The question was so unexpected that Hettie took a moment before she understood the lady’s meaning. Mrs. Thayer glanced toward Mr. Goswick and Alice, who were seated together at the far end. Her niece laughed at something he said, and Hettie considered that. Mr. Goswick seemed like an amiable sort though a touch snobby.
“Perhaps,” said Hettie.
“I am simply happy to see him finally emerging from his mourning,” murmured Mrs. Thayer before taking a bite of cod. “Gwen was a dear, but it is not good for him to lock himself away.”
“True.” Hettie glanced at the lady beside her. “I understand you and Mr. Thayer are old friends of Mr. Goswick.”
The lady nodded. “We were neighbors when we were first married, though he has since moved to far better lodgings.”
That statement was just a touch indiscreet, but Mrs. Thayer spoke it with more than a hint of good-natured self-derision, and Hettie couldn’t help but smile. Soon their conversation drifted to the lady’s children, as mothers were wont to turn most topics toward their offspring, and though Hettie wouldn’t say the conversation was lively or engaging, it was diverting enough as the two made their way through the meal.
“And you?” asked Mrs. Thayer before taking a sip of her wine. “What are your plans when Miss Alice marries? As your chaperoning duties are finished, will you remain in Bath?” Pausing, she winced and hurried to add, “I do not mean to say that everything is settled between her and Mr. Goswick, but she is far too sweet and lovely a girl to remain unwed long—”
Hettie held up a staying hand. “Peace, I understand quite clearly. And that is a complicated question, for though I have asked myself that many times, I do not have an answer.”
But just as Mrs. Thayer moved to speak again, someone on the far end of the table stole away her attention, dragging her from the conversation. Which was a blessing, for Hettie wasn’t certain she wished to continue it. There was little more for her to say.
What was Miss Harriet Stillwell to do once the last of her nieces was married?
Like Mrs. Callaghan, she’d chosen to reside with her brother to provide comfort and solace after Victor’s second wife had followed in the footsteps of his first, leaving him widowed with five small children to rear. Those weeks had turned into months, and without knowing when the change had taken place, Hettie had stepped into the role of mistress of No. 12 Thornhurst Street and makeshift mama to her five nieces and nephews.
Yet remaining at his side had never been for Victor’s sake but his children’s. Now that they no longer required a motherly presence in residence, what would Hettie Stillwell do with herself? One might believe that having endless possibilities made for happier decisions, but it was daunting. Settling in a home of her own was a clear choice, but where? Ought she to travel? Time was no longer a limited commodity, for it was entirely hers, yet what did one do with it?
For years, her life had puttered along in a predictable fashion. Certainly, there were surprises and upsets, but as a whole, the path had been decided the moment her sister-in-law had taken her last breath. Now, Hettie stood on a precipice, free to be her own agent, and for all that she had dreamt of doing as she pleased, she couldn’t seem to settle on any true course.
Travel would be nice, though her insides wriggled at the thought of tackling foreign countries on her own. Not that she required company, but her French was only good enough for a governess-taught schoolgirl who had never visited those shores before, and to wander foreign shores alone seemed foolhardy.
Taking another bite of her rabbit, Hettie tried to enjoy the food, but the flavors faded as she considered her future. In all honesty, the only thing she knew was what she did not want. She didn’t want to reside in her brother’s household, and she didn’t want to remain in Bath.
The future wasn’t terrible, regardless of what was to come, but the uncertainty of it sat uneasily in her heart. Hettie wanted a plan. A course of action.
Sighing, she found herself stuck once more in that quagmire. Without answers but with plenty of questions and doubts. A house in the country? Or ought she to travel the country? Europe might be too much of a leap at first, but could she attempt Scotland and Wales? Ireland was renowned for its beautiful scenery, and she could indulge in a bit of domestic adventures first.
Those thoughts followed her throughout the dinner, and when the courses were all cleared and the food consumed, they followed her as the guests left the dining room. In light of the festivities, the gentlemen eschewed the usual separation from the ladies and joined them directly in the drawing room, and Hettie only hoped that something would distract her from this puzzle.
Chapter 7
The same holiday cheer greeted the party as they entered the drawing room, with greenery and ribbons aplenty, along with another array of yule candles; though Hettie enjoyed any tradition that included the giving of gifts, those always sat uneasy with her, for like so many kindly meant customs, it had turned into a way to jockey for position and status. The more affluent the family, the more merchants they frequented, and thus, the more yule candles they received at Christmas as a sign of gratitude for their generous patronage.
While it was nice to have some fashion in which to express gratitude, it seemed a strange thing to have the lower classes provide gifts for their wealthy clients. Hettie far preferred the Feast of St. Stephens, when the masters were obligated to show some sign of appreciation for their staff; even the best of masters ought to give fine gifts at least once a year to the people who scrubbed his underthings, changed his linens, and kept him well fed.
A large log sat in great state inside the fireplace, adorned with holly and ivy, and Mr. Goswick stood at its side. Footmen arrived with glasses, passing them to the guests, and when they were situated, their host stood front and center, his drink held ready to toast.
“My great thanks for joining us this wonderful evening,” he said, his fingers along the stem. “A great time of celebration. And remembrance. For though we are blessed to enjoy each other’s company, we cannot help but remember those who are not with us.”
The merriment and laughter present at the dinner fled as the guests shifted in their seats, all holding their drinks and ready to continue the festivities. Yet Mr. Goswick stood in place, his gaze fixed on his glass.
“There is no undoing the past, and we must continue to live despite their absence, yet we would be remiss if we did not acknowledge the great effect they had in our lives.” He paused, and everyone moved as though to raise the toast, but Mr. Goswick stuttered on. “I do not think any of us are untouched by loss. We all have suffered greatly when those we love are torn from us.”
Though his statement was fundamentally true, the others all cast furrowed looks at each other, though their host did not seem to notice.
“But we still live. We must do our duty and not hold to that which cannot be undone,” he murmured.
One of the gentlemen cleared his throat, and that seemed to jolt Mr. Goswick from his ponderance. Lifting a glass, he gave them a tight smile.
“Happy Christmas,” he said, and the words echoed throughout the gathering as glasses clinked together. Tossing back his drink, he downed it in one, and Hettie glanced over at his father, who was watching his son with the same trepidation and concern etched on his face.
Mr. Goswick reached toward the fireplace mantelpiece, fetched one of the twists of paper from the spills holder, and lit it on an obliging candle. Leaning into the fireplace, he held the burning spill to the log, the greenery quickly catching flame as the others applauded. Straightening, he motioned toward the tables set up around the drawing room, and in a voice far brighter than before, he encouraged the others to split into games.
