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

by Lana Williams

  Unfortunately, he was still reluctant to speak of it. The last thing he wanted was to offend his father or wound his pride. But the starkness of the guest room in which he’d slept insisted questions be asked.

  Sure enough, his father sat at his desk chair, staring out the window that overlooked the side garden. For a moment, Baxter didn’t think he’d heard the knock.

  Then his father turned, no surprise in his expression at the sight of Baxter in the doorway, only pleasure. But the tension he’d sensed the previous day had returned.

  “Good morning, Baxter.” His father rose and gestured toward the window. “I was just admiring the fine December day.”

  Baxter’s chest tightened at what he was certain was a lie. Did his father think it necessary to pretend all was well? Baxter hated the thought. They’d always enjoyed a good and honest relationship.

  Until the day his father had delivered the terrible news.

  That day was one Baxter had relived countless times. It had changed them both. The stricken look upon his father’s face was something Baxter hoped never to see again.

  The realization that their entire fortune had disappeared without a trace along with one Horace Tisdale, the supposed barrister who’d presented an investment ‘guaranteed’ to pay a significant return, had been shocking.

  Baxter realized that life as he’d known it had ended, that the plans he’d made were no longer possible. His carefree days of time with friends, parties, and horses had come to an abrupt end. Much of what they owned would need to be sold to pay creditors. Their accounts at various shops, including the tailor, would be closed. Even his horse, a bay he’d recently purchased and grown fond of, had to be sold. He’d been forced to grow up quickly.

  His father’s honesty at that moment had only made Baxter respect him more. He hadn’t held back the truth but admitted to being taken in by the smooth-talking barrister who’d convinced both his father and his man of business that the mining venture in Brazil he proposed was full-proof. The man had presented evidence that previous investments in the mine had resulted in massive profits. Evidence they later realized had been forged.

  Baxter knew his father wasn’t greedy. He’d only hoped to provide for his family and future heirs in a way that would change their lives for the better.

  Instead, those hopes had not only been dashed but stomped on.

  Another blow was yet to come for Baxter. He’d been on the verge of proposing to Lady Alice Hayes, who was everything he thought he wanted in a wife—attractive, titled, and with similar interests.

  Before Baxter could tell her the unfortunate news, she advised him that she’d already heard. He’d expected her to tell him such things didn’t matter. That she loved him, and the news changed nothing. Instead, she’d looked at him as if he were beneath her now that he had hardly a shilling to his name.

  That rejection had hurt far more than the news his father had shared. It had also made him determined never to be without money again. He’d lost his friends, his social standing, and the woman he thought to marry in a matter of days. Seeing Alice on the arm of another man—a wealthy one—convinced him that he’d narrowly escaped what would’ve been an unhappy marriage, but it was still a situation he never wanted to repeat.

  “Father,” Baxter began, trying to determine which of his many questions to ask first and how to do so without causing offense.

  His father offered a small smile. “So good to have you here, Baxter. We’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you as well.”

  “Do you truly intend to remain through the holidays? If not, tell me now before your mother’s hopes rise too high.”

  Baxter’s throat pinched. He’d been gone far too long if his father doubted his word. “I’d be pleased to stay for Christmas.”

  “But after that, you’ll return to Bombay?”

  “The business is doing well there.” This was his chance. The opportunity to ask what in heaven’s name his father had done with all the funds he’d sent. To ask why his parents were living in genteel poverty rather than in the manner to which he’d expected.

  Yet he hesitated when his father’s gaze fell to the desk, his finger tracing a pattern on the surface as his brow furrowed.

  Baxter waited, certain he had something to say.

  At last, his dark eyes met Baxter’s as he opened a drawer, withdrew a sheet of paper, and slid it forward. “It’s nearly all here. In an account in your name. I’ve taken only enough to pay for basic living expenses.”

  Baxter stared at the ledger, stunned by the size of the number at the end of the neat rows of entries.

