Hettie’s brows rose at his words, but not the ones he evidently believed were shocking. It was the final two. They said so very much about the gentleman, for though it was now clear his marriage had not been a happy one, they were the only criticism she’d ever heard him utter. All the times the subject of Mrs. Baxter had arisen, he’d never spoken a single word against her. And from what his children had said, it was clear they did not know the extent of their parents’ discord.
Yet the worst criticism he could offer was that she wasn’t kind.
Tears pricked at her eyes as she considered just what sort of a man would behave in this manner. Though clearly, he thought his deportment lacking, Mr. Baxter had proven himself to be the most loyal of husbands and the tenderest of souls. In truth, Hettie didn’t know if she could be so charitable in his situation; her feelings toward the lady were quickly souring as the truth about Mrs. Baxter unfolded.
With a heavy hand on the mantelpiece, Mr. Baxter stared into the flames, though something in his posture made her think he wasn’t seeing anything. “Though everyone believes me to be nursing a broken heart, the truth is I do not think I have ever known true love until I met you. Perhaps it is bad form to say such a thing so soon, but from almost the first moment we met, I have longed for something more. I thought I could be content with friendship alone, but I know that is impossible. I cannot remain silent any longer.”
Hettie forced her hands to relax, for they were destroying the delicate box and the sweet offerings within. Apparently, her brows were simply stuck at the top of her forehead, for they refused to lower. If anything, they climbed higher than she’d thought possible.
“‘From almost the first moment we met’?” she whispered.
Blinking rapidly, Hettie tried to stem the growing tears, but hearing anyone claim such a thing—let alone Mr. Baxter—was more than her heart could manage. Miss Harriet Stillwell had managed to catch the eye of a beau or two in the past, but those gentlemen were more entranced by her dowry than her unorthodox appearance and sparkling wit. Never had she thought to entrance anyone from the very first moment of their meeting.
And once again, her thoughts were lagging far behind Mr. Baxter’s, for he pushed away from the fireplace and turned toward her, though his gaze remained fixed on the carpet.
“I know I am a poor excuse for a beau, and a lady of your caliber could choose another far better than me, but please allow me the opportunity to win your heart.”
Hettie’s thoughts refused to budge, sticking in place as yet another revelation was heaped upon her. A lady of her caliber? A far better beau? She didn’t know what to address first, though the fact that he still did not look at her was quite troubling as well.
Mr. Baxter cared for her. Deeply, as he’d said. The gentleman wanted to court her. And from his words, he seemed to think her some grand prize far better than he could think to attain. Each revelation was startling in its own right, and Hettie’s pulse quickened as she considered each one.
“I understand,” he said with a sharp bow. “I will trouble you no further.”
“Pardon?” she managed to ask, though Mr. Baxter did not seem to hear her, for he barreled toward the parlor door with great determination.
Despite the harried nature of her thoughts, Hettie recognized a retreat when she saw it, and she shot from her seat, scattering the marzipan across the sofa. Darting forward, she leapt in front of the door, blocking him before he could leave. With a hand on his chest, she stopped him in place.
“I did not mean to cause you distress,” he mumbled, his gaze still turned to his feet.
“You didn’t, Mr. Baxter. But you are too hasty,” she blurted.
His eyes jerked from the ground and met her gaze, and it was only then that Hettie realized how near he was. Her back was pressed against the door, and Mr. Baxter was close enough that had she breathed deeply, she would’ve nudged him back a step.
“I…” But Hettie’s attention wandered for a moment when she realized her hand still rested against his lapels. With a tiny shift, her fingers drifted to his shirt front.
“You surprised me, Mr. Baxter.” And heaven help her, Hettie’s voice lowered even further, giving her words an intimate tone. Clearing her throat, she shook her head and met his gaze once more, though it was even more difficult to gather her thoughts when he filled her vision. She tried to speak again, but it was her turn to dither as she attempted to cobble words into coherence.
“Do not leave. Please. I was startled. That is all. I learned long ago not to consider men in a romantic light, so I never expected to hear you say such lovely things.” That wasn’t terrible, though Hettie wished for a touch more eloquence. “And they were truly lovely.”
Her breath hitched, and she tried to gather her thoughts, but they continued in that choppy vein. “I did think you quite handsome—”
Hettie’s cheeks flamed, and she changed course. “I did see a possibility of something, but I never truly considered it, so your confession has greatly surprised me. It is by far the loveliest thing anyone has ever said to me, and I am overwhelmed by the thought that you view me in such a light. You are so remarkable, Mr. Baxter, and I am honored to have earned your admiration…”
The words kept coming, yet Hettie knew she was making little sense. His petition warranted a simple answer, but try as she might, she couldn’t seem to say the words, “Yes, please, Mr. Baxter,” “I would be honored to be your sweetheart,” or any variation thereof.
Closing her eyes, Hettie winced against her inanity. In such a moment, one was supposed to be gracious and graceful and all sorts of ladylike things. Not a babbling Bedlamite.
But the feel of Mr. Baxter’s fingers around her hand had her peeking at him. With his finery on, his gloves were pristine white next to her slightly ink-stained fingers, but slowly, he took hold of her hand. His gaze fixed on hers, holding steadily as he lifted her hand to his lips, never wavering as he pressed a kiss to her knuckles, holding them with such tender care.
“All I ask is for the opportunity to win your heart,” he whispered. “Please, may I have that?”
As Hettie’s heart was thumping quite erratically, she was certain it was at least halfway to being wholly his, but she managed a quiet, “Yes.”
His handsome lips stretched wide as though that single word was the greatest thing ever spoken, and that only made her heart melt all the more. Only one minute into their courtship, and she was ready to run away to Scotland with him.
“Will you join me for tea tomorrow?” she asked, her voice once more a husky whisper, though when his gaze warmed, Hettie couldn’t help but smile and blush for a much pleasanter reason than before.
“As you wish, my dearest Miss Stillwell.”
