Timeless Christmas Romance

by Laurel O'Donnell et al.

  “I’m surprised she hasn’t visited,” his mother said. “We usually see her nearly every day.”

  Baxter had no doubt that was his fault. Her presence had unsettled him on several levels. He suspected she felt the same about him.

  He hadn’t known what to think from the way his mother had described Miss Fairchild in her letter. But he hadn’t expected a beautiful young lady with blue eyes that closely studied him, making him feel as if he’d abandoned his mother and father.

  He didn’t know why it mattered what she thought of him, but it did. Perhaps now that she realized he cared for his parents and their wellbeing, they could forego the plan for a Christmas celebration. His mother hadn’t brought it up since his arrival.

  Christmas had lost its luster in the last three years. The holiday had nearly been upon them when their circumstances changed so drastically. Since then, he’d become far more jaded about the season. That had served him well in Bombay where he could easily avoid celebrating.

  “I hope she comes by soon, so we can discuss plans for Christmas,” his mother said. “I’ve thought of a few more traditions to incorporate.”

  Baxter smothered a groan at her words. He was surprised his father hadn’t protested the idea. Perhaps he could speak to him about it to see if he truly wanted all the bother of the festivities they’d discussed.

  “What is it, Baxter?”

  He turned to see his mother studying him far too closely. Since he had no reason to suggest they not proceed with the Christmas plans, he could only attempt a disarming smile.

  “Nothing. Why do you ask?” He kicked himself for asking the latter. Of course, his mother noticed he was uncomfortable with the topic.

  “You don’t seem enthusiastic at the idea of having a special Christmas.”

  “I suppose I’d rather have a more intimate, family affair than a large party. I know that’s selfish of me, but I came home to spend time with you and father.”

  Her smile broadened once again. “I confess that I feel the same.”

  Relief filled him. Now if he could only convince her to tell that to Miss Fairchild, all of this could be avoided.

  “I would much rather do the activities I mentioned with our family. And Miss Fairchild, of course, if she’s available.”

  “Of course.” The front bell rang, preventing him from saying anything more.

  The new footman was on duty, and Baxter heard him answer. A moment later, the servant stood in the doorway. “Miss Violet Fairchild is inquiring as to whether you’re receiving.”

  “Show her in, please,” his mother said.

  Before he had a chance to brace himself properly, the woman who had unsettled him so stood in the drawing room.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting,” she said, her gaze holding on Baxter’s for a long moment.

  “Not at all.” His mother limped forward with both hands extended to take hers. “I’m so glad you’ve come. I was just thinking of you.”

  “Oh?” Again, her gaze flashed to his, the uncertainty in her expression surprising him.

  “I couldn’t wait to show you the new furnishings.” His mother released one of her hands to gesture toward the items.

  “How lovely,” Miss Fairchild said as she moved forward for a closer look, her enthusiasm genuine. “They’re perfect in here.”

  His mother beamed.

  Baxter was amused by how close the two women seemed, despite their age difference.

  “What does Mr. Adley think of them?” Miss Fairchild asked.

  “He hasn’t yet seen them. I’ll advise him that they’ve arrived.” Before Baxter could offer to do so, she was gone, leaving him alone with Miss Fairchild.

  “It’s very kind of you to see to the new furnishings.” Her gown was a pale blue and cream stripe with a modest bustle that emphasized her slim waist. The color brought out the blue of her eyes and the pink of her lips.

  Suddenly, all he could think of was the way she’d felt in his arms. Of her scent that should’ve smelled ordinary but somehow was just perfect after all the exotic fragrances he’d encountered in India. She smelled like...home.

  Unable to resist, he took several steps closer to see if he could catch the scent again.

  Her head tipped back as he drew near, leaving the creamy expanse of her neck visible along with the pulse ticking in the dip between her collarbones. Ticking frantically.

  He wrenched his gaze from that spot to see the same awareness in the blue depths of her eyes that he felt. He might not know what this spark between them was, but it seemed a shame to waste it.

  Even as he reached out a hand to touch her cheek, the sound of his parents’ voices echoed in the foyer. A quickly drawn breath as he dropped his hand was the only sound Miss Fairchild made. Was it one of regret?

  “What do you think?” his mother asked.

  Baxter turned in time to see her gaze swing from him to Miss Fairchild, a questioning expression on her face. He drew back to afford his father a better view of the new items and to give himself a moment to collect his thoughts. He couldn’t blame any of what he felt on tiredness from traveling this time.

  “Quite nice,” his father said with a nod. But Baxter could tell from the tightness of his lips that he wasn’t convinced they should’ve spent the money on the items.

  Baxter wished he could find a way to reassure his father that all would be well. The success of the importing and exporting business he’d built surprised even Baxter. He’d found an excellent source for semi-precious gems, something highly desired in England and had made a sizable profit on them. The other goods he traded did well also. But the continued success required his presence in India.

  Miss Fairchild glanced between him and his father as though sensing the tension. She walked forward to grasp his father’s arm and draw him forward. “Come give the chairs a try.”

  To Baxter’s surprise, his father did as requested, and they each sat in one.

