A Baxter's Redemption

by Patricia Johns

  “I mean, you must have a plan B,” Britney pressed. “Like, if this fails, then you’ll...move back to New York?”

  Isabel turned her attention back to the chocolate. It was nearly all melted now, and she turned off the heat, continuing to stir in slow, sweeping curves.

  “Yes, that would be an option,” she replied. “Why?”

  “It only seems smart to know what you’ll do,” she replied with a faint shrug. “But if this business fails, then you’ll have lost everything, am I right?”

  Isabel’s irritation flared. “Did no one ever tell you that talking about money is rude?” So was repeating the word fail three times in a minute.

  “Not in the family, it isn’t,” Britney retorted, and Isabel bit her tongue against a sharp reply.

  “Trust me, Britney,” Isabel said, putting in some effort to remain calm. “I have my degree in business. I’m well aware of the risks, and I’ve got it under control.”

  “You see, the thing is,” Britney said, dipping her finger into the pot, “if you lost all of that money in a business that didn’t succeed, there wouldn’t necessarily be another check to try again.” She licked the chocolate off her finger. “Yummy.”

  “I’m not asking for more money,” Isabel replied. “This is between me and my dad, so it really isn’t your business, but I’ve never asked for money.”

  Not that her father had ever not handed it over, requested or not.

  “But you might expect it,” Britney replied. “I know I would.”

  Her comment hit a nerve because it wasn’t entirely wrong. Isabel struggled to maintain her calm.

  “Don’t you think it’s better to leave this to me and my father?” Isabel asked pointedly. “You’re well taken care of. You shop. You travel. My dad gives you whatever you want.”

  “Actually, I don’t,” Britney replied, meeting Isabel’s gaze for the first time. “I don’t travel. I stay here in town with your father because he’s my husband and I want to support him. And as for shopping, Carmella does more shopping than I’ve ever done. You don’t know me as well as you think.”

  Isabel blinked in surprise. She hadn’t expected that reply, and she felt the heat rising in her cheeks. Britney was much more intelligent than she liked to let on, and she was here for a reason.

  “Why the sudden concern about money, Britney?”

  “Because no barrel is bottomless,” Britney replied quietly. “I’m having a baby, and when I do, there will be another heir.”

  “Of course.” Isabel looked at Britney quizzically.

  Britney narrowed her eyes. “When we got married, your father said he would change his will.”

  Isabel nodded. “Unless he cut me out completely, which I will never believe—”

  “I’m not saying anything,” Britney said quickly, her earlier bravado fading. “I’m just... I’m not saying anything.” She turned back toward the door, hugging her bag in closer against her body. “Good luck with this. It looks like fun.”

  Britney’s shoes tapped across the floor, and then the front door opened and shut, the little bell above it tinkling. Isabel stood in silence, the paddle motionless in her hand.

  What was that? Britney had come for a reason, but she hadn’t been willing to say anything outright. What exactly was in her father’s will? And had Britney come to warn her about it?

  She put down the paddle, moved the pot to a cold burner and went to lock the front door. She and Britney had never been fond of each other. It had started when Isabel heard of her father’s engagement. She’d told him straight out not to marry her. Britney was young and silly. She would be a terrible match for him, and she was marrying him for his money. Her father had been offended and told Isabel to never speak like that again. There’d been nothing but tension between them all during the engagement, and frankly, Isabel had been surprised to be invited to the wedding.

  The big day had been tense and strange. The guests had been talking behind their hands about George Baxter marrying an obvious gold digger. Britney was giddy and happy, her family was generally confused by the high-society reception, and the Baxter side of the guest list was at best amused by his choice of young bride. The expectations were different for men. They could marry young, penniless women based on looks alone, and no one cared. Britney wasn’t expected to provide anything to the relationship—financially anyway. While the wealthier strata looked down on her poor breeding, their problem with her wasn’t about her earning ability. Even wealthy women didn’t need to earn anything if they could inherit. Marriage expectations were different for women who were born into money. They were expected to marry men who could add to their fortunes. In essence, her father could marry a pauper, but Isabel could not. At least not in her father’s opinion.

  Lately, Britney had seemed to be trying to forge some sort of relationship with Isabel, but there had been very little love lost between the two of them, and Isabel highly doubted that Britney was coming by the store to wish her well. In fact, she couldn’t help but wonder if Britney was bent on claiming the entire Baxter fortune for herself and cutting Isabel out completely.

  “Daddy wouldn’t do that,” she said aloud, clicking the lock into place.

  And she believed it, but a tiny part of her wondered if Britney weren’t even more manipulative than Isabel had given her credit for. George Baxter wouldn’t be the first or the last man to be manipulated by a pretty, young wife.

  Isabel’s cell phone rang, and she picked it up as she ambled back into the kitchen. “Hello?”

  “Hi, girl.” Carmella’s relaxed, happy voice greeted her. “What’s new with you?”

  “I just got the weirdest visit from Britney. How about you?”

