Bound By Grace

by Amber Stockton

  As they reached the entrance, Mr. Baxton grabbed the door, but Anastasia beat him to it. She held it open, and Mr. Baxton backed Grace out to the sidewalk. He replaced his hat then touched two fingers to the brim in farewell, and before Charlotte knew it, the pair disappeared from view.

  Charlotte stared out the bowed-front window, not seeing anything. It took several moments to realize her sister was speaking to her. She turned with a start.

  “I’m sorry, Anastasia, what did you say?”

  Her sister narrowed her eyes in silent assessment. “I said Grace is an amazing girl. I don’t know if I could be as good-natured as she is if I were the one confined to a chair all day. But I like her.” She raised one brow. “And her uncle seemed rather taken with you, as well.”

  Uh-oh. Charlotte recognized that look in her sister’s eyes. It meant only one thing. Trouble. She’d better put a stop to things before any more ideas started stirring in that fanciful mind Anastasia possessed.

  “Mr. Baxton was very cordial.”

  “Cordial?” Both eyebrows raised. “That’s all you’re willing to admit?”

  Charlotte shrugged. “He was here only for a brief visit. What more could I possibly say about him? We didn’t exactly have long to converse.”

  “Grace and I had the same amount of time, and I learned all about the accident that led to her being in the wheeled chair, how she came to live with her uncle, and the hope she has to one day walk again.” She crossed her arms and glowered. “If she and I can talk about all of that, you and her uncle should have been able to discuss at least that much.”

  “Well, we primarily spoke of the bookshop and of Grace’s love of reading. There truly wasn’t time for much else.”

  “But he did promise to return. So maybe you can do better next time.”

  “Better?” Charlotte gave her sister a wry grin. “Are you insinuating I did a poor job with this conversation?”

  Anastasia took a step back and held up her hands. “No, not at all. You were likely your usual self, keeping all talk to the bookshop, books, and reading.”

  “And what else is there to discuss when a customer comes in to shop?”

  “Well, you could share a little about yourself.”

  “With someone I’ve just met? I wouldn’t be so presumptuous.”

  Her sister sighed and rolled her eyes. “You’re hopeless.”

  “No,” Charlotte countered. “Merely practical.” She had such fun baiting her sister and playing to her conniving, matchmaking schemes. But the last thing she needed was a young girl interfering with her customers.

  “And that will never secure you a man,” her sister said under her breath.

  “What was that?”

  Anastasia jerked up her head. “I said, uh, as the owner, I can understand.”

  Charlotte closed her eyes and shook her head. Some days, her sister could try her nerves. But most of the time having Anastasia at the shop brightened Charlotte’s day.

  “All right.” Charlotte clapped her hands together. “What do you say we close up for lunch and a walk in the park?”

  “I would love it!”

  “You retrieve our lunches, and let Laura know it’s time for a break.”

  Once on the cobblestone sidewalk, Charlotte turned the key in the lock and pivoted to stand beside her sister. She glanced up and down the busy street. Although she’d deny it, her thoughts dwelled on Mr. Baxton and his niece. A slow grin formed. She looked over her shoulder at the front of her shop, wondering when she would see them again.

  ❧

  “How did your day go, Charlotte?” Her mother took the seat Father held out for her in their formal dining room. “Did you have many customers?”

  Charlotte took her seat across from her mother. She had arrived home with barely enough time to dress for dinner. The rich aromas of braised beef and au gratin potatoes teased her nose. “It seemed to be a typical day by all accounts. I had a handful of my customers who frequent the shop on a regular basis.” Her stomach rumbled, and she swallowed, anticipating the delicious meal about to be served.

  “And one new one,” Anastasia added. “Or two, if you count his niece. I am certain they will become regular customers before long.”

  The older of her two younger sisters stared at Charlotte in surprise. “You never told me about this.” Bethany leaned in close and lowered her voice. “I shall expect a full report once dinner is completed.”

