Timeless Christmas Romance

by Laurel O'Donnell et al.

  “I—” She gasped before she managed another word. The ladder tipped precariously as she shifted. To her horror, the ladder moved one way, and she went the other.

  ~*~

  Baxter’s heart flew to his throat at the sight of the falling woman. Without a second thought, he rushed forward, arms outstretched, and caught her.

  The attractive young woman had blonde hair and lovely blue eyes that had gone wide with the near miss. “You startled me.”

  “That makes two of us,” he said, still cradling her tight against his chest. “Are you all right?”

  “Who are you?” she asked as she blinked up at him, bringing long lashes to his notice.

  “I believe I should be the one asking that question.” He hadn’t slept well on the fifteen-day journey from Bombay to London, but his present confusion couldn’t be blamed solely on his tiredness.

  The state of the exterior of the home in which his parents lived was nothing like he expected. The house was in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint. The steps required repair. And the garden was more of a jungle than those in Bombay. Where had the money he’d sent each month gone?

  The lady in his arms suddenly pushed against him as though only now realizing he still held her. He set her on her feet, keeping his hands on her slender waist to make certain she had her balance.

  Her cheeks were a lovely shade of pink, complementing her creamy skin. Her hair was drawn back into a loose chignon with a few wisps near her ears. A black rim encircled the blue of her eyes, giving them an exotic appearance. Blue eyes were a rare sight in India, and he found himself staring into hers with fascination.

  “Who are you?” he repeated, suddenly desperate to know.

  She stepped back, removing his hands from her waist, making him realize he still held her. Her cheeks flushed an even deeper shade as she drew back another step, one brow raised. “I belong here. The question is, who are you?”

  Stubborn thing. Beautiful, but stubborn. She smelled of violets. Intelligence glittered in her eyes. His senses were inundated by everything about her.

  “Baxter Adley,” he managed at last.

  The mix of reactions that crossed her face amused him. Shock. Denial. Curiosity. Awareness.

  Damn if he didn’t feel all those too. He gave himself a mental shake. Surely his reaction was only due to his exhaustion, not because he appreciated the way she felt in his arms. He reached for the ladder and set it upright as he glanced at the chandelier. “You do know there’s a rope to lower that.”

  She lifted her chin, folding her arms before her, obviously displeased with his remark.

  Ah, he thought. She didn’t like to be questioned. That only made him want to do so again, just to see the spark in her eyes.

  “I’m well aware of that. However, it’s quite heavy.”

  “Why wouldn’t the footman assist you?”

  Her lips pursed into a bow that shot an arrow of awareness straight through him. He had to glance away in response. What on earth was wrong with him?

  “What relation are you to Mr. and Mrs. Adley?” she asked.

  He risked looking back at her, surprised. She couldn’t have been acquainted with them long if she didn’t know that. Or was something else afoot? “Their son.”

  Those lips parted as her gaze swept over him from head to foot and back. “Truly?”

  He frowned, unable to make sense of her question. Was she the person his mother had mentioned in her last letter?

  “Mr. Baxter?” He turned to see Watsford entering the foyer, a candle in hand and a wide smile on his face.

  Baxter’s world settled slightly as he strode forward to clasp the butler’s hand and shoulder. “Good to see you, Watsford.”

  “And you as well, sir. We weren’t expecting you.” His voice held a slight note of reproach.

  “I wanted to surprise Mother and Father. Are they in?”

  “Your mother is.” Before Watsford could say more, the drawing room door opened, revealing his mother.

  “Did I hear something fall?” she asked, cane in hand, before her gaze landed on him.

  Baxter’s heart squeezed at the sight of her, a rush of love coming over him. He shouldn’t have stayed away so long.

  “Baxter!” The delight that spread over her face made him smile. “Whatever are you doing here?” She dropped her cane to spread her arms wide to embrace him.

