“My condolences,” she murmured, slanting a look at him.
Mr. Baxter’s gaze snapped from the crowd below to her eyes, his posture stiffening.
Hettie hid a grimace. “Apologies. I do not mean to bring up a painful subject. I fear one never knows what to say in such a moment. To ignore it entirely feels cruel, but dredging it up seems equally painful, so one is forever caught between wishing to offer comfort but never knowing if doing so will do the opposite.”
“I understand,” he murmured, reaching a hand to scratch at his arm. “It is quite a conundrum, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” That was all Hettie could think to say, though she strained for something more.
Mr. Baxter shifted in his seat, and with all of them wedged together, he offered a quick apology for landing an elbow in her side and then fell silent once more.
Hettie glanced at the pair beside her. Alice was quite ignorant of anything but her young gentleman. The pair sat with their heads together, speaking of some novel they’d read, and Hettie smiled at their contentment, even as she held back a sigh when she returned her attention to her companion.
Mr. Baxter couldn’t seem to sit still. He shifted his seat, though there was nowhere for him to go, and he cleared his throat as though wishing to say something, but no words emerged.
For all that many believed gentlemen to be masters of all they surveyed, without a morsel of self-doubt or discomfort, Hettie knew better. Shyness was not a quality belonging solely to ladies, and she was quite familiar with how strong a hold such a quality had on a person. Despite her best efforts to rid herself of that discomfort, it made itself known at various times—like when crushed next to an awkward stranger in an opera box.
Drawing in a deep breath, she shook that thought aside. Now was not the time for such sentiments.
“I feel as though I ought to apologize to you,” she said in a low voice.
Mr. Baxter’s brows rose, and he darted a glance at her. “Pardon?”
“Many chaperones are not so rigid in their duties, but I fear I cannot be blasé. Which is the reason your son dragged you here tonight, though I would hazard a guess that you would rather be ensconced in your parlor with a warm cup of tea and a biscuit or two.”
The gentleman’s gaze turned to her once more, and Hettie held her breath, hoping he would appreciate the humor in the situation.
“The library, actually,” he said.
Hettie gave a playful wince. “And so, your son dragged you from your sanctuary to distract the irritating spinster chaperone of his potential sweetheart.”
Mr. Baxter’s lips turned upward into a faint smile. “Stanley thought himself quite sneaky and didn’t believe you would realize his ploy.”
“Ah,” replied Hettie with a low chuckle. “Mr. Goswick underestimates just how creative my other nieces’ beaus were.”
“For all that he believes himself to be a great strategist, I fear my son is no soldier.”
“No, but he seems like a good lad, so I am not opposed to giving him a small victory.”
The courting pair beside her laughed, and Hettie pretended not to notice, her smile growing at the sound. But when she glanced back at Mr. Baxter, her grin stiffened as the fellow once more looked like a man facing the gallows, staring out at the teeming people below as they took their seats.
Clearing her throat, Hettie searched for some source of conversation. “I believe he is your second son, is he not?”
Mr. Baxter nodded and said nothing more.
“And he is a banker.”
Shifting in his seat, Mr. Baxter nodded again. “He was fortunate enough to take after my wife’s father. With no sons of his own, he took Stanley under his wing and groomed him for the profession and named him his heir to his bank.”
“Ah, that answers another question,” said Hettie.
When Mr. Baxter gave her a questioning raise of his brows, she added, “I thought it odd that your son introduced you as Mr. Baxter when he is Mr. Goswick. But I’ve known a few men over the years who were similarly blessed, and in every situation, their benefactors required the heirs to change their surname to keep the family name alive—”
But her words died as the orchestra struck up the opening notes of the evening’s entertainment. Hettie gave Mr. Baxter a friendly smile, though his gaze was now fixed on the curtains. Letting out a deep sigh, she settled in for a long night.
***
Good heavens, the newspapers had been kind in their reviews;La Bella Donnawas as inspired as its insipid name. It wasn’t as though operas were known for their captivating stories, but this one revolved around more idiocy than was usual.
