Stanley and Matthias both stood with their arms crossed, their eyes narrowed at him for several long heartbeats. Then the former took Camilla’s place at Charity’s side, helping her toward the hall and up the stairs, whilst Camilla and Matthias fetched their things and took their leave.
Dropping to the sofa, Baxter bent over, his hands running through his hair as his lungs drew in sharp breaths. His children or Miss Stillwell. Surely it wouldn’t come to that. It couldn’t. Drawing in a deep breath, he closed his eyes and prayed for clarity, and the sinking of his stomach was the only answer he received.
Chapter 18
When one thought of picnics, one did not often imagine a chill winter day. However, there was something wonderful about being bundled up in flannel petticoats, thick jackets, and woolen mittens and scarves. Though Hettie’s cheeks were quite rosy from the nip in the air, the rest of her was pleasantly warm as she stared out at the River Avon.
A handful of people skated along the surface, their laughter ringing out as they careened about, toppling over at varying intervals. Hettie let out a sigh, sending a great puff of vapor into the air, as Mr. Baxter dug through the basket. Frowning, he pulled out a pair of bottles that had been wrapped in flannel and packed in straw.
“It’s a lemon and elderflower tisane that I like. I had hoped it would still be warm…” he mumbled as he handed her one. A quick touch to the glass, and it was easy to tell that it was lukewarm at best, but Hettie merely smiled.
“It is wonderful,” she replied whilst he handed her a Bath bun. The pairing of drink and sweetbread was perfect, and the tisane was just warm enough to help stave off the cold.
As they sat side by side, Hettie’s gaze drifted along the landscape, following the lines of the riverbank. Silence was an easy thing with Mr. Baxter. Conversation flowed forth in its natural course, but when the words stilled and quiet descended, it was not awkward or discomforting. Hettie felt like she could simply be at his side without speaking a word, enjoying his presence without needing to add to the moment.
Usually.
However, they weren’t alone during this outing. Memories of the previous night hung over their shoulders, watching every minute. Mr. Baxter hadn’t divulged any details concerning his conversation with his children after leaving the ball, but Hettie could well imagine it hadn’t been a pleasant moment. And his despondency only served as confirmation.
A fractured family, to be certain. But not broken. Not yet. Would she be the final blow to destroy the Baxters?
Hettie’s eyes prickled, and she drew in a sharp breath, forcing it into her lungs. Setting her bottle to the side, she tucked her hands in her lap and stared at the merriment passing by on the river. A touch drew her gaze down to find Mr. Baxter’s hand atop hers, and she forced her fingers to relax as her gaze drifted over to meet his.
“Do you truly think all will be well?” The question sprang forth, and Hettie shuddered, though she couldn’t wish it unspoken. Ignoring the truth of the situation wouldn’t help. And clearly, it weighed heavily on his thoughts, for despite her giving no context for her outburst, Mr. Baxter didn’t ask for clarification.
“I do not know.”
Though some part of her wanted a happier answer than that, Hettie knew anything else would’ve been a platitude. Clinging to his hand, she turned her attention to the skaters. Somewhere nearby, a street performer braved the cold and their lone violin rang out with the bright melody of “I Saw Three Ships.” Hettie couldn’t help but hum along; she didn’t know how they managed to play whilst their fingers must be chilled to the bone, but she welcomed the bit of Christmas cheer.
“The children are beside themselves,” he said with a sigh. Hettie’s gaze turned to him once more, her brows pinched together as Mr. Baxter’s shoulders slumped into that all-too-familiar position, his eyes downcast. “This is no little thing to them, and I fear it will be some time before…”
Dropping his head, Mr. Baxter sighed. “I have done so much damage to my family already. I feel as though I made the best decision I could’ve in the situation, but had I been a stronger leader for my family, perhaps my boys would be more brothers than friendly foes and our family wouldn’t be struggling. I count myself lucky that Charity was able to see the error of her mother’s ways, but I fear the rest of my children have followed in Dolores’s footsteps, caring more about vanity and social standing than strength of character. Had I chosen differently, perhaps I might’ve helped them see.”
His tone shifted, growing more distant while he spoke, as though the words were directed at the great beyond rather than her, and Hettie watched him, her brows drawing closer together. It was as though the entirety of his heart and soul were collapsing in on themselves, and the poor man was struggling to keep from disappearing beneath the weight of his disappointments.
“I’ve made so many mistakes in my life. So many poor decisions. Do I have any right to put my children through this? I have failed them in so many ways—”
“Have you made mistakes? Certainly, but no more than any other parent,” said Hettie. “You had an impossible situation in your home, and you did the best you could to keep your children from being on the front lines of a never-ending war.”
“Yet my weakness has caused them pain and continues to do so.”
There was such bleakness and finality to that statement, as though he truly believed himself to be the author of all their family’s woes. Though Hettie was newly acquainted with the Baxters, she knew the man at her side well enough to believe with utter conviction that his weaknesses may have caused some heartache, but that he had done more to heal and help than naught.
Hettie felt the meaning beneath his words, and they were so much more than mere self-deprecation. It was the tone of a man readying himself to end a courtship—she felt it in her bones. And for all her previous doubts about the rightness of their relationship, Hettie knew there was nothing more right and proper than loving this man.
Shifting to slip her arm through his, she drew closer, leaning against him and resting her head against his shoulder.
“What do you want, Mr. Baxter? What should we do?”
His breath shuddered as he filled his lungs. “My children are unhappy, Miss Stillwell. What right have I to do this to them? When I have caused them so much heartache already, surely it is my duty—”
Straightening, Hettie pressed a hand to his lips, silencing his words. She held his gaze, looking deep into the depths of his eyes, and whispered, “That was not my question. Again and again, you speak of your children’s desires and what they wish for you to do and you wish for them, but I want to know—what do you desire?”
She lifted her hand from his lips, and the moment he was free to do so, he spoke without hesitation or qualification, giving her his answer with firm resolve.
“You.”
That one word sank deep into Hettie’s heart, burning like a hot coal until she couldn’t feel the bite in the winter air. It was no grand oration or declaration of love, but the sentiment infused in that single answer filled her as fully as if he’d asked her to marry him.
