“I am enjoying the Christmas festivities.”
“And do not think I missed how cozy you two were during the pantomime,” she countered with an arched brow. “Or how often you speak of her in passing conversation.”
Mouth agape, Baxter shifted in place. There was no defense against that. Especially when his cheeks began to redden. “Please tell me the others do not suspect anything.”
Charity’s smile fell, her brows furrowing. “Are you ashamed of her?”
“Heavens, no!” Baxter lowered his voice and glanced about, though no one seemed to notice. Except perhaps the elderly lady on Charity’s other side, though she appeared to be fast asleep. “Not in the slightest. But neither do I relish the thought of telling the rest of the family.”
Nose wrinkling, Charity considered that. “If you continue as you have, they will discover the truth in time. They’ve already heard the rumors and dismissed them, but this might allow them to acclimate to the idea, rather than springing it on them all at once. Besides, it is none of their business who you court.”
For all that her words were perfectly sensible, Baxter’s heart sank a touch and a prickle of fear skittered down his spine at the thought. Charity’s logic was sound, and it was a proper course of action—one Baxter had considered when he’d chosen to remain mum. Yet as much as he tried to cling to that hope, deep within him, he knew the truth: the rest of the family would not celebrate his courtship whether it was sprung upon them or slowly introduced.
Heat filled his face, and Baxter’s gaze dropped from his daughter. What sort of a man was afraid of his children?
Rising from her seat with a dainty grunt, Charity embraced him. “Do not let them sway you, Papa. Do not feel guilty for finding happiness. I like your Miss Stillwell, and she is a good match for you.”
Baxter drew in a deep breath, reveling in the feel of her arms around him. Such affection was so rare in his life that he couldn’t help but bask in it, despite the public nature of the display.
But when someone nudged at them, and he turned his gaze to find a matron attempting to edge Charity away from the seat, Baxter released her, and she quickly dropped back into place with a narrowed look at the usurper. The lady turned her nose up and walked away with a sharp huff.
Tugging on his sleeve, Charity drew his attention back to her, and with a broad smile, she added, “I just spied the Stillwells.”
His gaze darted to the doorway, and through the shifting mass, he caught sight of a familiar coiffure. Though shorn locks were not entirely uncommon, the style was far too passé for it to be anyone but Miss Stillwell. Glance darting between his sweetheart and his daughter, Baxter stood there, frozen in place.
“Go get her, you fool,” said Charity with a laugh, pushing at him, and Baxter required no further prodding.
*
A woman of her age ought to have more self-possession than this! But then, most women of her age had already experienced the giddy joy of a courtship. For all that Hettie had developed much self-control and decorum over the years, it fled the moment she caught sight of Mr. Baxter in the crowd. With so many packed into the Snowdens’ ballroom, it was difficult to see much beyond the writhing wall around her, but it took only a quick flash of his smile for Hettie’s pulse to quicken until it mimicked a hummingbird’s wings.
That mop of gray and brown disappeared and reappeared as he wove through the guests, his gaze never straying from her as he battled toward the entrance. And Hettie just stood there, her breath seizing in her lungs as she grinned like the absolute fool she felt herself to be.
Victor moved from her side with a chuckle and a shake of his head, and the rest of the family followed suit, leaving her there as Mr. Baxter came to stand before her, dipping into a bow.
“Miss Stillwell.”
With the crowd, the musicians, and the dancers all adding to the cacophony, Hettie wasn’t certain if she’d actually heard the words or if her memory simply supplied his warm voice, but the greeting sank into her heart. Hettie’s cup truly ran over, and for all that she hadn’t believed herself to be capable of experiencing more elation, that cup expanded with each moment they spent together, allowing more joy to flow into her.
But whilst she longed to greet him in a far more enthusiastic manner, Hettie was all too aware of the eyes around them.
“Mr. Baxter,” she said with a curtsy.
“Would you honor me with a dance?” he asked, offering up his arm.
Some part of her knew she ought to regulate herself. Though it had been quite a few years since her first foray into society, she recalled ladies warning her to be careful in showing affection too readily, for it could give the wrong impression to the gentleman. Yet Hettie couldn’t think of any impression she’d rather give Mr. Baxter than that she welcomed his attentions. Reveled in them, in fact.
And so, she beamed as they slowly wove through the crowd side-by-side, struggling against the tide though unwilling to relinquish their comfortable position.
Chapter 15
Turning his head, Mr. Baxter gave her a wicked grin and leaned close to whisper, “Do you know how much I love hearing you speak?”
Hettie couldn’t help but blush, her lips straining to keep her smile from growing to ridiculous levels.
“Your voice is so warm and rich, like a fresh bread pudding smothered in decadent custard.” Mr. Baxter paused, his expression faltering as he considered that. “That sounded far better in my thoughts.”
Not bothering to hide her laugh, Hettie patted his arm. “I assure you all your compliments are perfectly lovely.”