  “New customers are always good,” Father said, leaning to allow the staff ample room to serve the meal.

  Charlotte smiled and spoke a low “thank you” to Fiona as the girl served her. The young girl bobbed a curtsey and continued in silence. “Yes,” Charlotte replied. “A great number of new patrons have visited my shop in the past few weeks. If this continues, I might have to consider hiring an additional assistant. Laura is quite adept, but I am not certain she is free to work to that capacity.”

  Father extended his hands toward his wife and Charlotte. “Shall we bless the meal?”

  Charlotte joined hands with Bethany, and Anastasia took their mother’s hand as Father said grace. The table was far too wide to complete the circle. Not like when Devon still lived with them. Some days it felt like mere days instead of four months since he’d married and moved out. Charlotte missed his teasing, jovial presence but missed her big brother’s counsel and protectiveness more. So much now fell on her shoulders. She didn’t know if she could handle it. Bethany filled part of the void with her level-headed advice. It wasn’t the same, though.

  Once grace had been said, Mother took a sip of water and dabbed her lips. “Perhaps you could allow that assistant to assume more of your responsibilities,” she said, continuing the earlier conversation. “It would free you to pursue other interests rather than spend all your time in that dusty shop.”

  “Or take walks in the park should a certain gentleman ask.” Anastasia patted her stylish blond curls and batted her eyelashes.

  “Shush,” Charlotte reprimanded her sister, narrowing her eyes and leveling a glare her way. The girl could be absolutely incorrigible.

  “So Anastasia has met this gentleman, yet you neglect to share such important information with me?” Bethany gave a dramatic sigh. “I see where I rank in matters of importance.”

  “Bethany, it isn’t like that at all,” Charlotte protested. “Anastasia simply happened to be present when he arrived this afternoon. Had she not, it is likely neither one of you would be aware of him.”

  Father raised one eyebrow and regarded his three daughters. “It seems this gentleman has made quite an impact on all three of you.” He cut a sliver of beef then stabbed it with his fork and paused before raising it to his mouth. “But you need to mind your manners and save your squabbles for the drawing room or your private chambers.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “I’m sorry, Father.”

  The girls all nodded their dutiful obedience. Bethany nudged Charlotte, and they both shared a private grin with Anastasia across the table. This conversation would definitely continue later.

  A few moments of silence ensued before Mother cleared her throat. “Does this gentleman have a name?”

  Charlotte patted her mouth and returned her napkin to her lap. “Mr. Richard Baxton.”

  Mother’s eyes widened. “Of the Ashbourne Hills Baxtons?”

  “And Baxton Shipping?” Father added.

  “I’m not certain.” Charlotte furrowed her brow and tilted her head. “We did not speak much about personal matters during his brief visit.” She recalled the return address on his letter. “Oh, but I do believe he does live in Ashbourne Hills.”

  Mother looked at Father. “Is that not the family who has recently suffered the loss of one of its sons?”

  Father stroked his slightly graying moustache and beard. “If this gentleman is indeed from the family who owns Baxton Shipping, then yes.” He looked again at Charlotte. “Did he not mention anything today that might confirm this?”


  “Oh, it must be!” Anastasia jumped in. “I spoke with his niece this afternoon, and she told me about her recent accident. She was in a wheeled chair, too!”

  “Anastasia.” Father’s low warning served its purpose.

  “I’m sorry, Father.” Anastasia lapsed into instant silence.

  “Anastasia is correct,” Charlotte continued. “Mr. Baxton’s niece Grace was with him today. And she was in a rather ornate wheeled chair.” She sipped her water. “It would seem this is the same Baxton family of which you and Mother have heard.”

  “Not only heard, Charlotte,” Father countered. “We have engaged in business dealings with Baxton Shipping on more than one occasion, supplying gunpowder barrels for some of their ships over the years. Your Mother and I have also attended one or two social events at one of their homes.”

