Her niece paused, taking Hettie by the hands. “Do not trouble yourself. You’ve done so much for so long. Allow us to manage it from now on and ease that burden from your shoulders.”
Hettie managed to hold onto her smile, and she nodded. “Of course. If that is what you wish.”
“Enjoy a quiet day at home,” said Alice with a grin. “That sounds far more enjoyable than traipsing about in the cold.”
And with a final goodbye, Alice swept from the room, leaving Hettie all alone once more. Sinking to the seat, she tried to lay hold of her good humor.
It was the natural order. The older generation had to relinquish control at some point and allow the younger to step into their place. Hettie had known this day would arrive—but not so soon. And without warning. Not that she blamed Louisa for avoiding the conversation; as the newest member of the family, she’d been put in a difficult position.
No, there was no need to rail about the shift and the ensuing alterations it created. To do so would only make the situation worse and amplify everyone’s anguish.
Glancing at her writing desk, Hettie frowned. She did not have the wherewithal to manage a letter at present. And for all that Alice wished her to enjoy a comfortable day at home, Hettie felt uneasy there. Despite having spent her youth in these walls, this was her brother’s home now, and though he’d given her a place to live, it wasn’t truly hers anymore.
Hettie rose to her feet and turned toward the door. Sitting idle would do nothing for her spirits, and a stroll was just the thing she needed.
***
Traveling by barouche in wintertime was not ideal, but when it was the only carriage available, one made do. Charity cuddled closer to Baxter and let out a sigh as he shifted the blankets so they were more firmly fixed over their laps. Between the bricks heating their feet, the thick wool wrapping them, and his daughter curled into his side, Baxter couldn’t think of a better way to spend the Christmas holidays.
“I do not know if I can ever thank you enough,” she murmured, burrowing into the cocoon he’d created. “Another minute in that house, and I would run mad! Camilla insists on visiting every day, and though she claims it’s to watch over me, I know it’s to pretend that she is a grand dame, giving orders to the staff as though she is the lady in residence. She is forever complaining that Stanley has such a fine house when they are forced to let a small one in an inferior part of town.”
The streets of Bath were lovely in any season, but there was a unique magic to the wintertime. Snow covered the roofs and eaves, and the tan stone synonymous with the city stood out in stark contrast. Of course, the streets were a gray and muddy mess, and the remnant patches of white along the bottom of the buildings would be sullied soon enough. But for now, it was beautiful to behold.
Pulling her hand free, Charity reached out to catch a few stray flakes floating about on the breeze. “Anytime I even consider venturing out, she lectures me on the health of my babe, as though I am selfish and risking my child and myself if I put a toe outside.”
“She means well,” said Baxter, turning his gaze to the passing scenery.
“Why do people always say such things?” asked Charity with a frown. “She is not the embodiment of evil or bent on making my life a misery, but Camilla doesn’t mean well at all. She enjoys feeling superior to others, and matters have only grown worse now that Mama has passed. It’s as though she believes it her right to be the matriarch of our family.”
“Nevertheless, it is not helpful to hold onto anger,” replied Baxter. “We cannot control others, nor should we if we could. Yours is the only behavior you can dictate.”
“Is that why you never say a cross word about Mama?”
The question snapped through him like a jolt of electricity, and Baxter turned his attention to his daughter, who watched him with raised brows.
“In all my memories, I cannot think of any time when you’ve spoken a single criticism about her, though you have more reason than most to do so,” said Charity. “When I was a child, I believed like the rest of my siblings that you two were a grand pair, but in the last few years, I’ve started to see things differently. When it was just me and you two at home, it was far easier to see it wasn’t love that created the peace in our house.”
Baxter paused, considering what he could and should say. “For better or worse. Those are the marriage vows. There is no unsaying them once spoken. As I said, we cannot control others, and nothing I could do would ever alter her. It would have only caused more trouble.”
“Yet she is gone, and you still do not say a word against her—”
“And I never will,” he said with a frown. “The least a person can do is to abstain from speaking critically to or about their spouse. It accomplishes no good, and doing so only allows pain and resentment to fester.”
Charity stiffened, her lips pinching together. “You are far more kind and forgiving than I can be.”
Baxter raised a challenging brow at that. “If I am not mistaken, you are married to the good friend of a family that used to be your mortal enemies, and now you count them amongst your closest allies.”
“Yes, but much of that antagonism was my own doing—”
“As was my marrying your mother. That was my choice.”
That silenced Charity, and the two lapsed into silence that was neither friendly nor cold. It was heavy, though his daughter did not move from his side.
Drawing in a deep breath, Baxter couldn’t help but wonder at all the many decisions that had led him to this moment. The marriage may have been more his parents’ doing than his, but though he had longed to blame them for his unhappy state, they hadn’t forced the issue. No coercion had been enacted to ensure his obedience. They’d simply encouraged the match and made their feelings clear on the matter.
Was it society’s fault for restricting courtship with such rigid rules? Sweethearts were granted so little time together and rarely in a setting that allowed a true exchange of thoughts and feelings, making it easy for the harpies of the world to hide their true selves.
Or did he hold the blame for being blind to the warning signs that had likely been there, if he’d looked harder and seen past the surface attraction he’d felt for Dolores at the time?
