“No,” replied Stanley with a shake of his head as he continued back to the fireplace. “Yes. No. Nothing in particular. I just feel out of sorts.” Then, giving his sister a knowing look, he added, “And I fully anticipate things being a bit beastly at times. It always happens when Matthias and Camilla are about.”
Baxter frowned, though neither child noticed him. The hard words, true though they were, sat uneasily in his heart. The criticism was warranted, but it made him feel just as out of sorts as Stanley.
Pausing at the fireplace, Stanley turned and murmured, “We ought to go to the parlor, as the guests will arrive soon.”
Baxter rose to his feet and moved to assist his daughter, who had far more trouble budging from her seat. Straightening her evening gloves, Charity ran a hand down her skirts, though she slanted a look at her father, begging him to lead her somewhere other than into the party.
“You will like the Stillwells,” he whispered, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm.
“Though sharing Christmas Eve with strangers is not my ideal way to celebrate the holiday, I am anxious to meet them,” she said with a smile and patted his arm. “I am quite curious to meet the impressive Miss Stillwell. From what you’ve said of her, she seems like just the sort of lady one wishes to know. And there is Miss Alice as well.”
“What is this?” asked Stanley, drawing their attention back to Baxter’s armchair and the parcel sitting on the table beside it.
“A gift from a friend,” replied Baxter, though he didn’t know why he didn’t just say who that “friend” was. Yet he couldn’t admit the truth, either. The conversation and corresponding present felt too personal to share with just anyone. “I mentioned I used to draw and paint—”
“You aren’t thinking of starting it up again?” asked Stanley with a furrowed brow.
“Gentlemen dabble in such things—”
But that objection stopped when his son sent a faint sneer at the offending objects. “Not a self-respecting one.”
“That is nonsense,” said Charity, tilting her chin upwards. “Thomas’s closest friend is a gentleman in every sense of the word, and he is an avid artist.”
Stanley glanced at his sister, and though he said nothing specific, there was a dismissal clear in his gaze and the curl of his lip.
As Charity had been far beyond her majority and free to marry as she saw fit, there had been no legal course of action Dolores could’ve taken to forbid her daughter’s match to a mere naval lieutenant, but that hadn’t stopped her from making her feelings on the subject well known. Or from tainting her other children’s opinions on the subject.
Though most of society considered naval officers gentlemen, Dolores’s lofty opinions only gave that distinction to those whose career had garnered them wealth or glory—any rank lower than captain need not apply. All of which left Thomas Callaghan far beneath her notice and the notice of the rest of her children.
Baxter rested his free hand atop hers, giving her a little squeeze, but Charity stared her brother down without flinching. Then, turning to look at her father, she gave him a gentle smile.
“You paint and sketch to your heart’s content, Papa. I think it’s marvelous.”
Stanley let out a sharp breath that carried the faint sound of an oath, and he turned back to the fireplace. Giving his daughter another pat on the hand and nodding for her to go on without him, Baxter turned back to his son.
“What is the matter?” he asked, once the library door was shut behind her.
Chapter 5
Leaning against the mantel shelf, Stanley stared into the fireplace. As this room wasn’t likely to be used again today, the flames were dying down, but the last flickers danced across the coals.
“I think it was a mistake to invite the Stillwells tonight,” he murmured with a frown at the embers.
Baxter froze in place, staring at his son. Unsure what to say, he remained silent, waiting for some direction.
“It is too forward to include them in such a celebration—gives them the wrong impression.” Stanley tugged at his cuffs, straightening the already straight articles as he frowned at the fire.
“If this were Michaelmas, I could see your meaning, as we usually reserve that evening for our family, but Christmas Eve is merely the beginning of the Christmas season. Only minimally more significant than any normal evening. Nothing remarkable.”
Turning from the fireplace, Stanley glanced out at the room but in a manner that didn’t seem to take in any details.
“I do not know…” His voice faltered, and he paced the length of the room once more.
For all that his son didn’t finish that thought, Baxter felt his meaning well enough.
“Miss Alice is a fine young lady…” added Stanley, though his words faded again.
“That she is,” replied Baxter as his cravat tightened around his throat.
