Hettie was pushing open the door before she had time to rethink her action, but she could not remain silent a moment longer. The ladies both glanced at the intruder, though Charity’s expression was more one of relief than irritation (as opposed to her sister-in-law, who was most certainly feeling the latter).
“Mrs. Baxter, what a surprise,” said Hettie with a bright smile. “That is kind of you to visit Charity, but as you well know, she needs to conserve her strength—”
“She would conserve more strength if she chose the wiser course and hired a wet nurse,” said Mrs. Baxter, matching Hettie’s false levity.
Just at that moment, Charity struggled with a great yawn, which set Biddie squirming and squawking before quieting once more when her mother adjusted her hold and settled again so the child could enjoy her dinner.
“No doubt you are correct, Camilla. You always are, but I fear I am simply exhausted. I would like to close my eyes for a few minutes,” said Charity. “Though I will call should I require your assistance.”
With none-too-subtle nudges, Hettie herded the lady toward the door, but before she followed Mrs. Baxter out, she moved to Charity’s bedside. The tea tray sitting there was still hot enough for her to make the lady a quick cup. Then, ensuring that the bassinet on the opposite side was set within reaching distance, she nodded toward the table beside it.
“I placed your sewing and your book there, and I will be in the library, should you require anything else.”
Charity rested heavily against her pillows, her head beginning to loll; it seemed her feigned exhaustion was not so feigned after all. “You are heaven sent. Thank you again, Hettie.”
“My great pleasure, Charity.” Pausing at the door, she added, “And do not let her fluster you about the choices you make. Everyone is convinced there is only one perfect way to parent, but to date, no one has yet discovered it.”
Another sleepy smile from Charity, and Hettie slipped into the corridor. The library door was open, and she paused to listen for any sounds before slowly peeking inside the room to find it empty, except for Baxter sitting beside the fireplace. The sketchbook she’d gifted him was resting on his lap, and his whole attention was fixed on his work as his pencil moved quickly across the page, marking the paper without hesitation.
His brows inched together ever so slightly as his eyes followed the lines, and Hettie found herself smiling as she crossed the room. The floorboards creaked, but he gave no sign that he’d heard her, and when she finally touched his forearm propped up on the arm of the chair, Baxter gave a start. His eyes darted to hers, but it took a few blinks before they focused enough on her to truly see.
Lowering his feet from the ottoman, he moved to stand, but she tugged on his arm, forcing him back down as she sat on the footstool. There were seats aplenty in the room (as providing ample reading space was one of the primary purposes of a library), but none of the others was close enough to Baxter to suit her.
“What are you drawing?” she asked.
“Just a sketch.”
“May I see it?”
Baxter mumbled something incoherent as he shut the book, shoving it to the side. Though Hettie’s heart stung a touch, she knew it was a silly thing to feel, as it was natural for him to be hesitant when not long ago he was embarrassed by the mere thought of engaging in such a “lowly” pastime.
“I have made inquiries about flute lessons,” she said with a faint smile. “With all the excitement of the last day, I haven’t had time to tell you.”
“You have?”
She waved a vague hand. “Of course, I haven’t done much more than write to a few people who might connect me with a teacher, but you inspired me to take that step.”
Baxter sat there, blinking at her as his brows drew together. If it had been anyone else, she might’ve felt uneasy about the scrutiny, but it was her Baxter watching her with such intensity, and it drew forth a pleasant blush on her cheeks. Apparently, having her first beau was devolving her into a silly young miss. But oh, how pleasant it was.
The hand closest to her reached forward to take hold of hers, and Hettie smiled, her thumb brushing across his knuckles. Without a word, he offered her the sketchbook, and Hettie stared at it.
“You do not have to—”
“I know,” he replied, nudging it toward her again.
The quiet but firm manner in which he said it and proffered her the book set her heart sputtering, and though it seemed such a little thing, Hettie couldn’t help but feel the significance of it. Keeping her gaze on his, she opened the book and the pages naturally fell open to the last drawing. There was the faintest flash of fear in his gaze, and Hettie squeezed Baxter’s hand in reassurance before turning her attention to the page.
She couldn’t breathe as she stared at the faint outline of her own features. The sketch was still in its infancy, but it was easy enough to identify the subject. Her head was tilted downward, though one could still see the faint hint of a smile on her lips. With only a few flicks of his pencil, he’d somehow managed to capture her.
“I cannot get your eyes right…” he murmured, drawing her attention back to the artist.
“It is beautiful,” she whispered, struggling with the words as her throat tightened against them. “You made me look so beautiful.”
Baxter’s brows rose at that. “But you are.”
So simple. So matter-of-fact. He spoke without hesitation or qualification. If anything, there was a hint of a tone that implied she was ridiculous for even questioning that fact. Hettie’s heart swelled, pressing against her ribs until she couldn’t breathe.
She had learned long ago to accept the world for what it was. There was no good to be had in pretending to be something she was not. That didn’t mean she thought herself unsightly or plain, but no one other than her family had ever claimed her to be more than passably pretty—and theirs was hardly an unbiased opinion.
