Each step required focus to avoid slipping as the mist froze underfoot. The temperature had dropped significantly, and a light breeze made the chill all the more noticeable. He told himself that at least it kept the image of Violet standing alone with a pleading look upon her face from his mind. Mostly.
With a sigh, he shook his head. Who was he trying to fool? He still couldn’t remove the picture.
This wasn’t the time to worry over her feelings. A new opportunity in his business had arisen, one he hadn’t anticipated but could open many doors. He’d spent the past two days working through the details of it. But that hadn’t kept him from thinking of Violet. He told himself over and over that he was pleased to have heard her say that she wouldn’t consider him as a suitor. Nothing had been bruised but his pride. Mostly.
But the moment had proven that he wasn’t prepared to risk rejection after all. Not when his emotions were in jeopardy. He hadn’t intended to go to the ball, but when his friend insisted, he’d decided to test the waters and see if he still belonged or if he should remain out of Society for good. Attending hadn’t been as uncomfortable as he’d expected. That is until Violet had stated her opinion so clearly.
He’d caught sight of Alice during his dance with Violet. Seeing her had shaken him. But not in the same way Violet did. He’d had to speak with Alice to confront what he felt as well to deal with his memories of the past. Her rejection had lived in him too long.
His feelings where she was concerned had been built up in his mind since he’d left London. He didn’t want to take up with her where he’d left off but needed to determine what he felt. He’d been relieved to realize he didn’t feel anything. Neither resentment nor affection. Nothing.
When he married in a few years, once he returned from Bombay, he intended to find someone who would provide the financial connections he needed to supplement their income. Yes, he thought with a nod. A business arrangement.
One that didn’t have sparkling blue eyes or smell of her namesake.
Never mind the longing that rolled through him at the thought of Violet. Why was he tempted by her? His brief conversation with Alice should’ve served as a reminder of what could happen if one followed emotions rather than logic.
In truth, he should thank Violet for providing that reminder. Her declaration at the party had put an end to whatever simmered between them since his arrival. Christmas would soon be upon them, and then he’d leave all this behind. Mostly.
“Father?” he called, pausing to search the area, before repeating the process several times. He didn’t pass anyone to ask if they’d seen him.
The farther he walked, slipping and sliding, the more he worried. Though he tended to think of his father as fit and healthy, he was growing older. He could’ve easily lost his balance in the freezing rain. Baxter nearly did several times. Thank goodness he hadn’t allowed Violet to venture out in this weather. He didn’t need two people to worry over.
The idea of his father falling and unable to regain his balance—or worse—kept him hurrying as quickly as he dared.
“Father?” he called again.
This time, he heard something. Heart thudding, he rounded the corner to find his father propped on an elbow on the walkway, his top hat on the ground beside him. Baxter’s heart clutched at the sight.
“Father!”
“Good of you to come in search of me, my boy.” The rough chuckle he gave wasn’t its normal hearty sound, making Baxter even more concerned. “I lost my footing.”
“Are you injured?”
“Only my pride, I think.” He grimaced as he sat up and lifted one arm. “And perhaps my hand.”
Baxter feared more than that was hurt as his father had yet to rise. With careful steps, he drew closer, realizing it was especially slippery beneath him.
“Why don’t we shift you toward the street?” Baxter suggested, taking his father’s uninjured arm to aid him. “Perhaps we can gain traction there.”
“How good that you’re home,” his father said with a shiver as he slowly eased forward. “I’m not certain your mother would’ve found me.”
“She and Watsford would’ve reached you one way or another,” Baxter said, not liking his father’s tremors. Nor the downtrodden way he spoke. “You know how determined Mother can be when she sets her mind to something. How long have you been here?” He studied the rosiness of the tip of his Father’s nose and cheeks only to notice a bit of blood above one ear. “Did you strike your head?”
The puzzled look that crossed his face was concerning. Did he not remember? That sent worry pricking the pit of Baxter’s stomach.
“I believe I may have struck the post when I fell.” He glanced to one of the columns that linked the wrought-iron fence railings as he touched his head.
Thank heaven he hadn’t struck one of the decorative points on the wrought iron, else he might not be speaking at all. The image brought a shiver to Baxter. Thinking of his father as fragile disturbed him.
He managed to ease them both to the street without falling then paused to consider his options, not willing to risk his father walking home. Before he could decide how to proceed, a hansom cab drew near. He raised his hand to catch the attention of the driver, only to realize it was pulling alongside them.
Violet opened the door and leaned out. “Would the pair of you care for a ride?” Her smile was forced as her gaze caught on his father.
“We would indeed,” Baxter agreed, appreciating her effort at lightheartedness as much as the idea of a ride home.
“Take care,” Baxter warned as she stepped onto the street.
The driver clambered down to assist them into the cab. “The horse has better footing on this stuff than us humans,” he muttered. “Terrible weather we’re havin’ this day.”
“We’ll have you inside in no time.” Violet’s worried gaze met Baxter’s as they helped his father into the cab.
Within minutes, they arrived at the house. Samuel had returned as well and helped him escort his father up the slick steps and inside with a concerned Watsford holding the door.
