Wishing Upon A Christmas Star (The Seven Curses of London Book 8)

by Lana Williams

  “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 watched as Miss Fairchild 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 comple
te 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.

  What was it about the attractive young lady that brought forth his parents’ longing to relive the past? Whether he was weary from the long trip to London or something else, he couldn’t quite wrap his thoughts around what was happening.

  The happy memories had removed years from his father’s expression as well as the tension Baxter had sensed. And the hope in his mother’s eyes was enough to make Baxter clear his throat to push back the emotions that threatened to overtake him.

  Still he hesitated. Staying home for Christmas seemed a terrible idea despite his initial pleasure at the thought before he’d left India fifteen days ago. Somewhere, deep inside, he feared that if he did so, he wouldn’t be able to force himself to return to Bombay. He’d promised himself to reach a significant level of revenues before he moved back to London. Enough that they wouldn’t have to worry about losing all they had ever again. While he was nearing the amount, another two or three years of work were critical. Operating the business from London would be nearly impossible.

  Returning home also meant facing the future rather than living in the limbo in which he’d existed for so long now. That limbo had kept him from having to make decisions and plans for the years ahead—something he wasn’t prepared to do. Not yet. Staying here meant venturing into Society again, which would bring him face to face with the question of who he was now and how he fit in, as well as the possibility of having to face his past mistake. He preferred to avoid those issues until he was clearer on what he wanted.

  “Couldn’t we?” Miss Fairchild repeated, her expectant expression demanding he agree.

  He couldn’t understand why she was doing this or what was in it for her. What was she about? While he
couldn’t imagine that she intended to harm his parents in any way, financially or emotionally, he needed to be sure. Doing so required he remain in London for a time.

  He also intended to discover where the funds he’d been sending had gone, for his parents were clearly not spending any on themselves. Questioning that while Miss Fairchild was here seemed a poor idea. He didn’t want to say anything that would embarrass his parents.

  “Of course,” he said at last, his mind reeling. What had he just agreed to? It felt like far more than simply soaking some raisins in brandy, so they might play a silly game that tended to burn one’s fingers.

  Yet the approval that swept through Miss Fairchild’s eyes had him returning her smile. Since when did a stranger’s approval have any effect on him?

  She clapped her hands, her smile one of genuine pleasure. The same heat that had come over him when he’d caught her in the foyer filled him as she held his gaze. Her obvious delight made his chest feel tight and uncomfortable.

  “Wonderful.” Miss Fairchild released the spell she’d cast on him when she looked at his mother and father. “You must tell us everything. I don’t know that we can promise ice skating, but what other things did you do?”

  His mother sighed, a smile still on her lips. “A kissing bough and greenery. A Yule log.”

  Miss Fairchild looked at him again. “Will you help me to remember all this or should I write it down?”

  He could hardly remember his name when she looked at him like that, let alone a list of things. The mix of expectations and joy in her expression was something he didn’t think he could live up to. Neither did he have it within him to say no.

  “I shall do my best to remember.” What madness was this? He’d returned to London for a completely different purpose other than to celebrate Christmas.

  Miss Fairchild positively beamed in response.

  Who was she and what was going on here? It was in that very moment that he knew he was in serious trouble.

  Chapter Five

  Baxter tapped on the library door before opening it the next morning, hoping to have a moment alone with his father. Though he’d had time with his parents after Miss Fairchild left the previous afternoon, he hadn’t wanted to ruin their high spirits with talk of money or the lack thereof. It felt wrong to stroll in after being gone three years and question his father about everything from the paint to the furnishings to their clothing. He told himself he wanted to have a good night’s sleep before broaching the uncomfortable topic and had retired early.