Yet Hamilton Baxter thought it universally accepted that Harriet Stillwell was a gorgeous creature worthy of being an artist’s muse. And with a quick flip through the book, it was clear to see she now occupied that role. Outward beauty was not the measure of a person, but oh, how wonderful it was to know that Baxter thought her the loveliest of ladies.
Gazing into his eyes, Hettie couldn’t help but acknowledge that one needn’t accept reality as it was. Whether or not anyone else believed it, he thought her beautiful—just as she thought him handsome. For though he was veering quickly toward his dotage, with more gray than brown in his hair, Hettie couldn’t help but think him a dashing suitor. Perhaps the young Miss Stillwell wouldn’t have recognized the appeal of his features, but the present one felt a stirring she couldn’t deny.
And so she yanked on his arm, pulling him close enough to press her lips to his.
Chapter 25
Despite so many near misses since they’d started courting, kissing Hettie shocked Baxter to the core. Of course, it was quite a pleasant sort of shock. The type that had him casting aside good sense and plunging into her embrace.
With her seated on the ottoman and him in the armchair, theirs was an awkward position, but Baxter quickly rectified that, tugging her into his lap. She squeaked, pulling away a fraction with wide eyes before devolving into snickers. Which Baxter silenced by capturing her in another kiss. Releasing her hand, he brought that arm around her to anchor her to him, his other traveling to her neck, resting against her cheek and jaw.
The timidity of the past disappeared in an instant, drawing him deep into the moment. Hettie filled his senses, her sweetness surrounding him, and Baxter craved more. She was like the calm in the eye of the storm. His peaceful harbor. His Hettie. Her fingers brushed the edge of his collar, and when their trembling registered in his foggy thoughts, Baxter forced himself to pull away. But there was no fear in her eyes as she met his gaze.
Perhaps he’d lived a cowardly life, but Baxter couldn’t help but feel as though she’d been gifted to him. A recompense for trying his best. A perfect bit of happiness and peace after living so long without either.
“Hettie, my heart aches when you are gone,” he whispered. He quickly added, “It aches whenever you are near, and I cannot touch you or hold you. It simply aches all the time at the thought of you. Even seeing you fills me with such joy that I feel ready to burst.”
Whether it was too early to speak such things, Baxter didn’t know, but he couldn’t deny it any longer. Of course, he wished for something more eloquent, but the words tumbled forth as he tried to explain the inexplicable. But he was no orator, and there were only three words that could encapsulate his meaning.
“I love you,” he whispered.
Her dark eyes widened at that declaration, and Baxter couldn’t regret it. For several silent heartbeats, they watched each other, and though he knew he ought to feel some flutter of fear at laying himself so bare, he couldn’t. This wonderful lady deserved to know just how beloved she was.
His fingers brushed against her cheek, and Baxter whispered, “You needn’t say—”
“And I love you,” she echoed.
He stiffened, his brows rising a fraction as he stared at her. For all that he didn’t regret offering up this bit of his heart, Baxter hadn’t truly expected anything in return, yet Hettie sat there, cuddled upon his lap, her eyes holding his as she returned those words to him with conviction and strength.
His lips stretched into a broad smile, and he repeated himself. “I love you, Hettie.”
Another little laugh escaped, and she responded once more, “And I love you, Baxter.”
Eyes drifting closed, they leaned in together, the touch of their lips filled with such tenderness as he held her. Baxter hadn’t known that such bliss existed, yet here it was. His dearest Hettie.
“What is the meaning of this?” Matthias’s voice sliced through the silence, shattering the haze that fogged Baxter’s thoughts. He and Hettie leapt from the chair as his eldest son swept into the room, his expression full of thunder. Quick on his heels came Stanley, adding his indignation to his brother’s as they stared at the pair.
“What is going on?” asked Stanley.
“Camilla is beside herself because Miss Stillwell keeps blustering about the house as though she is its mistress, and I just discovered her and our father in a compromising position,” said Matthias, and to make a wretched moment all the worse, his wife let out a gasp worthy of a melodrama as she followed in the boys’ wake.
“She has been throwing herself at Father since the moment they met,” added Camilla with a scowl.
“That is not true,” said Baxter, though none of them paid him any mind.
“What is she even doing here?” asked Stanley.
“Charity asked for her—” But still, his children ignored his very existence as the three spoke over one another, and Baxter’s breath caught in his lungs. What had been a beautiful moment had crumbled to pieces, leaving him stripped of his usual reserve. His heart felt like a wound, raw and unprotected, and Baxter didn’t know what to say to calm the children down.
Hettie stiffened at his side, and she shifted as though to distance herself, but Baxter latched onto her hand, keeping her anchored in place—right where she needed to be. She turned to gaze at him, and though his attention was fixed on the chaos before him, he held fast to her.
Whatever was to come Hettie was where she belonged.
*
Though she didn’t think of herself as a wilting flower, Hettie felt weak and shaky as the torrent of anger swirled about the room. The raised voices sliced through her nerves, leaving her feeling far more vulnerable than before. Only the firmness of Baxter’s hold allowed her to feel a modicum of peace in the storm.
“Quiet!” barked Mr. Goswick, and though Matthias and Camilla glared at him, they did as told. As he turned his attention to his father, Mr. Goswick’s gaze fell to their joined hands, and his jaw clenched. His hard eyes rose to meet his father, fully ignoring Hettie.