  “What?” Carmella asked. “What do you mean a weird visit?”

  “It was all mysterious and fraught with warning.” Isabel rolled her eyes. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was trying to oust me from the family money.”

  “You need to get out,” Carmella replied. “You’re starting to sound paranoid. And I have the perfect solution. What are you doing this Saturday evening?”

  “Nothing earth-shattering.”

  “I’m having a dinner party,” Carmella said. “You have to come.”

  “Who will be there?” Isabel asked.

  “Everyone, of course,” her friend retorted. “You have to come. And if you don’t bring a date, I’ve got someone for you to meet.”

  “Gee, I think I’m busy,” Isabel joked.

  “No, you can’t be.” Carmella dropped the banter from her tone. “I need you there. You know what it’s like. I need one person in my corner who isn’t going to badmouth me.”

  “Then why have a dinner party?” Isabel asked. “No dinner party is complete until the hostess has been thoroughly torn apart by her guests.”

  “Because it’s sort of a welcome back for you.”

  The gesture was a sweet one, and Isabel sighed in resignation. It was all but impossible to refuse to attend your own “welcome back” dinner party.

  “I’ll come.”

  Maybe it would do her good to get out and socialize for a change. All this time alone was taking a toll on her, to the point that even Britney seemed like a secret agent.

  But there was no time to wonder, because just then there was a knock on the door.

  “Carmella, I’ve got to go,” Isabel said. “I think that’s my sign being delivered. I’ll be at your dinner party, okay?”

  Hanging up, she opened the door and clapped her hands in excitement at the sight of the long, narrow box being carried out of the back of a truck. Her sign for Baxter’s Chocolates had arrived, and right behind the deliverymen stood a young man with a notebook.

  She signed for the delivery and held the door open while two men carried it inside. The man with the not
ebook stood back, watching her patiently.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  “I’m here from the Haggerston Chronicle. I wanted to do a story on your business. Do you have a few minutes?”

  Haggerston didn’t have much for news, and it looked like she’d garnered some attention. It would be good for business—help get the word out. She stepped back and ushered him in.

  * * *

  A FEW DAYS had passed since James had seen Isabel, and he’d done his best to put her out of his mind. It hadn’t been successful at all... James glanced at his watch. It was almost six, which meant that the receptionist would be heading home soon, leaving the lawyers to fend for themselves. He looked down at the will in front of him—the final draft.

  I, George Baxter, being of sound mind and body, hereby make this Will and revoke all prior Wills and Codicils... My daughter, Isabel Baxter, having already received an agreed-upon portion of my estate, will receive nothing upon my death...

  If he hadn’t written it himself, James would never have believed his client capable of this. From a father who was so concerned about his daughter’s happiness that he pressured his lawyer into asking her out just to make her feel better... Why would he cut her out of his will? And given that Mr. Baxter was so protective of his financial information that he refused to speak of it with his wife in the room, could Britney even make this happen?

  None of it made sense, but Mr. Baxter had sat with him this morning and dictated his Last Will and Testament, and when James asked for an explanation for the sudden changes, Mr. Baxter hadn’t given one. Nor did he have to. It looked like Isabel was going to experience a dose of real life—the kind of life everyone else had to live.

  There were certain professions that gave a man a bird’s-eye view into people’s personal information: doctors, pastors, financial advisers, lawyers... Sometimes he wished that he didn’t have this privileged view. In a large city, he might not have anything else to do with his clients, but in a place the size of Haggerston, it was, admittedly, more awkward.

  His office phone rang, and he glanced at the number before he picked it up. It was reception.

  “James Hunter.”

  “Mr. Hunter, Miss Isabel Baxter is here to see you.”

  James closed the file folder, his pulse speeding up. “Send her in. Thanks, Maggie.” He stood and tucked the file back into place in the large cabinets that lined one wall. He’d missed her...much as he hated to admit that. He’d been keeping his distance purposefully, but it hadn’t made it any easier on him.

  His office door opened, revealing Isabel. She wore a red summer dress and matching red pumps. Her hair fell around her shoulders, and a purse was hitched up under her arm.

  “Hi,” he said with a smile. “How are you?”

  “I’m well, thank you.” Her tone was professional, and he looked at her quizzically. This wasn’t a personal visit, as was obvious by that closed-off expression her face. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. She moved to the visitor’s chair across from his desk and sat down. He took a seat, too.

  “Is everything okay?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure.” She met his gaze. “That’s why I’m here.”

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “I had a visit from Britney yesterday morning, and she—” Isabel stopped and frowned. “I can’t even remember her exact words now, but she implied that I should be very careful with the money my father has given me, because it will likely be the last I see.”

  So Britney was warning her stepdaughter about the will? This was getting more perplexing by the minute.

  “Hmm,” he said softly, his mind whirling, attempting to reshuffle the information to make some sort of sense out of it.

  “What do you mean, hmm?” she retorted. “Is it true?”