  “Mother.” Everything else fell away as he held her tight. She felt frailer somehow, a dimmer shade of her previous self. But he’d worry over that later. The tight band around his chest loosened for the first time since he’d received her last letter. His relief at finding her well took precedence over all else.

  “Let me look at you,” she said and leaned back, putting her hands on his cheeks to frame his face. “Baxter.” Tears sparkled in eyes a paler green than his own as she studied him. “You’ve been gone too long.”

  Her close inspection allowed him to do one of his own. Fine lines that hadn’t been there before tugged at him. He hated the idea of her aging. “You look as beautiful as always.” That much he knew beyond a doubt.

  The sound of a quickly indrawn breath reminded him of the young lady’s presence.

  “And you are a dear,” his mother said as she released him. She took his hand and turned him toward the woman. “Allow me to introduce Miss Violet Fairchild. She’s been assisting us with...a few things of late.”

  Of course her name was Violet, the same fragrance she wore. “Oh?” He was quite curious as to what those things might be.

  “She lives next door and has been such a blessing since we’ve come to know her.”

  Guilt reared its ugly head, but he tamped it down as best he could. He was pleased his mother and father had companionship of some sort. Why the young woman had been attempting to clean the chandelier was a question he’d ask later.

  Miss Fairchild dipped into a curtsy as he bowed.

  “Fairchild?” he asked, as the name brought forth a memory. “I believe I had the pleasure of being introduced your sister prior to my departure.”

  “Letitia, perhaps.”

  “I believe so.” This Fairchild was much different in appearance than the lady he’d met. “Thank you for seeing over my parents.”

  She smiled slightly and gave a nod. “My pleasure. They’re a true delight.”

  “A delight?” He couldn’t help but question the term. While he loved them, he also knew his father. Had things changed so much in the time he’d been gone?

  “Watsford, will you bring in tea?” his mother asked.

  “Of course, ma’am.” He smiled broadly at Baxter again. “So good to have you home.” He hurried down the hall, candle still in hand, to see to his mother’s request.

  “How long will you be in town?” his mother asked as he retrieved her cane. She led the way to the drawing room, her limp from a riding accident in her youth still noticeable. She paused before he could answer to look back at Miss Fairchild. “Do join us, my dear.”

  “I’ll be there in a moment,” she said, her smile forced.

  He raised a brow as he glanced at her, wondering if she intended to finish her attempt to clean the chandelier. The urge to forbid her from doing so crossed his mind, but he resisted.

  A lovely blush rose up her cheeks as if she’d read his thoughts. For some reason, the idea almost made him smile.

  “Where’s Father?” Baxter asked.

  “On one of his rambles.”

  His father had been taking long walks in the afternoon for as long as Baxter could remember, regardless of whether they were living in the countryside or the depths of London. He called it his “thinking time.”

  “What has brought you to London?” His mother sat on one side of the settee, patting the place beside her.

  “To see you and Father, of course.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Why don’t I believe you?”

  “What other reason could there be?”

  “A business matter,
no doubt.” She waited as though expecting a confession.

  “Not at all. I realized when I received your last letter how much I wanted to see you.” He decided now was not the time to mention his concerns. Certainly not while Miss Fairchild was listening.

  “You’re only here for a visit?” his mother asked.

  “Yes.” He could see how much his answer disappointed her. Had she expected him to say he’d decided to move back to London?

  Before he could say more, Watsford carried in a tea tray. Miss Fairchild was directly behind him.

  Baxter stood, using the distraction of Watsford’s arrival to have a word with Miss Fairchild. “Done cleaning?” he asked with a hint of a smile.

  She lifted her chin ever so slightly and met his gaze. “Now that you’re here, there’s no need for me to do it.”

  He frowned, wondering at her answer. Her pluck was admirable, but where was the footman to do such tasks? His gaze swept the room and noticed not all was as it should be. A worn rug covered the floor. The drapes were faded from the sun but had not been replaced. His mother had always kept their home in excellent condition. Was the current state a reflection of her no longer noticing such details or something else? Even his mother’s dress looked far from new.

