so taxing, after all. A mother ought to conserve her strength for the ordeal. I struggled for days before my first was born.”