  “Very comfortable, don’t you think, Mr. Adley?”

  Her father reluctantly nodded as he ran his hands along the arms.

  Baxter admired the way she coaxed his father into responding, even managing to gain a smile from him as he agreed that all the changes were good ones.

  “Violet,” his mother began, “I thought of a few more activities I’d like to include in our plans for Christmas.”

  “Lovely,” she replied with a wary glance at Baxter. “I was wondering if we were proceeding with the idea.”

  “I would enjoy doing so. But we want to have just a family celebration with you included, Violet.” His mother smiled at Baxter, a question in her eyes.

  He couldn’t help but frown. Since when did the plans depend on him?

  “Shall we take a few minutes to discuss them?” Miss Fairchild tipped up her chin as if daring him to refuse.

  ~*~

  Violet tapped the pen against her lips, as she sat in the Adleys’ drawing room with Mrs. Adley the following afternoon. She had written down several of the older woman’s suggestions but had yet to determine some of the details, especially where the best place would be to gather greenery. She wanted enough to decorate the drawing room, library, and dining room as well as a bough for the foyer table.

  Her mother did very little in terms of decorating for Christmas, saying she didn’t like the mess the fresh boughs made. Dripping sap could leave marks on the furniture, and dried needles created extra work for the servants, she insisted.

  Violet was beginning to think it was a shame that her family didn’t do more to enjoy the holiday, especially after hearing the stories Mr. and Mrs. Adley shared. The traditions they mentioned weren’t costly or difficult, but they took effort and planning.

  Violet had long been resigned to the fact that her mother only did such things if they benefited her or her daughters in some way. Or rather, if it would aid her daughters in making good matches. Whether her daughters enjoyed it was rarely of consequence.

  Obtaining the greenery w
as a problem. It wasn’t as if they were in the countryside where they could simply gather it. Finding it in London would be more difficult.

  She knew Baxter was reluctant to help with these tasks, but she also believed he’d do anything to please his parents. She had no choice but to use that knowledge to her advantage.

  The greenery couldn’t be brought into the house until Christmas Eve, as it was thought to bring bad luck if it was. But that meant she needed to know where to find some and how much to obtain before then, so it would be on hand.

  “What has you thinking so hard?” Mrs. Adley asked from her new wingback chair as she flipped the pages of a book.

  “Nothing.” Violet didn’t want to mention the issue as she knew the lady would suggest they forego gathering it. She disliked thinking she was inconveniencing anyone. Violet wouldn’t allow that. Baxter was going to have to assist her with this issue whether he liked it or not.

  She stared out the window for a long moment. “The gardens look much better, don’t you think?” Everything was pruned and tidied for the winter. She knew how much their former disarray had bothered Mrs. Adley.

  “Don’t they, though?” the older woman agreed with a smile. “It will look grand by the spring. And did you notice the chandelier in the foyer?”

  “I did, indeed. It positively sparkles now,” Violet said before looking back outside. “Wouldn’t it be a sight if it snowed on Christmas?”

  “It rarely does, but that makes the few times it happens very special.”

  “Have you ever been ice skating when it was snowing?” The idea appealed to Violet. Big fluffy flakes creating a winter wonderland combined with the magic of gliding over the ice.

  “Several times,” Mrs. Adley replied with a smile. “If one is dressed properly, it can be quite romantic.”

  “And if one is with the right person?” Violet had to ask with a smile.

  Mrs. Adley chuckled. “Even more enjoyable.”

  “What’s enjoyable?” Baxter asked as he entered the room.

  “Ice skating when it’s snowing.”

  Thank heaven Mrs. Adley had answered as Violet couldn’t bring herself to meet Baxter’s gaze.

  “Sounds like a chilly pastime.”

  Violet frowned at her list, certain she wouldn’t feel the cold if she had the chance to do such a thing. She should’ve known Baxter wouldn’t care to partake.

  “Don’t you think so, Miss Fairchild?”

  “Please, call me Violet.”

  He dipped his head in acknowledgement. “I’d be pleased if you addressed me by my given name.”

  “Very well,” she said as she forced herself to look at him. “I think ice skating while it’s snowing sounds wonderful.”

  “Humph.”

  Rather than argue the topic, Violet decided it best to change it. “Mrs. Adley, do you have a Yule Candle?”

  “I don’t believe so, though I can ask Mrs. Watsford to be certain.” She set aside her book and reached for her cane. “I’ll ask her now before I forget.”

  Violet watched in surprise as she rose and left the room, leaving her alone with Baxter. She drew a breath, determined to use this chance to ask him about some of the things she wasn’t certain how to resolve herself.

  “Do you know from whom we might obtain a piece of a Yule log to start ours?”

  Baxter shook his head. “I can’t say that I do.”

  “Do you know where we can gather evergreen boughs in the area?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  Violet sighed in frustration. “What part of the holiday do you intend to assist with?”

  His gaze met hers, and she couldn’t tell if those green depths held amusement or annoyance. “I confess I have yet to decide.”

  “Are you going to help at all?”

  He scowled at her question. “In truth, I’m still questioning if it’s necessary.”