  What a small world. Charlotte could hardly believe a man who this afternoon seemed to be completely disconnected from her life had turned out to be entwined with her family’s business.

  Mother glanced across the table and caught Charlotte’s eye. “If this Mr. Baxton becomes a regular customer, we shall have to invite him to join us one evening for dinner.”

  “Yes,” Father agreed. “I would like to discuss a few business matters with him, and we will be sure to have Devon and his wife join us, too.”

  Charlotte’s excitement over this potential friendship dimmed a little at the prospect of Mr. Baxton spending time in their home. That was the way things were done, but she had secretly hoped to have him to herself to some extent. . .at least at the bookshop. Then again, having him involved with her family could prove advantageous. She would have to wait and see.

  Three

  The bell above the shop door jingled, and Charlotte looked up, her breath catching in her throat. A second later, her shoulders slumped.

  Foolishness. Utter foolishness.

  It had been nearly two weeks since Mr. Baxton and his niece had left her shop, promising to return. Her head told her it was too soon. Despite Grace’s obvious love of reading, her uncle had purchased four books. It took time to read that many books. And the girl most likely had daily studies, as well. Charlotte felt guilty for expecting to see them so soon, but she couldn’t persuade her mind and heart to react otherwise.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Couper.” He might not be the man she hoped to see, but at least she could enjoy visiting with one of her regular patrons.

  “Ah, good afternoon, Miss Pringle.” The elderly gentleman removed his top hat, his ornate walking cane preceding him by one step. “And how are you on this grand and fortuitous day?”

  He certainly seemed in a much brighter mood than normal. Charlotte could use an infusion of cheer to offset her disappointment.

  “I am quite well, thank you. Have you received good news recently?”

  A gleam in his eyes accompanied a teasing grin on his lips. “Why do you ask?” He was baiting her. She knew it.

  “As much as I would like to believe otherwise, I can hardly imagine your enthusiasm is reserved solely for the joy of coming to this shop and finding another book to read.”

  “Touché,” he countered. “Although I must correct you on one point. I do enjoy discovering new books. So my delight is partially reserved for my visits here every other week.” Pressing his index finger to the counter in front of her, he fixed his reprimanding glance on her. “Do have more confidence in the appeal of this quaint shop. You have no idea how many lives you are impacting, nor how many pleased customers you are serving.”

  Chagrin filled her. “You are right, Mr. Couper. I shall endeavor to remember that in the future.” She lightly grasped the edge of the counter with her fingers. “Now, do tell me about this good news. Then we can see about finding a new book for you.”

  “If you insist,” he said with a mock sigh. Tucking his hat under his arm, he assumed a stance similar to one about to give a great speech. “You are familiar with the gardens adjoining my home on the Strand.”

  “Oh yes. I don’t venture south to New Castle often, but when I am there, I always stroll along the cobblestone streets and marvel at the unique architecture of the homes. Yours stands sentinel over the Delaware River in a magnificent manner.”

  “Thank you. I quite agree, although I certainly can’t presume to take credit for the beauty of its architecture. That honor distinctly belongs to Mr. George Read II. After his son passed away and the fire in town damaged so many homes, my brother was fortunate to acquire the land at public auction. Together, we repaired the damaged areas and created the formal gardens adjacent to the house.”

  “So those weren’t always a part of the property?”

  “No. From what I gather, when it was built, the focus was only on the stately and rather expansive home. Mr. Read spared no expense, right down to the silver-plated doorknobs.”

  Charlotte covered her mouth and giggled. Such extravagance. Then again, from what she’d heard and read about Mr. Read, profligacy and excessive behavior were apt descriptions.

  “I recently hired a gardener to bring a fresh, new look to the various trees and flower beds,” Mr. Couper continued. “He suggested adding one or two fountains and perhaps a few benches along a brick walking path. I hear tell he even spent time working for Joshua and Samuel Peirce on Peirce’s Park.”