  “Violet, would you be so kind as to pour?”

  Baxter hid his surprise at the familiar form of address, a sign that Miss Fairchild must’ve spent a significant amount of time with his parents to be so welcomed here. He watched as she sat in the chair before the low table and reached for the teapot. The modest plate of sandwiches and biscuits were a shadow of what they’d been in his youth. But he couldn’t make anything of that when he hadn’t told them he was coming.

  The butler stepped close to Baxter. “Mrs. Watsford asked me to pass on her pleasure that you’re home.”

  “Please give her my best. I look forward to seeing her soon.”

  The butler nodded and stepped out of the room.

  Before Baxter could retake a seat, his father’s voice sounded from the doorway.

  “You’re not having tea without me, are you?”

  He turned, wondering how his father would react to his presence. He’d noticeably aged as well, but Baxter hoped worry no longer caused the lines. His hair was more gray than black. His gaze caught on Baxter and the joy that lit his eyes caused Baxter to grin.

  “Son!”

  Baxter met him part way. His father grasped his shoulders, his gaze searching. For what, Baxter didn’t know.

  “How delightful that you’ve come.” His father’s smile warmed him.

  “It’s so good to see you.”

  Baxter’s departure had been necessary as far as he was concerned, but his father hadn’t agreed. His guilt over being taken in by the scheme had changed him, shaking his belief in himself and humanity.

  Baxter’s determination to find a way to recoup the loss had created an unexpected rift between them rather than reassuring his father as he’d wanted. He hoped the money he sent home showed both his parents how much he cared.

  His father turned to his mother. “Isn’t this wonderful?”

  She beamed. “Wonderful, indeed.”

  His father’s gaze caught on Violet. “Did you meet Miss Fairchild? She’s become a dear friend to us.”

  Baxter nodded, trying to reconcile the man he’d left with the smiling man standing before him. The differences were many. He hoped his father had forgiven himself for the drastic change in their lives. In his own eyes, there had never been anything to forgive.

  Did Baxter have Miss Fairchild to thank for both the warm reception and the acceptance in his father’s expression?

  Chapter Four

  Violet listened and watched with curiosity as she sipped her tea. While she knew Mr. and Mrs. Adley had a son as they’d spoken of him a few times, his arrival had been a complete surprise. Apparently, his parents had been equally as shocked as she was.

  Baxter’s handsome appearance made her think of foreign shores with his tanned skin and unusual jade green eyes. His dark hair and strong build made him impossible to ignore. Being cradled in his arms had been an experience she couldn’t describe, nor would she soon forget.

  The thought of those brief moments sent her pulse fluttering even now. She’d never reacted to a man like that, but then again, she’d never been held like that either. Surely her fright was the reason for the lingering dancing sensation in her stomach.

  What caught her notice even more than the way he looked was his obvious affection for his parents. That melted her heart. Yet there was an unmistakable watchfulness between Baxter and his father. Perhaps her sister, Holly, was wearing off on her as she wondered at the cause of the undercurrents of tension running between them.

  “How are things in Bombay?” Mr. Adley asked as Violet refilled their cups.

  Heat filled her cheeks as she poured for Baxter. Good heavens. She’d blushed more since his arrival than she had in the past year.

  “Busy.” His deep voice rumbled through her, causing her to tremble slightly. “Still lucrative, though challenging at times.”

  “Do you enjoy living there?” Violet asked. She couldn’t imagine living somewhere so different from London. Nor a place so far away from everything familiar.

  Those arresting green eyes shifted to her, and she felt as if he still held her. She caught her breath, teapot in midair.

  “Parts of it are enjoyable. The weather is quite different than in London.”

  “The plant life you’ve written to us about must be something special to see,” Mrs. Adley said, causing Baxter’s attention to move away from Violet.

  She gratefully drew a breath and set down the pot before she spilled it.

  “Indeed, it is. The flowers are unique, as are their scents,” Baxter continued.

