“Get out.” Stanley’s sharp command punctured the sweetness of the moment, drawing his attention to them to find all three glaring at the incredible lady at his side. “I want her out of my home. That woman is not welcome here.”
Baxter straightened. “If she is not welcome, neither am I.”
That was met by another bout of silence as his children stared at him with varying degrees of horror and disgust stamped on their faces, but though his heart ached at what he knew was to come, Baxter held fast to his Hettie, and for once, he was certain about what was the right thing to do.
“Then get out,” said Stanley, pointing toward the door. “You are not welcome here until you come to your senses.”
Hettie drew in a sharp breath, but Baxter didn’t flinch. It was as though he could hear Dolores from the grave; every syllable of his son’s command was steeped in her tone and mannerisms, and though a lead weight settled into his heart, it only served to strengthen Baxter’s resolve.
“You are my children, and I will always love you.” Baxter’s tone was low and gentle, filled with the truth of that statement. “Whatever course you choose from here on out, that will never change. If you wish to cut me from your lives, that is your decision, but know that I will always welcome you into mine.”
Drawing in a deep breath, he feared he was crushing Hettie’s hand in his, though he couldn’t bear to loosen his grip as he strode from the room with her at his side.
“Mother is turning in her grave,” said Matthias as they passed, but Baxter didn’t respond. There was no denying the truth of the statement. If Dolores was aware of this moment, Baxter didn’t doubt that she would be livid. But then, she always was when she didn’t get her way in things.
Though he didn’t know what his destination was (beyond finding the front door), Baxter moved with purpose; his things could be sent for or replaced; there was only one thing in this world he couldn’t live without, and she was clinging to his hand. Their winter clothes were waiting for them, and when they stepped onto the street, the front door slammed behind them, ringing through the air like a death knell.
As they stood there on the pavement, Baxter’s breaths sharpened, his lungs heaving as the world pressed in on him, squeezing him like a vice. A fog rolled through his thoughts, and it felt as though he stood there for an eternity as the carriages and carts rolled past.
His children had turned their backs on him. Though buried beneath that sorrow was the flickering hope that all might be set to rights with time, it didn’t alter the truth that they had ejected him from their lives, even if temporarily.
Then Hettie stood before him, her dark eyes holding his. The sunshine broke through the clouds, filling his heart with light and warmth once more.
“Are you certain?” Her brows pinched together, her own anguish showing in her eyes as she repeated that question, and if he’d had any doubt concerning his choice (which he hadn’t), it would’ve evaporated at that moment. Rife in those three little words was a world of emotion, and where his children railed and demanded, Hettie was more concerned about him than herself.
But before he could say a word, her expression crumpled.
“You cannot allow this to split your family, Baxter. I cannot bear the thought of being the source of so much pain.”
“You could never be the source of pain, my love.” With his free hand, he straightened her cloak and took the opportunity to brush a touch against her cheek. “This is not your doing or mine. My children wish to control my life and future, and I am done allowing others that power.”
Despite the concern still etched in her expression, Hettie’s lips curled into a smile, and she drew in a deep breath. “I cannot tell you how happy I am to hear that, for your sake. But surely we can wait. Give them time—”
“No.” Baxter gentled the word, but he would not allow her to go down that path. Lifting her hands to his lips, he kissed her knuckles. “You are too kind for your good. But believe me when I say it will not help matters. Perhaps they may soften, but I cannot plan my future based on that uncertainty. My mind is made up. My choice is made.”
“But—”
“No.” Baxter held her hands to his chest. “For years, I have been existing. Alive but not truly living. Then I met you, and it feels as though my life has truly begun. I have waited long enough, and I will not waste another minute.”
Hettie’s eyes widened, and a tiny “Oh” escaped her lips.
“You asked me if I am certain? I have never been so certain of anything else, Hettie, and I will not give you up. Never doubt that.”
Drawing in a deep breath, she melted into him as he drew his arms around her. The passing vehicles paid them little mind, and there were few out on the street to notice the display, but regardless, Baxter needed to feel her far more than he cared about propriety.
“You are too good for me, Hamilton Baxter,” she whispered.
Though he wished to argue with her, there was little point in doing so. Years of practice had taught him to recognize a losing fight, and Hettie was too stubborn to let her statement be contested. All Baxter could do was hold her close and thank the heavens that the lady was too blind to recognize how far beyond his reach she was. Hettie Stillwell was his better in every possible way, but Baxter wasn’t going to do anything to convince her of her folly.
Chapter 27
Though not as fine as many of the houses of worship found in other parts of Bath, the Church of St. Barnabas was by no means inferior. In fact, Hettie rather thought it superior for its simplicity. The cavernous nave stretched upward, filled with the polished wood pews. The dark wood contrasted with the white plaster walls, and the texture of the parquet floors added to the aesthetic.
Though imposing in size, the interior felt comforting. Familiar.
Having spent her entire life in the same house, Hettie had attended St. Barnabas since entering this world, and as she stood beside the altar, she couldn’t help but realize that this may very well be the last time she visited the building.
“Are you certain?” asked Baxter.
