Of course, it was also bound to draw some attention when he was openly flirting, but that mattered little compared to the comfort it granted his family for him to wear it.
Turning his attention back to the dance, he moved through the final steps with Miss Stillwell, ending with the usual flourishes the dance demanded. The next was called, and they shifted to take their positions. With his thoughts so full of Miss Stillwell and the band on his arm, Baxter didn’t realize precisely what was happening until the musicians struck an energetic tune, and they were thrown into the midst of a reel.
Miss Stillwell’s eyes widened as she embraced the dance, skipping along through the rapid steps without missing a beat. Soon, Baxter was made to follow, and though the first few minutes were unexceptional, as the dance wore on, a fine mist of sweat began to bead at his temples.
For all that he had enjoyed dancing in his youth, Baxter had lived too sedentary a life of late. They’d sold the horses in Bristow some time ago, and though Stanley boasted several fine steeds, the city was not conducive to a hardy ride. And as he’d preferred to remain in the card rooms for most of his married life, Baxter had thought his dancing days long over. All of which left him unprepared for the vigorous steps.
When they were granted a short reprieve, Miss Stillwell sent him a panicked look, puffing her cheeks out as she let out a heavy sigh and dabbed at her forehead.
The dance drew them down the line, and Baxter spied a door not far from them. Sending her a silent question, he nodded toward it, and Miss Stillwell widened her eyes with a sharp nod. As they shifted once more, he took her by the hand, and they quietly slipped from their place. The dancers shifted to fill it in quickly enough, and the pair wove through the onlookers to slip out of the stifling heat of the ballroom.
“I am dying, Mr. Baxter,” murmured Miss Stillwell, fanning herself as the pair stepped into the hallway. Though the area was not closed off to the public, there were few guests in the hallway, and the air was blessedly cool compared to the ballroom. He guided her toward a sitting room, and they collapsed onto a sofa.
“When did I get so old?” she asked with a laugh, slumping into the seat. “I am only two and fifty, and far from my dotage, yet I feel liable to fall apart at the seams.”
“Do not say that, for I am two years older than you,” he mumbled in reply. “I would fetch us some punch, but I fear my legs have given out.”
Miss Stillwell leaned into him, her shoulder resting against him, and she grinned at him. It was said epiphanies could strike at any moment, and though Baxter had been flirting with the idea for some time now, the truth struck his heart, clanging out like the church bells at Christmas.
He loved this woman. Not simply enjoyed her or even adored her. Baxter loved Miss Stillwell.
Reaching into his pocket, he plucked out a sprig of mistletoe. Her gaze fixed on him as he lifted it. Pausing, Baxter considered her hair, which wasn’t styled in a manner that allowed him to tuck it in. Shifting to her ear, he tried slipping it there, but the bushy thing wouldn’t sit properly, falling out the moment he attempted it.
His fingers fumbled with the sprig, his brows pulling together as he struggled to bring his romantic gesture to fruition. Miss Stillwell stared at him, not moving as he simply lifted it above her. Heart thudding, Baxter leaned closer, his lips longing to feel hers. Time seemed to speed and stretch at the same time, bringing him to the tipping point somehow quicker than anticipated yet still too slowly.
Despite his age, Baxter was not well versed in such heated moments, and his pulse quickened in both anticipation and dread. Was it too soon? Would she welcome it? Would he do it properly? The fantasy of kissing her burned into his mind, pushing him toward that goal, all whilst his heart attempted to beat free of his chest.
Miss Stillwell’s eyes widened, her muscles stiffening, and her shock stole away the last of Baxter’s nerve. Shifting his aim, he pressed his lips to her cheek, which was the far more appropriate location for a kiss. Though his pulse quickened at the feel of her soft skin, his chest deflated.
Chapter 16
How could a moment be one of the most romantic in her life yet still so disappointing? Hettie held back a sigh that was tinged with a touch of both sentiments and turned her thoughts away from the latter. It was far too soon for them to be kissing. With only a few days of courtship, it was hardly fitting for them to be embracing in darkened rooms while the ball raged on not far from them.
It was hardly fitting for any courting couple to be doing such a thing; as the perpetual chaperone, she knew that better than most.
Hettie’s lips trembled with a smile. How vastly different was her life at present from what she’d anticipated?
There was no firm age for when a lady became a “spinster.” Certainly, many anticipated early marriages, but many ladies did not speak those hallowed vows until they were closer to five and twenty or older. Unmarried ladies were not so uncommon that one could be labeled so whilst in the blossom of one’s youth, and such things were rarely bandied about until the lady reached at least thirty. Even the king boasted two sisters who were still unmarried and far older than she, and Hettie doubted anyone dared to call them spinsters.
However, there was a feeling—an instinct, really—that struck each lady. There was no rhyme or reason to it, but it was a moment in which one knew one had reached that stage. Spinsterhood. And having earned that title, one knew it was unlikely to ever change.
Though her family and friends batted the word away any time it was spoken, Hettie had known she was a spinster long before they did. What little attention she’d garnered from gentlemen had lessened with each passing year, until one day, she realized it had been some months since she’d shared even a conversation with a bachelor, let alone anything romantic in nature. Gentlemen didn’t even wish to stand up with her for a dance; what hope did she have that one would wish to spend a lifetime with her?
Accepting that had been difficult at first, but once she’d embraced it, Hettie’s life and happiness had improved greatly. No more waiting and hoping for something that would never come.
Yet now, here she sat, tucked snugly beside her beau as he stole kisses (chaste though they may be). Not only was this a perfect moment, but it was one of many they’d shared in the last few days. A gentleman not only longed for her company but couldn’t seem to get his fill of it.
For all that joy coursing through her, Hettie couldn’t help but wonder what Mr. Baxter would do if she simply took advantage of the opportunity presented and kissed the man properly. She felt like laughing at that image, though her heart pressed against her ribs, inching her closer. But when her gaze drifted to his arm, still holding the mistletoe aloft, she spied the mourning band once more on his arm and knew it was best not to rush things.
It felt as though they’d known each other for some time, but Hettie had only made his acquaintance a month ago, and for the sake of his children, they had to be cautious. Best to take their time.
Bother.
Mr. Baxter leaned in once more, pressing another kiss to her cheek, his lips lingering as he seemed to surround her. Hettie closed her eyes, savoring the feel of him, and his free arm slipped around her, drawing her close.
And despite all the logic of her previous thoughts, Hettie didn’t fight the movement. No, she pressed herself into him, her head turning toward him. Her eyes opened to find him a hair’s breadth from her, his gaze caressing her face with the sort of tenderness she’d never thought to see. The mistletoe drifted away, yet he inched closer.
Footsteps in the corridor sliced through the moment, dousing her as thoroughly as a bucket of ice water.