  “With this, you should be able to marry anyone of your choosing,” his father added. “I’m proud of what you achieved in India, but you don’t have to return there if you don’t want to.”

  “No.” Baxter was dismayed at the figures. “This was never what I intended. The money was for you and Mother.”

  His father shook his head. “I lost nearly everything with my foolhardiness. I don’t deserve to spend what you’ve earned.” His gaze lifted to meet Baxter’s, his expression resolute. “I know exactly what you lost in the mess I created.”

  Baxter frowned. He hadn’t told his father of Lady Alice’s rejection as he feared it would only add to his guilt. Plus, the failure had been his as he’d chosen unwisely. He’d been so certain that she cared for him and money wouldn’t matter. How naively stupid of him. He would never make that mistake again.

  “I didn’t lose what is most important.” He came around the side of the desk to clasp his father’s shoulder. “You and Mother are all that truly matter.”

  Moisture filled his father’s eyes. “Son.” He pulled Baxter into his embrace, and Baxter knew he was home at last.

  Despite what his father had shared, Baxter intended to return to India, but before he left, he’d put things right at home. His parents deserved that and more. Surely, he and his father’s difference in opinion regarding the funds could be resolved as long as they had this.

  ~*~

  Violet hated to think of her vigil the past two days on the Adley household as spying, but how else could it be described? Watching for signs of Baxter or activity of any sort from inside her house was slowly driving her batty.

  The undercurrents swirling in the drawing room upon his arrival had kept her firmly on this side of the garden fence. Surely the polite thing to do was to allow them time to reunite as a family.

  But she dearly wanted to know what was happening.

  Far from the determined heroine in one of Holly’s mysteries, Violet observed from a safe distance, out of sight and no doubt out of mind.

  Annoyed with her thoughts, she walked away only to rush back to the window when an unfamiliar sound came from outside. Her gaze swept the house.

  And saw nothing.

  She shook her head. She’d turned into some kind of voyeur since Baxter’s arrival, watching and wondering from afar, unable to move on with her own life until she knew what was happening next door.

  What did she hope to see? Baxter. The unbidden thought twisted her lips into a scowl. Not true, she reassured herself. He was the reason she’d kept her distance. The way he’d looked at her, questioning her presence, made her wonder the same. Her purpose had become less clear since his arrival.

  She hadn’t forgotten her promise to help plan a Christmas the Adleys would remember. Already she had a few ideas for what they could do that wouldn’t be costly. Soon, she’d have to gather her courage and call upon the couple to see if they still wanted to proceed. Part of her hoped that when she did, Baxter wouldn’t be there. Unfortunately, the other part hoped he would.

  Movement out of the corner of her eye drew her notice. A horse and wagon entered the alley then disappeared. The fact that they didn’t emerge farther down the alley meant they had to have stopped at the Adley residence.

  With an excited gasp, she rushed out of the drawing room, slowed down in the hall so as not to attract the n
otice of any passing servant—or, heaven forbid, her mother—and entered the morning room, which was closer to the rear of the house. The windows there afforded a better view of the alley.

  As she watched, workers hauled rolled up rugs, two chairs wrapped in cloth, and two other pieces of furniture into the residence. What did that mean? The items only made her more curious as to what was happening inside.

  “Violet? Whatever are you doing?” her mother asked from the doorway.

  Violet spun as guilt flooded her. Potential excuses for her position at the window flew through her mind, but she dismissed them as quickly as they came.

  “Just noting our fine weather,” she tried, wondering if the lie would satisfy her mother.

  Her dubious look suggested it didn’t. Her gaze swung around the room, landing on the needlework Violet had abandoned there over two days ago. “Did you finish your embroidery piece?”

  “No.” Violet realized she hadn’t touched it since Baxter’s arrival. What on earth was wrong with her?

  “Why not?” her mother asked as she moved to pick it up and examine it.

  “I don’t have the correct shade of green to finish it.” At least that wasn’t a lie.