  Ire filled Violet. “After hearing your mother and father share their memories, do you need to question that?”

  “I have to wonder if the plans are for you or them.”

  Violet rose, needing to be on her feet to defend herself. “I can’t believe you said that.”

  “Despite appearances, they have funds to enjoy whatever sort of Christmas they wish.”

  She’d seen the changes he’d made. Though she didn’t understand the situation with their finances, she appreciated Baxter’s efforts to improve his parents’ lives. But that didn’t mean they no longer needed this celebration, did it?

  Baxter moved closer. “Why are you doing this for them?”

  Violet eased back, shocked at the question. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “Exactly what I’m saying. What are you about? What is your purpose?”

  “To bring joy to your parents, of course.” Yet his question sent her thoughts spinning. Could she say that when the things she’d done for them had been in part for herself? Had she been so intent on finding a cause that she’d created one where her help wasn’t needed?

  But she refused to admit any of that to him. She’d done her best to help them. The same was true for the Christmas celebration. If she benefited from it in some small way, what did it harm?

  “For your parents,” she repeated more firmly. “The question is what are you going to do to help make this another special Christmas they’ll remember?”

  Chapter Seven

  Baxter strode through the front door that Samuel, the new footman, held open. “Does Miss Fairchild happen to be here?” After working with her throughout the past week, he no longer questioned her presence in his parents’ home. Her visits fell nearly every afternoon of late.

  “I believe she’s in the drawing room, waiting for your mother to join her, sir.”

  He left his coat, hat, and gloves with the servant and entered the room, anxious to share his small bit of good news.

  He might not understand her motivation for calling on his parents so often when she had her own family, but he appreciated her efforts to help all the same.

  She’d assisted him in convincing his father that painting the house was necessary before the weather caused damage to the structure. She’d helped his mother select new fabric for the settee as well as a new chair for her sitting room, which had saved him from having to do so. Her enthusiasm for the changes made the tasks much easier for all of them.

  Because of that, he’d put forth more of an effort to help with the plans for Christmas. It was the least he could do, considering what she’d done. He couldn’t remember seeing his mother and father so happy in a long time. The more tasks he joined in for the planning of the celebration, the more memories came to the surface, though he was enjoying the new versions of them that Violet was creating.

  “Violet?” he called as his gaze caught on her.

  “You’re just the person I need.” She was standing on a bench, hands on the rod holding the drapes.

  “What are you doing?” he asked as he hurried forward, fearing she’d lose her balance, much as she had upon his first day home.

  “These aren’t hanging properly. I was hoping to fix them before your mother did something drastic.”

  His mother continued to try to do things on her own rather than asking the new servants for help. She insisted they were busy with other duties and shouldn’t be bothered with the small tasks she wanted to be done, though Violet wasn’t any better.

  “Allow me to do it instead.” He drew close, holding his hands near her waist in case he needed to catch her.

  The scent of violets that would now and forever make him think of her enveloped him, a lure he had to resist each time she was near. He tried to think of it as a warning that he was too close when he caught the fragrance. When he was next to her, he tended to think of things that had nothing to do with improving the house or preparations for the upcoming holiday.

  But had everything to do with Violet.

  He’d done his best to keep his distance. After all, he’d be returning to Bombay afte
r the holidays and wasn’t ready to consider a relationship at this point in his life.

  “A moment, if you please,” she said. “I nearly have it.”

  Yet the sight of her body swaying made his breath catch, leaving him no choice but to grasp her waist to steady her. She stiffened, making him all the more aware of their position.

  Or perhaps of what he wanted their position to be.

  He closed his eyes, trying to push the wayward thoughts from his mind but failing miserably. What was it about this woman that stirred his senses like no other?

  She turned to put her hands on his shoulders, and he made the mistake of looking up at her to see the same awareness in her expression that he felt. That only made him want to take her in his arms and kiss her.

  “Thank you.” Her whispered words caused a pang of longing to shoot through him.

  He forced himself to look up at the rod she’d been fixing. “Do you need me to do something?”

  “I think I’ve done it.” She removed her hands from his shoulders, but he couldn’t make himself release her.

  Instead, he lifted her off the bench to the floor. “You must take care. If something happens to you...” His train of thought vanished with the look in her eyes. For a moment, he would’ve sworn an invitation lingered in their depths.

  His focus shifted to her lips. He wanted to know how she might taste. Did he dare find out? He had to try. He leaned close, testing her reaction, waiting for her to draw back.

  But she didn’t.

  What was he to do but move closer still, tightening his hands on her narrow waist? Her lashes swept down to hide her eyes, but he was certain her mouth lifted the smallest amount. That was all the encouragement he needed to kiss her.

  She tasted even better than he’d expected, her lips soft and warm beneath his. The sensations that flooded through him as though a dam had burst surprised him. He had to have more.

  He hadn’t felt anything like this in so long that he’d forgotten such things were possible. That alone was enough to make him think twice about what he was doing.

  As though she felt his hesitation, she eased back, eyes wide with surprise as she put her fingers to her lips. Did that mean she’d felt the same spark he had?