Good gracious, she adored this man. Though Hettie had fostered warm feelings for him long before that beautiful night in which he’d declared himself, they paled in comparison to the fire stoking inside her with each hour spent in his company.
Their conversation struck up as though there’d been no pause between this and their previous one. Though Hettie couldn’t swear they began precisely where they’d ended that afternoon, it certainly felt as though each discussion melded into the next, flowing from one to another like the great system of rivers and canals that stretched across the country.
And when the next dance began, they took their places amongst the quadrille, and Hettie gave a silent prayer of thanks that the tune was slower, for her body was beginning to rebel against the quick steps that were so popular.
Hettie and Mr. Baxter stood together on their side of the quadrille, taking their bows and curtsies in turn as the introduction was played through. Though she bemoaned the fact that this dance didn’t allow her to face her partner, there was the benefit that they could converse far more easily side by side as they awaited their turn through the steps.
Slanting a look at Mr. Baxter, Hettie gave him a faint smile as she moved forward. Shifting through the steps, she kept her gaze on him as much as possible without bungling her part. Flirting was not a natural skill for everyone, and she knew all too well how awkward it could be, yet she couldn’t help but attempt it with Mr. Baxter. She wasn’t entirely certain how others managed it so easily or what their tricks were, but she filled her thoughts with all the sweet and wonderful moments they’d shared and hoped they shone in her eyes.
When they came back to their places and it was time once again for the others in their square to move through the steps, Mr. Baxter leaned close.
“How has your search been faring?” he asked.
“My search?” Hettie straightened, her brows rising.
“Or your plans, rather. To chart out your future.”
Hettie laughed. She couldn’t help it, though her hand flew to her mouth. They moved together with the dance, and when she could, she leaned close to him and whispered, “If that is what you are thinking about when I am attempting to flirt, I must not be doing it properly.”
“Believe me,” he murmured in return as the couples all promenaded hand-in-hand in a circle. “You are doing it quite thoroughly. I fear I must distract you, or I won’t be responsible for my actions.” He punctuated that with a rascally wriggle of his brows.
Hettie laughed anew even as her cheeks flamed red. For all that Mr. Baxter was jesting, there was truth in his gaze that warmed her through. How had she been so lucky to stumble upon the only man in creation who not only recognized her juvenile attempts for what they were but was stirred by them?
“But out with it,” he said, squeezing her hand before he released her. “Have you made any progress?”
She arched a brow at him as she moved forward toward the gentleman opposite and returned to her place. “I have been a bit preoccupied lately.”
Mr. Baxter’s lips twitched with a laugh as he moved forward as well, moving to the lady opposite before returning to his previous position.
“Jests aside, I do hope you are still considering it,” he said, the laughter in his voice fading as they stood side by side. “Though I’ve had little time the last few days, I have been spending more of it sketching, and it’s invigorating. I’ve considered hiring a tutor to help me learn more.”
A jolt swept through her, and Hettie didn’t regulate her grin as she beamed at him. “That is wonderful. You really must.”
“Thank you for giving me the sketchbook and pencils. I do not know if I would’ve ever attempted it otherwise.”
Her throat tightened as her heart thundered in her chest. The dance pulled them apart, and she refused to allow the sentiment to overtake her, though it was a near thing as her vision blurred. Such a little admission, yet it filled her with such power and warmth, thrumming through her as she’d never felt before.
For all that she might’ve inspired him, Mr. Baxter was returning the inspiration in kind. Hettie couldn’t help but feel his excitement leech into her, filling her with possibilities that she hadn’t truly considered. Not seriously, at any rate. Despite having pushed him to dive into his hobby, Hettie hadn’t turned that logic on herself.
When they were deposited back in place, she glanced at him and said in a low voice, “When I was younger, I wanted to learn the flute. Mama insisted on the piano. I’ve often thought about trying my hand at the flute, but it seems a bit strange to take lessons at my age.”
Mr. Baxter didn’t dismiss this out of hand, instead considering it for a moment. “I understand, and I admit I feel the same way. However, I know I cannot learn it all on my own. I do not know the first thing about other art mediums, and I would like to learn.”
“Then might we agree to do it together?” she asked, holding out a hand to him. Hettie paused and reconsidered that. “Nottogether, per se, as we will have separate lessons, but as in we will both be doing so.”
Mr. Baxter took her hand in his and they shook on it, though his touch lingered, his gaze holding hers in a manner that made her remember the kiss he’d bestowed upon it only a few nights ago. Hettie’s cheeks flushed deeper red, though she couldn’t drop her gaze.
*
The gentleman in the pair to his left cleared his throat, and Baxter forced himself to drop Miss Stillwell’s hand and found the other couples in the quadrille watching them with varying expressions, ranging from amusement to disapproval. The lady across the way pointedly looked at his mourning band with a frown, and though Baxter stiffened at the obvious disapproval, Miss Stillwell’s hand drifted toward his, brushing against his in a light reassurance.
And Baxter could breathe again.
It wasn’t as though there were set rules surrounding the practice of mourning. Of course, there were always people who believed there to be strict guidelines concerning the level of color and the types of public outings one might attend whilst in deep mourning. However, the act of demonstrating one’s sorrow was personal to every family, and it was up to one’s conscience to decide just how long one would wear black and sequester oneself away from public view.
His children had left their deep mourning earlier than some might expect, but then, Dolores had set that standard when she’d done the same after her own parents’ passing; she couldn’t countenance any practice that forced her to wear only black and avoid gatherings for months and months at a time. It was fitting that they would follow suit, even though they mourned their mama in their hearts.
Baxter’s family had held to a more rigid standard, and though it hadn’t felt right to wear the black band when he had approached Hettie to ask her to be his sweetheart, it felt equally wrong to leave it off completely now. Whether or not it was a hollow sign of mourning, his children appreciated the gesture, and it was a little thing he could do to honor their memory of Dolores.
