***
Coward. There was no denying that Hamilton Baxter was a coward of the highest order. It was easy enough to pretend that his actions were motivated by a desire to give time for tempers to cool, but one did not march several miles in the frigid cold for such a thing. Especially whilst knowing it wouldn’t do any good.
Had he ready money, Baxter might’ve hired a sedan chair or some other transportation, but striding from the Snowdens’ home, he’d been forced to join his livid children in their carriage or make the trek home on foot. And the choice had seemed an easy one at the time. Now, his toes were numb and his face was windburned, but still, he remained on the pavement outside his son’s home.
Black swallowed the world, with all the terraced houses on either side dark and silent. Yet for all the effort Baxter had expended to avoid the coming discussion for a few more hours, the candles still burned bright in the front parlor, the light peeking through the curtains. The shadows moving about the room testified that he’d avoided nothing; surely Matthias and Camilla were there as well as the master of the house.
Baxter stood frozen in place, staring at the windows, but as they likely had arrived home some time ago, it was clear he wouldn’t outlast his children. For good or ill, this conversation was happening tonight, and there was no point in avoiding it any longer.
Striding across the pavement, he climbed the stairs and paused at the door, staring at the mourning wreath hanging at eye level. Juniper Court had been Dolores’s true home, and yet this was where she had passed, and No. 15 Hawthorne Lane still bore her mark.
Stepping through the front door, he discarded his hat, gloves, and coat, handing them over to the poor footman forced to wait until his master had gone to bed. Without pausing, Baxter strode down the hall and into the parlor; all four of his children were seated on the sofas and armchairs, though poor Charity looked ready to expire at any moment.
For one long moment, the other three stared at him, stretching out the silence.
Stanley shot to his feet. “What are you thinking? How could you defile Mother’s memory? Have you no shame?”
Baxter drew in a deep breath and measured his words. “I care for Miss Stillwell.”
As much as he longed to say “love,” he couldn’t bring himself to voice that all-important description to them. There was one person who ought to hear it first, and he doubted she would be ready for some time. However, the certainty of the sentiment nestled into his heart, filling Baxter with a measure of peace.
“Don’t be ridiculous!” shouted Matthias, rising from his chair to join his brother. “You hardly know the woman—”
“How can you deign to consider her in such a light? Dolores Baxter was a paragon of womanhood,” added Camilla, though her husband hardly noticed the interruption, speaking over her to list all the reasons it could not be true (though most revolved around the issue of time). Stanley joined in, adding his voice to theirs, and the three spoke over one another.
Though it was hard to follow each of their arguments, interwoven as they were, their meaning was clear enough, and their disgust settled onto Baxter’s shoulders like a boulder.
“I cannot fathom why you would do such a thing,” said Stanley. “How could you betray Mother? Did you know Miss Stillwell before? Were you carrying on behind Mother’s back, simply waiting for her demise?”
“Of course not,” replied Baxter, though his words made no impression, quickly swept away in the torrent.
“I’ve always thought you a man of honor,” said Stanley with a shake of his head.
“He is!” cried Charity. “He was a good husband, but Mother is gone. There is nothing untoward about him finding happiness with another—”
“Don’t be naive,” said Camilla, folding her arms tight around herself. “He may have played the part of an honorable husband, but Mother has been gone only a few short months, and he’s already cavorting about ballrooms with an old, fat spinster.”
Baxter straightened, his mouth opening to defend that description of Miss Stillwell, but his son’s next words silenced him.
“But then, his judgment isn’t entirely sound,” added Matthias with a considering tone. With a furrowed brow, he glanced at the others. “Our once thriving family estate has been brought to the edge of ruin, and its master and heir are forced to find lodging elsewhere so we can let it to strangers—all because of his poor choices. Is it any wonder that a scheming lady might turn his head?”
“Miss Stillwell is no scheming lady, and she is neither fat nor old,” said Baxter, though none of them paid him any heed as they began discussing all the many mistakes he’d made as the head of the family. The accusations rested heavily on his shoulders, for they echoed his past thoughts too closely, picking at the wounds that had only just begun to heal.
“Stop speaking of him as though he’s a child,” said Charity, frowning at her siblings.
Matthias huffed. “When he proves himself capable of running this family—”
“Don’t you dare speak of him in that manner!” Charity scowled at her elder brother, and her gaze darted to Baxter, pleading with him to speak on his own behalf, but what could he say? Though he refused to believe that his judgment was flawed regarding Miss Stillwell, Baxter couldn’t defend himself from the other allegations leveled against him, especially not without casting aspersions on his wife.
“I am sorry for what has happened to our family.” Baxter’s words were too soft to be heard at first, and when the others quieted he repeated it once more. His children all stared at him as he stood there in the doorway, his hands tucked behind him. “I did the best I could to keep us from ruin, and I am ashamed to know how close we came to it.”
Calm settled for a moment, and the siblings glanced at one another.
“If you mean that, you must break with Miss Stillwell,” said Matthias.
Baxter stared at him. To agree would be to end the conflict raging amongst his family, but his heart quivered at the thought. Even imagining that moment was enough to make him shudder. To have found such joy and then to let it go was more than any man should have to suffer. Yet his sons and his daughter-in-law stared at him as though fully expecting his unequivocal agreement.
“It is late,” said Charity. Holding out a hand to her sister-in-law, she strained to rise from her seat. “We are all exhausted, and we’d best continue this conversation with clearer heads later.”
