Charity nodded, though she made no move. Striding to the far wall, he tugged the bellpull and left his daughter to her nap; the maid would be up promptly to manage things better than he.
Slipping out into the hall, he turned his feet to his own bedchamber, but Baxter paused at Stanley’s door. Though shut to the world, the gap at the floor was large enough for him to spy the flickers of light from the candles inside and the shadow that fell across the doorjamb in time with his son’s pacing. Stanley’s steps quickly crossed the room, making him impossible to ignore.
Lifting his hand, Baxter rapped on the wood.
Chapter 9
“Ido not need your assistance tonight, Evans,” said Stanley.
“It’s not your valet,” said Baxter.
“I am going to bed, Father.”
But he nudged the door open, ignoring the grunt of protest from his son. Stanley was still dressed in his evening finery, though his hair looked a mess and his cravat was pulled to pieces, hanging limp from his collar. With a narrowed look, Stanley didn’t pause in his trek across his bedchamber.
“What do you need?” he asked.
Baxter dropped onto the armchair sequestered in the corner. “It’s your need that has me here at this hour. Is something amiss?”
Pausing, Stanley scoffed, his lips curling as he stared at his father. “This evening was abominable, and you ask if something is amiss?”
But before Baxter could answer that (though he didn’t know what to say), Stanley flicked a hand at him in dismissal and continued his path. “I do not know what I was thinking when I invited the Stillwells. Charity may have been the hostess in name, but it was clear that everyone viewed Miss Alice in that light. Even she seemed quite content to step into the role.”
“I saw nothing out of the ordinary.”
But Stanley didn’t seem to hear him. His feet pounded a path across the rug, and then he dropped onto the edge of his bed and bent over, scrubbing at his face. When he straightened again, the anger thrumming through him subsided, and he stared at his father with weary eyes.
“Mr. Tollman asked me if I was falling for Miss Alice. He asked me that, as though it was a simple thing. But what sort of man loves two ladies? A snake—that is who.” Stanley sighed, dropping his gaze with a shake of his head. “This courtship has been a mistake.”
Despite Stanley having spoken the words himself, his brows rose at them as though surprised they had emerged from his lips. “It was difficult enough when I was going against my conscience to seek out Miss Alice, but I fear I have given rise to expectations I cannot meet. It is clear that she and everyone else anticipate a great love match, but I cannot give such a thing to her.”
Baxter’s chest constricted, and his heart broke in sympathy for his lost son. “There is nothing wrong with starting again with someone else, Stanley. You needn’t spend the rest of your life alone.”
“That is not the same as love, Father.”
Despite the bleakness of the statement, Stanley was correct, and Baxter knew all too well one could share a life with another without feeling an ounce of affection for her. And he didn’t wish such a thing for his son. Then again, he found it difficult to imagine that love couldn’t grow as long as the couple respected one another and enjoyed each other’s company.
“Do not give up hope, Stanley.” Though he truly meant those words in far grander terms than this specific relationship, Baxter’s stomach constricted at the implications rife in what his son was saying. No outings with Miss Alice meant no outings with Miss Stillwell.
Stanley gave his father a faint but rueful smile. “Would you be so generous if you knew how my actions have tainted your reputation?”
“Pardon?” asked Baxter, unable to keep the question from emerging.
“Rumors have started concerning you and Miss Stillwell,” he said, his gaze not lifting from the Oriental rug at his feet. “People believe you two to be courting as well as her niece and me.”
Baxter’s brows rose at that, but before he could say a word, Stanley was off again.
“Do they know no shame? Your loss is still so fresh, yet they’re claiming you have designs on the Stillwell spinster. What sort of man would even consider courting a lady during his mourning? It is one thing when a man has children that need tending—in which case it is expected that he will marry with all haste—but a man of your age has no such need. However, they saw you out and about with a lady and leapt to the worst conclusions.”
Each word was like a stone set upon Baxter’s shoulders, adding to the weight there until it was liable to crush him. What sort of man cast aside his mourning to pursue another lady? But then, what sort of man shed not a single tear for the wife who had been at his side for three and thirty years?
A snake.
Yet Baxter couldn’t help but say, “You needn’t worry about my reputation.”
“That is good of you, Father, but the more I consider it, the more certain I am,” he murmured with a shake of his head. “I have been too hasty, and I’ve harmed not only myself and Miss Alice, but you and Miss Stillwell. Well done, Stanley.”
Arguments burbled beneath the surface, demanding that he say something—anything, really—to get Stanley to change this course, but Baxter couldn’t help but see his son’s distress and feel a swell of fatherly concern for him.