  Spicy? Sweet? Violet would’ve liked to ask, but the idea of drawing his attention back to her was more than she was prepared for at the moment.

  Mr. Adley watched Baxter as he spoke, a look on his face Violet couldn’t interpret. Though obviously pleased at Baxter’s presence, it almost seemed as if he had something he wanted to say but couldn’t bring himself to do so.

  Mrs. Adley’s expression spoke of her happiness at her son’s return. Three years was a long time to go without seeing family. What had caused him to stay away for that length of time? She knew the trip would be a long one, even with the opening of the Suez Canal. What had lured him to Bombay to begin with?

  His fine wool jacket and trousers fit him well and spoke of financial success. She dearly wanted to know what business he was in but didn’t want to ask. Instead, she settled for observing.

  Baxter’s gaze lingered over the room, as though he didn’t find things quite as he expected. She hoped he saw that his parents needed some assistance and intended to remain in London long enough to help.

  When a lull in the conversation filled the air, Violet asked the one question to which she dearly wanted to know the answer. “How long will you be staying?”

  That green gaze fastened on her once again. “I haven’t yet determined that.”

  “I do hope you’ll stay through the holidays,” his mother said as she reached out to pat his arm. The stark longing in her expression was more than Violet could bear.

  “That would make the season very special,” Violet added, hoping to convince him to agree.

  “A Christmas to remember,” Mr. Adley said in a quiet voice as he watched his son, his expression unreadable.

  “Do you remember what fun we used to have during the holidays?” Mrs. Adley asked, glancing between her husband and Baxter. “Ice skating. Snapdragon. Caroling. Kisses under the mistletoe.” The memories lit her face.

  “Was it Elliott, your cousin, who fell through the ice at the Miller’s pond?” Mr. Adley asked Baxter. “His clothes were nearly frozen by the time we fetched him out of the water.”

  “Oh!” Mrs. Adley’s eyes went wide as she laughed. “I’d forgotten that.”


  “I was quite young at the time. Perhaps only ten years of age. I thought him mad for venturing onto the ice when you told him not to,” Baxter added with a smile as well.

  “We gathered greenery every year with other families no matter how cold it was.” Mr. Adley rubbed his hands together as though remembering the chill all too well.

  “Remember when Molly, the Talbot’s eldest daughter, burnt the tablecloth because she didn’t know how to play snapdragon but wouldn’t admit it?” Mrs. Adley asked with a shake of her head.

  “She nearly set the drapes on fire,” Baxter added, grinning.

  Mr. Adley’s chuckle made Violet want to join in. She’d never seen the pair so animated. Baxter’s presence obviously brought forth many good memories.

  “And the dancing.” Mrs. Adley sighed with delight. “Such a lovely time.”

  “We could do all that again.” The words escaped Violet’s lips before she could stop them. Yet how could she not make the suggestion when the older couple’s eyes sparkled with such happiness at their memories?

  That sparkle faded as Mrs. Adley shared a long look with her husband as if she knew such a celebration wasn’t possible. She waved her hand to dismiss the idea. “No need for that. Ignore me. I just enjoy thinking of those times.”

  “Of course we can,” Violet insisted, shifting to the edge of her chair. While she knew their funds were tight, the activities Mrs. Adley mentioned weren’t expensive. They only required a bit of planning.

  Mr. and Mrs. Adley seemed to remain unconvinced based on the doubtful look they shared. However, neither did they refuse the idea outright.

  “Couldn’t we?” Violet turned to Baxter with a pointed stare. He’d been gone nearly three years. The least he could do was stay for Christmas and help to make it a special one for his parents.

  His expression was unreadable as he met her gaze. She raised a brow, wondering if he’d dare refuse.

  ~*~

  Baxter could only blink at the pointed stare Miss Fairchild leveled at him. He’d nearly forgotten the stories his parents shared. His memories were of the elaborate balls they’d hosted and with far too much food and drink.