  “Oh! I adore that park. The gardens and fountains are beautiful.” Charlotte nodded toward the park across the street. “As much as I enjoy time spent right here, there is something special about those gardens. They are no doubt the most beautiful in all of the Brandywine Valley. The Peirce brothers obviously had a deep love for the arboretum they planted.”

  “Yes, and it being open to public viewing enhances its beauty and appeal.”

  “So when is this renovation set to commence?”

  “I am not certain, but I believe within the month.”

  “The next time I am in New Castle, I shall be certain to pay a visit and see the results of this gardener’s handiwork.”

  Mr. Couper rapped his cane on the floor, the impact making a muffled thump against the woven carpet on which he stood. “Yes, you must. And tell me,” he directed, glancing about to the left and right, “where is that charming little sister of yours? I don’t believe I’ve seen her walking about the shop today.”

  “No, she isn’t here this afternoon. She’s working on a special project with two other students from her school. This is her last year, and she wants to finish with top honors.”

  “If she is anything like her older sister, I am certain she will,” Mr. Couper said. “Now, let us talk about the real reason for my visit today.”

  Charlotte smiled. Mr. Couper always had some story to tell or news to report whenever he paid a visit. Some might find his eccentric ways a bother, but she enjoyed his company. He always returned the books he borrowed in excellent condition and had been a loyal customer almost since the day she opened her doors.

  “So,” Charlotte began, “what type of literature would you like to explore this time?”

  “Actually”—he hooked his cane over his arm and turned toward the shelves behind him—“I’m here for my two grandsons. They have been creating their own adventures for some time now, and I’d like them to take a few adventures through books. What do you have that might appeal to them?”

  “I know just where to direct you.” Charlotte led Mr. Couper toward the shelves marked for younger readers. Locating the section she was seeking, she explained, “Just about anything written by Mark Twain, Jules Verne, or Lewis Carroll will be perfect for them.”

  Mr. Couper stepped closer to the shelves, and Charlotte moved to give him more room.

  “I’ll leave you to peruse these titles. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask.”

  “Thank you,” he said without looking up, his eagerness keeping his attention locked on the books.

  Charlotte continued the rest of the way up the aisle and heard the bell above the front door jingle just as she
stepped into the open section of her shop. Stopping to straighten a few books on one of her feature displays, she didn’t see her latest customer until he spoke.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Pringle.”

  Mr. Baxton’s voice was like warm, velvety chocolate being poured over vanilla ice cream. Charlotte tried to remain calm and professional, but she knew a silly grin had formed on her lips, and she couldn’t will it away.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Baxton. I’m happy to see you have returned.” Excited, eager, and relieved might be more accurate. At least now she could stop watching the door every minute. “But aren’t you missing someone?” Charlotte looked behind him as if Grace might be waiting outside.

  Mr. Baxton moved the scarf that hung around his neck to the side and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his overcoat. “Yes, I wasn’t able to bring my niece with me today. She had an appointment with a specialist in Philadelphia that will last for most of the day. My mother, her grandmother, is with her, overseeing the appointment, so I decided now would be an excellent time to return. That way, I can have a surprise for her when I meet her after she’s done.”

  The obvious affection he held for his niece touched a special place in Charlotte’s heart.

  “I’m certain she will be overcome with joy when she sees what you’ve brought. Now if you don’t mind my asking, how did you come to be Grace’s caretaker and guardian? And please don’t hesitate to tell me if I’m being presumptuous. My curious nature often goes several steps ahead of my better judgment.”

  Mr. Baxton chuckled, alleviating Charlotte’s concerns. “I don’t mind talking about it. . .at least not now. Two months ago, my reaction would have been quite different. But time does allow the pain to heal.” He moved toward one of the front tables and perched on the edge. His eyes took on a faraway look. With a deep breath, he began. “Grace was in a carriage with my brother and his wife. The carriage hit a deep rut in the road, causing one of the axles to break. It spooked the horses, and they bolted, broken axle and all.”