  “I obviously can’t discuss private information about a client—”

  “Has he changed his will?” she pressed.

  “I can’t answer that.”

  “Does that mean yes?”

  James rubbed his hands over his face. “Isabel, you know the position you’re putting me in.”

  She nodded dismally. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be inappropriate. I’m just—”

  She was scared. She didn’t need to finish the thought. Her expression said it all. Obviously, Britney had decided to give Isabel a heads-up about being cut from her father’s will, but how much she’d said, he had no idea. He hadn’t even known that Britney was aware of this. However, the fact remained that the check her father had written for her trust fund would likely be the last money she received from him.

  Was it tough love? An attempt to teach her financial responsibility the hard way? James couldn’t be sure what was motivating the sudden change of heart.

  “Were you counting on your father supporting you further?” he asked quietly.

  “I hadn’t thought about that. Dad’s always been there for me. Obviously, I hope to make this business self-sustaining.” She sucked in a breath. “This isn’t actually about the money, it’s about...us. Me and my dad.”

  So she was still counting on her father’s money. This wasn’t good.

  “Money equals love to the Baxters, James. When my dad couldn’t make it to school events, he bought me presents to make up for it. When he wanted to reward me for good grades, he sent me on a European vacation. When I graduated from Yale, he bought me a diamond necklace and matching earrings.”

  James remained silent. Isabel’s gut instinct was right on target this time, and if she was counting on any more financial support from her father, despite her protestations to the contrary, she’d be smart to revisit her business plan. But how was he supposed to share that information with her without breaking client-attorney confidentiality?

  “Are you asking me for legal advice?” he asked carefully.

  Isabel looked at him in exasperation. “I thought we were friends!”

  That had been his line, hadn’t it? Friends...who had to be careful not to be left alone too long together in case it moved beyond that.

  “We are,” he replied. “But right now, I’m in my office and we’re talking about some things that could cross lines, legally speaking. So I need to know if we’re chatting as friends, or if I’m talking as your family’s lawyer.”

  “All right.” She straightened her shoulders. “Let’s start with strict professionalism. As the family lawyer, what is your advice?”

  He smiled. Those were the exact words he needed to hear. “As your family’s lawyer, I would advise you to revisit your business plan and make sure that you are able to financially support your business without any extra outside investors.”

  “Obviously, that’s the plan, but—”

  “Make it more than a plan. Make it happen.” His tone was low. He didn’t have time to mollycoddle her with this. “That’s my advice.”

  “All right.” She nodded, her expression slightly strangled.

  “Good. Then next, I’d suggest that you go talk to your father.”

  “About what, exactly?”

  “Whatever questions you might have,” he replied. “I can’t answer them for you. Your father is the only one who can.”

  “I doubt he will.” She looked away from him, and James regarded her thoughtfully. She’d changed over the past few weeks. She was stronger, somehow. She was facing these challenges with more grace and determination than anyone had expected, himself included.

  In a lot of people’s opinions, Isabel might have this coming. She wouldn’t get much pity from Haggerston when they found out about this turn of events, but James felt a stirring of sympathy. She’d been callous. She’d been protected. She’d thought she was better than most people in this town, but life had a way of balancing things, and that would be painful. While he couldn’t
exactly mourn for her drop down to the level everyone else lived on, he could understand how much this could hurt her.

  “Are we talking as friends now?” James asked quietly.

  “Okay.” She turned toward him once more, her dark eyes filled with uncertainty and sadness. “Let’s talk as friends.”

  “You’re going to be fine,” he said.

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Because you’re smart, and you’re strong and you’re a Baxter.”

  The Baxters had always had a leg up, and he had a feeling that even a broke Baxter would still have an advantage around here. There was family reputation, after all, and people who had built up a fortune in the past knew how to do it again. Besides, who else would be as driven to get back her lost comforts?

  “Possibly a disinherited Baxter,” she replied with a bitter smile.

  James shrugged. “I’m not confirming that, but I have to say—that wouldn’t have stopped your father.”

  “I’m not my dad.”

  “You’re one better. You’re his daughter.”

  She was silent for a moment, and then she smiled wanly. “I’ve been invited to this dinner party. It’s going to be for the privileged set of the county. My friend Carmella is hosting it.”

  “Sounds like fun,” he said diplomatically. Actually, it sounded exhausting.

  “Does it?” She shot him a quirky look. “These are the friends I’ve had since I was a kid. These are my clique, my social equals. It occurred to me that I might not be able to afford to keep up with them anymore if my father doesn’t fund it. I mean, if I can’t meet them in Greece in the spring, or even reciprocate dinner party invitations...”

  “That’s just regular life for the rest of us,” he said wryly.

  Color rose in her cheeks. “Fine. Yes, I get that.”

  Did she? Hopefully, George planned to generously fund his daughter’s lifestyle between now and his eventual death, because if this was a sign of more changes to come, her life would be even more altered than she anticipated.

  “Spoiled or not, I have a problem.” She fixed him with a direct look.