“But I cannot help but feel as though we are not a good match.”
Lowering himself to his chair, Baxter tried to keep his expression neutral, but it was difficult to maintain the facade when the implications rang in his thoughts. If Stanley and Miss Alice were not courting, then he and Miss Stillwell would have no outings to chaperone. Perhaps their paths might cross once more, but Baxter had few friends in town anymore, his social calendar was guided by Stanley’s, and nothing encouraged two people to avoid each other more than a failed courtship.
“Love is not an instantaneous thing; otherwise courtships wouldn’t be necessary,” said Baxter. “And three weeks is not a long time. It takes longer than that to know a person—”
“Not so,” said Stanley with a shake of his head. “I knew in an instant that my lovely Gwen was meant to be my wife. There was no effort or time needed, for our souls were like two halves, fitting together in perfect unison.”
Pausing, Stanley stared off at the far wall. “This feels as though I am settling for second best. Pursuing someone I could never love as much as my dear Gwen.”
Baxter’s brows drew close together, his mind struggling to piece together an argument, though he didn’t know how to combat that. And despite his best efforts, he couldn’t forge together anything useful when his stomach was busy twisting itself in knots.
“But then, what am I doing, having any sort of celebration?” asked Stanley, throwing his arms wide as he turned on his heel and marched back to the fireplace. “This is our first holiday without Mother, and we are beginning with a grand party?”
The blood in his veins chilled, filling Baxter with that old familiar feeling, settling in like a lead weight around his neck. Dolores’s absence hadn’t once crossed his thoughts in the past few weeks. Of late, her presence had slipped from his mind, and as much as that realization made his insides roil, the feeling doubled in intensity when Baxter considered just how contented he’d been in that time.
The guilt returned in force, amplified as his son paced the room, working through demons that Baxter didn’t share. But then, Stanley had loved his wife. He still did.
“You needn’t fret, son,” said Baxter, searching for some offering to give his boy. “Your mother wouldn’t want us to forgo the festivities. You know how much she adored parties. No doubt, she would be pleased.”
He managed to speak those words without stumbling, although few things ever seemed to please Dolores—and they rarely included others’ amusement. But Stanley paused and looked at his father. There was still hesitation in his gaze, and Baxter rose to his feet and motioned toward the door.
“We can celebrate in her memory,” he said.
Stanley’s shoulders fell, and he nodded, following his father’s prodding as the pair wandered out of the library. Baxter rested an arm around his son’s shoulders as they followed the corridor, though he didn’t know what more to say.
But both men straightened at the sound of raised voices. Stanley let out a heavy sigh and shook off his father’s arm, taking the stairs at a quick pace. Turning the corner, he pushed open the parlor door. Matthias and Camilla were facing off with Charity, their words coming in a quick stream that made it impossible to discern their meaning.
When Matthias spied his younger brother, he rounded on Stanley and jabbed a finger in his direction. “Is it true?”
Stanley merely stared at his brother with a raised brow, and Charity flung her arms wide with an exasperated huff and plunked onto the sofa. Stepping further into the parlor, Baxter shut the door behind him, though it would do little good to hide the conversation from any servant who wished to hear.
“What good does this do?” asked Charity.
“I didn’t ask your opinion on the matter,” said Matthias with a scowl, though if he intended to cow his sister, it was a poor job, for she merely folded her arms and watched him with narrowed eyes. Rounding on Stanley once more, he repeated himself. “Is it true?”
“As amusing as it is to see you all in a dither, I cannot answer you unless you give me more context,” replied Stanley in a dismissive tone.
Drawing in a breath, Matthias clarified through gritted teeth. “Juniper Court. Are you in contact with the tenants? I heard a report that they discussed some of their proposed improvements with you.”
“It is our family home. Why shouldn’t they speak to me about them?” replied Stanley.
Matthias stepped forward, but his wife moved in front of him, facing off with her brother-in-law.
“Do not play games, Stanley!” shouted Camilla. “You know very well why your brother is upset. It isn’t your responsibility—”
“That is wonderful news!” replied Stanley with raised brows. “Has Matthias finally made it profitable?”
“How dare you!” growled the man in question. “I am the heir. Juniper Court is mine, and I have done my utmost to see it thrive. It is my inheritance—”
“A bankrupt inheritance,” added Stanley.
“But it is mine, and not yours! Do not get all high and mighty with me, Stanley,” continued Matthias. “Grandfather gave you his bank, and all you’ve managed to do is keep it on course. That is hardly worthy of note.”
“And do not forget that when the family’s income deteriorated, you begged me for a position with Goswick & Co., and I know precisely how skilled you are at managing investments and finances,” retorted Stanley.
Baxter’s gaze fell to the ground, his chest constricting as the two bickered back and forth about the estate. The elder son claimed his stake whilst the younger reiterated his skills with money and profits, all the while condemning the current state of the property; one being denied his grand inheritance whilst the other was made to spend his to assist in keeping the family solvent. Neither man said the words outright, but it was rife in the subtext of the conversation.
Like jackals, the two were fighting over the scraps of a carcass that had been felled by Hamilton Baxter. Tucking his hands behind him, he drifted back into the corner.
