“Thank the heavens he has finally come,” whispered Hettie. “I was about ready to write to the First Lord of the Admiralty and demand his ship return to port.”
“There is nothing they can do about weather delays—”
“For six weeks? After being denied shore leave for so long and only putting into ports too far for them to travel to one another, it is unacceptable that he has been so delayed.”
Pressing a kiss to her temple, Baxter watched the sweet reunion as Charity greeted her husband with great enthusiasm. His eyes widened as the pair began kissing, the sweetness fading into something that wasn’t intended for public consumption. Clearing his throat, he nudged his wife and turned them away from the window.
Hettie chuckled. “It is only some kissing, my love.”
“Yes, but there are some things a father doesn’t need to see.” Then, before she could tease him further, Baxter threw out a distraction. “And what of your family? Have they decided whether or not they are joining us for the holiday?”
Taking his arm, Hettie wandered toward the door. “It is too far for some of the children to travel, and they decided to descend upon Bath instead, so Victor wishes to remain there.”
“Are you certain you do not wish to join them?” he asked as they stepped into the corridor.
“We have already decided—”
“I do not care if it is difficult to make the journey with the roads as they are. We will find a way.”
Hettie smiled and leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek. “You are a dear, but I want our first Christmas together to be in our home. Perhaps next year.”
Their home. Two words that never failed to fill Baxter with contentment, for never had they been truer.
As it had taken many months to negotiate with and relocate their tenants, the new Mr. and Mrs. Baxter had only taken up residence in Juniper Court recently. Yet even in the few short weeks since their arrival, Hettie had made her mark on the house. Baxter couldn’t even describe how she’d done it. The furnishings and decorations were much the same, with only little adjustments here and there, yet it felt like an entirely new building to him.
From the top of the stairs, they heard the front door opening, ushering in Charity and her husband, and the silent house immediately filled with noise and merriment as Biddie joined her parents. Though Baxter was eager to join them, Hettie stopped him to straighten his cravat. Her hands moved quickly with the folds, smoothing out the fabric, and Baxter watched her as she examined her work. The slight quirk of her lips as she considered what needed doing; the gentle smoothing of his lapels once she was content.
Baxter was struck by the sight she made. So radiant and lovely. His dearest Hettie had swept into his life without warning and altered it into something he didn’t recognize. Something so much better. His pulse rapped a quick beat against his chest, filling him with such strength and vitality that he felt like a man half his age.
“I almost forgot to remind you that we have our painting lessons tomorrow.” Hettie’s gaze rose to meet his, and like so many times before, she seemed unaware of the effect she had on him. “Mr. Reeve asked that we move it forward, as he is traveling to Colchester to visit his daughter.”
Unable to control himself a moment longer, Baxter pulled her into his arms and kissed her. With gentle touches, he tried to convey the feelings pulsing in his veins; there were no actions or words that could ever express just how much he loved her, but he never stopped trying.
When he finally released her, he couldn’t help a little smirk when she gazed at him dazedly.
“I am just very pleased about our lessons,” he quipped.
“I can tell,” she replied with a smile.
***
There was a time and season for everything, but it was a truth eternal that people often believed that time and season were always “later” and never “now,” allowing the years to pass by without action. Certainly, there were responsibilities one must place first, but it was easy to allow those demands to edge out all else, never giving way.
And then one day, one was suddenly in her sixth decade of life, struggling to make her once limber fingers perform as they ought.
Taking a deep breath, Hettie forced herself not to scowl as she slowly moved through the scales. She wouldn’t have claimed a natural propensity toward music, but in her youth, she’d boasted a mediocre ability. But for all that age brought experience, it also wore away one’s mental and physical dexterity., making it far more difficult to acquire new skills and talents.
No matter. Hettie forced her fingers to move about the flute’s keys, and though they struggled to find their proper places, she was pleased to hear the clear sound coming forth. Having played the pianoforte, she’d never imagined just how difficult it was to wring notes from a woodwind. One simply had to press the piano key and the sound emerged, but with this instrument, there were so many variations of the mouth and breathing that one must master first.
But the notes came out clear as she moved through her fingering exercises with more ease than the week before, which made any practice a success.
A knock at the sitting room door had her lowering the flute and calling out to the interruption. A maid entered with a bob and offered a stack of post. Though Hettie wished she was diligent enough to ignore it, she seized upon the interruption and set the instrument aside. Rising from her stiff-backed seat, which was perfect for her practices but terrible for relaxation, Hettie shifted to the sofa as she sorted through the correspondence.
Pausing, she stared at the third letter, which bore the seal of her eldest son-in-law. The shock of it held her hostage for a long moment before she cast aside the others and opened it, her eyes darting to the signature.
Camilla had written. Or ought she to call the lady Mrs. Baxter? Truth be told, she’d not spoken to anyone from Baxter’s family (beyond Charity), so she wasn’t certain what to call them, despite the familial tie giving her the right to call them by their given names.
But that wasn’t important, and Hettie’s attention turned to the scant lines her daughter-in-law had written.
