Though Hettie had not uttered that question since that painful and beautiful moment on his son’s doorstep, Baxter offered it to her at this moment—though for a different reason. Standing hand in hand at the altar, he held her gaze, waiting for her to answer, and Hettie couldn’t help the tears that gathered in her eyes as she borrowed his answer.
“I have never been so certain of anything else. Never doubt it, Baxter.” Despite speaking in a whisper, her words rang through the empty nave.
However, his troubled expression did not clear. “But we can send for your family. You needn’t be alone today. They would happily join us—”
“Hush,” she said, cutting this old argument short once more. “You said this was our marriage and our life to live, and I believe that with all my heart. This isourjourney, and I cannot think of a more fitting way to begin it than just the two of us.”
His smile matched hers, and before she knew what he was about, he pulled her into his arms, pressing his lips to hers. Throwing her arms around his neck, she accepted the token, though she had enough sense to keep it far more chaste than she’d prefer. Despite being newly introduced to kissing, in the last three days, Hettie had proven to be far too enamored with the pastime.
A throat was quietly but pointedly cleared, and when Baxter released her, Hettie couldn’t help but blush at the vicar’s arched brow.
“May I begin?” he asked in a dry tone that held more than a hint of a laugh. Which only made matters worse, for Hettie’s cheeks flamed red as she took Baxter’s arm and faced Mr. Hansford. The man may be at least a decade her junior, but he was still a man of the cloth, and she was even more grateful for the empty pews at her back.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this Man and this Woman in holy Matrimony…” And so, Mr. Hansford began the ceremony that would bind them, husband and wife, although the only congregation involved were the two witnesses the vicar had pressed into service.
Joy coursed through Hettie so strong and palpable that her muscles tensed, and she felt liable to begin dancing about on her toes. Truly a preposterous thing to do, but she couldn’t help it. Having witnessed marriages before, she knew all the words, but now it was her turn to speak the vows.
And though this setting was not what she had imagined her ceremony might look like, Hettie couldn’t picture a more fitting way for her to start her life with the man who had sacrificed so much to be with her. Though Charity was the lone Baxter to welcome the union, she was in no fit state to join them, and if Baxter wasn’t to have any family at his side, then Hettie would be that family, and he would be hers, and they would start this new journey alone. They required nothing more than that.
Hettie held Baxter’s gaze, and though she attempted to listen to the words of the ceremony, she couldn’t help but think of the man before her and how quickly a life could alter. Four weeks ago, she hadn’t known him, and it felt as though everything in her life had been rearranged, building itself into something entirely new.
Her Baxter.
*
A gentleman of Baxter’s age and experience ought to manage a bit of patience, but for all that he’d developed that virtue in diverse ways, he found himself shifting from foot to foot, silently urging the vicar to speak faster. A sennight-long courtship and a three-day engagement was hardly any time at all, yet Baxter couldn’t bear to prolong the moment.
Hettie stood there, every bit the blushing bride. Her gown was a simple white muslin, but expert hands had rendered a veritable garden of greenery along the edges, circling the arm, neck, and hem. The pale color suited her to perfection, bringing forth the rosiness in her cheeks and complementing her dark hair.
But most of all, Baxter’s heart filled to bursting at the sight of the mistletoe crown adorning her head. That simple gift from Charity was the only sign that his family celebrated the union, and though she was unable to join them, he felt her spirit there, standing as a silent witness and celebrating from afar just as Hettie’s family were doing.
And then the final words began, and Baxter’s pulse quickened, though the vicar seemed to relish each syllable, drawing it out with far too much deliberation.
“…and as ye have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged your troth each to the other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a ring, and by joining of hands; I pronounce that they be Man and Wife together, in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
The period was hardly placed on that final sentence before Baxter swept her into his arms, nearly giving in to the urge that demanded he seal this union in a similar fashion to how they’d begun the ceremony. However, the vicar was watching him with that same amused expression on his face, and Baxter forced himself to release her. Taking her hand in his, he raised it to his lips in an action that had become so very familiar of late. But when his lips touched her skin, they brushed the simple band of gold that now resided on her ring finger.
A quick signature and a few handshakes later, and Baxter swept his wife out of the church into the waiting carriage Victor had arranged for them.
Shutting the door behind them, Baxter settled onto the seat beside her, and before he could make a move, she threw her arms around him and pulled him into a kiss. With a quick hum of laughter, he fell into the embrace with all the eagerness of youth. But for all that fire and passion warmed their touches, Baxter couldn’t help but feel a stir of something deeper. Gooseflesh rose along his arms, and his head seemed to spin as he considered the very great gift he’d been given in this dear lady.
“Mr. and Mrs. Baxter,” she whispered, her words coming out in a halting chuckle. “I can hardly believe it.”
Though that name had borne far too many unpleasant associations, Baxter grinned. Mrs. Hettie Baxter. His wife.
The carriage jerked forward, pulling them apart, and Hettie laughed before settling into the crook of his arm. The mistletoe crown poked his cheek, and she tugged it from her head and reached over to place it atop his.
“Are you crowning me your Twelfth Night king?” he asked.
“Only if I am your Twelfth Night queen. But in truth, I just want to make use of it before I am forced to pack it away now that Christmas is coming to a close tonight,” she said before pressing a kiss to his cheek. “We wouldn’t want to invite bad luck for the coming year.”
“Bad luck cannot touch me,” he replied with a gentle smile. “Not with you at my side.”
Baxter blushed at the words, for they had seemed so grand and delightful in his thoughts, but speaking them aloud felt absurd. Thankfully, his bride adored absurdity, for she gave him a great, beaming smile before pulling him in for another kiss.
His beautiful bride.
*