“Francis,” his mother exclaimed. “Thank heavens. I’ve been so worried. Oh! You’re bleeding!”
“Nothing to worry over,” his father insisted. “Just a bit of a-a bump on the head when I-I lost my footing.”
But Baxter could see that wasn’t true. His father didn’t seem able to put his weight on his right leg. “Watsford, ask the driver to fetch the doctor if you please.”
The butler hurried to the door to call out to the man.
“Let us see you up to bed so that you can rest properly,” Baxter suggested, hoping his father would agree. The man could be stubborn at the most inconvenient times.
“If you insist, though I’m perfectly well.”
His father’s agreement only made Baxter worry more.
“Excellent idea,” his mother added. “Mrs. Watsford has a cup of hot tea ready for you.”
“Have her add a shot of brandy to it.” That sounded more like his father, Baxter thought.
Violet started up the stairs as he and Samuel assisted his father. Her gentle, encouraging words distracted his father as they half-carried him to his bedroom door. She opened the door wide and drew back the covers before stepping out.
He appreciated her help more than he could say. He and Samuel eased off his father’s shoes and coat, then his jacket to make him more comfortable, taking care with his limbs.
They had him sitting up in bed when his mother brought in a damp rag to tend to his head while the maid followed with the tea tray.
Baxter stood aside, listening to his mother tsk-tsk over the injury to his father’s head before rolling up his sleeve to take a closer look at his wrist. The bruise there was alarming and as difficult as it was for him to bend, Baxter wondered if he’d broken it. He could only hope his leg wasn’t broken as well.
“Why don’t you send up the doctor when he arrives, Baxter?” his mother asked. “I’ll see to yo
ur father.”
“Of course.” He went down the stairs and found Violet pacing the drawing room, wringing her hands before her.
“Do you think he’s going to be all right?” Her eyes were dark with worry.
“I believe so. We’ll know more as soon as the doctor checks him.” Her worry touched him. He could see how concerned she was.
“Thank goodness you came when you did. I don’t know that I would’ve thought to walk in the opposite direction of his usual path. You found him much quicker that way.” She blinked back tears and looked aside as though to hide them.
Suddenly, she turned and reached for his hands, her expressive eyes full of sorrow and holding him firmly in place. He couldn’t have pulled away even if he’d wanted to.
“Baxter, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it. I was just frustrated and I—”
“No need to apologize.” He knew he’d stiffened but couldn’t do anything to stop the reaction.
“Of course, there is. I never meant to insult you. I’d be honored if you—” Her mouth gaped open as she realized what she’d been about to say. “Oh, what I mean is—”
“Violet?” Her embarrassment eased his own.
She swallowed hard, eyes wide and full of hope. “Yes?”
“Perhaps you should stop talking.” He kissed her, drawing her into his arms, surprised by her soft moan.
Then she wound her arms around his neck. Her embrace was all the invitation he needed to deepen the kiss. He pressed his tongue against the seam of her lips, nearly groaning with need as she gave him entrance.
She shifted, her entire body against his. She fit perfectly in his arms, making him imagine how she’d feel in his bed. Her fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, causing desire to pool hot and heavy inside him.
He couldn’t say what this spark between them was, only that it held power. The problem was that he didn’t know what to do with it. He would soon be leaving.
The sound of the front door opening, followed by voices in the foyer, had Baxter releasing Violet and easing back. He cupped her cheek, reluctant to release her completely. Her soft sigh made him want to give one of his own. Instead, he squeezed her hand and strode out to speak with the doctor, the scent of violets following him.
Chapter Nine
Baxter sat by his father in the small sitting room where he rested the following afternoon, Violet at his side. The doctor had declared his ankle sprained and his arm fractured. The bump to his head was concerning but not dangerous. However, the doctor suggested someone remain with him at all times to make certain his condition didn’t worsen.
His father, being the stubborn man he was, refused to remain in bed. Baxter’s mother had suggested a compromise by making him as comfortable as possible in the small sitting room near their connecting bedrooms. She was in the kitchen, planning his father’s favorite meal with Mrs. Watsford.
“Are you warm enough, Mr. Adley?” Violet asked.
“Another log on the fire would be welcome.” He sat in an armchair, supported by pillows and covered by a blanket, his bound arm in a sling. His foot had been wrapped tight and was propped on a cushioned stool.
“Excellent idea.” Baxter rose to comply, pleased to do anything that might aid his recovery.
The doctor had given his father laudanum for his pain. The bottle sat on the narrow side table beside his father’s chair.
Before Baxter returned to his seat, his father’s soft snores filled the air.
Violet reached over to pat Baxter’s arm, the gesture pleasing him. “Sleep is the best thing for him, don’t you think?”
“I suppose it is.” He leaned forward to touch his father’s hand. “He seems chilled.”
Violet rose and with careful movements, eased the blanket over the top of him.
Baxter swallowed back the sudden pressure in his chest at her gentleness. Her affection for his father couldn’t be denied, and Baxter knew the feeling was mutual.
How wonderful that this woman lived next door to his parents and had reached out to befriend them when they appeared to be in need of help. Few people would’ve bothered.
He tore his gaze from her to look at something else—anything else—so she wouldn’t guess his thoughts. He wasn’t prepared to reveal them. Not when his next few years would be spent in Bombay.
His gaze fell on a book on the narrow table beside his chair, hoping for a distraction from the sudden tumult of emotions.
“What is this?” he asked, keeping his voice low so as not to wake his father.
“The Seven Curses of London. Have you heard of it?” Violet took the seat beside him again. She turned the cover of the book to face him. “The author lists the seven worst problems he thinks plague London.”
“Is this one of the books you’re reading to my mother and father?” He could hardly believe it to be true. They had never taken much of an interest in such things.
“I mentioned it to them, and they were quite intrigued.” She ran a hand over the leather cover. “It’s not light reading, so we only read a few pages at a time. Otherwise, the topics tend to be rather depressing.”
He opened it and turned several pages. “Neglected children. Professional beggars. Those are weighty issues.”
“Your father seemed especially interested in the chapter on professional thieves.”
Baxter knew why all too well.
“The author shares several viewpoints as well as firsthand accounts,” Violet continued. “He also discusses the laws in place to address the issues, most of which fall short.”
“Fascinating.”
“In a terrible way, yes.”
“How did you come to know of this book?” Ladies of her age were normally worried about what gown to wear to the next ball rather than social issues. She was even more special than he’d realized.
A smile graced her lips, causing his heartbeat to speed. “It began with my eldest sister, Letitia. She thought she was destined for spinsterhood, so took it upon herself to find a purpose for her life. She decided to help neglected children.”
“That’s an unusual choice for a young lady.”
Violet chuckled. “You should hear her husband tell the story. It’s very entertaining.”
She told him a few of the events, the stories amusing despite the weighty problem.
“No wonder my mother and father were interested in learning more, though I’m certain not all of the situations were humorous.”
“True. Lettie and her husband, Nathaniel, continue to help others. They’ve set a good example for their friends as well, many of whom have followed the same path.” A pensive look came over Violet, though Baxter wasn’t certain of the cause.
He asked several more questions, but she didn’t reveal the reason for that look. If he hadn’t been worried about his father, he might’ve pressed harder to find the reason for Violet’s disquiet.
When his father stirred, they paused their conversation to watch him.
His lids fluttered open and caught on the pair of them. “Baxter, I’m so pleased you’re spending Christmas with us.”
“As am I,” Baxter replied.
“And I have to say that I’m relieved you didn’t marry Lady Alice.”
Baxter frowned, confused as to why he’d say such a thing. He’d mentioned to his parents that he’d seen her at the ball, but his father hadn’t commented on it then. “Lady Alice?” Had the laudanum addled his mind?
“I didn’t care for her,” he murmured, his eyes closing again.
Before Baxter could think of how to respond, his father’s even breathing suggested he’d dozed off again.
Baxter cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the topic, but it didn’t alleviate the tension he felt. “Lady Alice was an acquaintance of mine before I left for India.”
“Was?”
Surprised at the question, he looked at her.
Pink filled her cheeks as her lashes swept down to hide her eyes. “I saw you speaking with her at
the party the other evening.”
“Yes.” But he didn’t say anything more. Alice had made her renewed interest in him clear, but he had no desire to reclaim what he’d lost. He’d already decided that when the time came to marry, he’d look for a wife who could provide connections to aid his business interests, rather than a love match, as he didn’t care to risk being hurt again.
Somehow, sitting next to Violet made that idea seem a terrible one.
~*~
Two days later, Violet donned her cloak in her home’s foyer, prepared to walk over to the Adleys.
“You’re not going next door again, are you?” Holly asked with a frown as she came down the stairs, one hand trailing along the rail.
“Yes, I am.”
“What on earth do you do there all the time?”
“Yes, Violet, what do you do there?” her mother asked as she emerged from the drawing room. “It’s not polite to spend as much time at their house as you do. They’ll grow weary of you.”
The idea that could be true hurt. Did she visit them too often? Before Baxter’s arrival, she wouldn’t have questioned it. But since his return, she feared her presence wasn’t needed. But she enjoyed helping them and didn’t want it to end. “You may remember me mentioning that Mr. Adley took a fall.”
Holly scowled. “I also remember you mentioning that their son arrived from India. I wouldn’t think your presence is required with him there.”
Trust Holly to strike at the heart of the matter.
“Their son?” Her mother stiffened at the news. “I’d forgotten they had a son. How old is he? Violet, you cannot possibly consider him as a potential husband. He has no title, and they obviously have no funds.”
Violet wanted to walk out of the house without bothering to answer. But that wouldn’t help matters. How had her sisters managed to do what they’d done with their mother watching?
“I have no intention of forming an attachment with Baxter.” She had to hope that Holly didn’t notice the blush in her cheeks. How could Violet not blush when speaking of him brought to mind the kisses they’d shared? If she were honest with herself, she’d admit she was quite enamored with him.
Timeless Christmas Romance Page 7