  “What shade are you in need of?”

  “Jade green with hints of gold.” Her description brought to mind the exact shade she wanted. Like Baxter’s eyes. The thought caused her to bite her lip. Oh dear. She was in worse shape than she’d realized. Yet she knew no other shade of thread would do. A rich green with hints of gold.

  She couldn’t help but press a hand to her stomach at the sudden flutters there.

  “Shall we see if we can find some at the shop this afternoon?”

  Violet turned back to the window, wondering what she’d miss if she left her post.

  “Violet?” Her mother came to stand beside her to look out the window as well. “Oh. The Adleys are having new things delivered. Lovely. I do hope they hire someone to paint their house soon. The windowsills are positively dreadful.”

  Violet had no doubt the new items were Baxter’s doing. But what did it mean?

  What if the older couple didn’t need her anymore? The thought saddened her more than she cared to admit.

  “Yes, let’s shop for that thread,” she said to her mother. “Then I’ll be able to finish this project and move on to the next.”

  “You’re not going to wear that gown, are you?” Her mother stepped back to look her over from head to toe.

  Violet knew she should be used to the criticism, but she’d received the full brunt of her mother’s not-so-helpful comments since Dalia’s marriage to Spencer a few months ago and was growing weary of it. “I’ll change and be down shortly.”

  She gave one last glance out the window, but no further activity was apparent. Upon her return from shopping, she’d have to pay a call and see what was happening next door. She only hoped they hadn’t abandoned the Christmas plans.

  Chapter Six

  Baxter watched as his mother moved from the new chairs to the bureau and back to walk across the large Persian rug now gracing the dining room, admiring each piece in turn.

  “Are you certain, Baxter? These seem like too much.”

  “Not at all,” he advised. He’d spent the past two days insisting his mother and father purchase a few new things to update the worn-out ones. His father would be most unhappy when the painters he’d hired arrived. Then again, he already was.

  A smile lit her face. “These pieces look even better here than they did in the shop, don’t you think?”

  He couldn’t have stopped his answering smile if he tried. Her delight made him happy. From what he could tell, the trips to Bond Street she’d mentioned in her letters had been a ruse. He had yet to convince his father that spending the money he’d sent wouldn’t jeopardize their savings.

  His father had become positively tight-fisted in Baxter’s absence. He’d let the “unnecessary” servants go and cut their food purchases to nearly nil along with wine and spirits. How Mrs. Watsford managed to feed the household with what little supplies she had was a mystery to Baxter. Now that the pantry had been filled, the housekeeper was busy baking and cooking to her heart’s content.

  While Baxter appreciated his father’s efforts to keep down expenses, the time had come to make updates and repairs. He refused to allow his parents to remain living as they had, making do with next to nothing when it was in his power to make changes. All his calculations had assumed the money he’d sent had been spent. Yet his father refused to accept that.

  Yesterday, he and Watsford had selected a new footman and a full-time maid with the help of Mrs. Watsford. The elderly couple had taken excellent care of his parents, but they were getting on in years and couldn’t be expected to work so hard. The idea of Miss Fairchild on the ladder in the foyer again had Baxter giving a mental shudder. Such tasks held too much risk to be treated lightly.

  His mother studied Baxter, a frown marring her brow. “But your father—”

  “Will adjust,” Baxter said firmly.

  In truth, he had yet to convince his father that all would be well. The numbers on the ledger page were something his father had focused on increasing for some time. Each month when Baxter had sent money, he’d taken only enough to pay for the basic expenses. He refused to believe he deserved any more than that.

  His mother stepped forward to run a hand along the gleaming surface of the bureau, her smile still in place. “I can’t wait for Violet to see these things. She’ll be delighted.”

  During the past two days, both his mother and father had referred to her in some manner more times than he could count. As if he had any chance of forgetting her. A glance out the window toward her residence had him wondering what she was doing. She hadn’t called on them since the day of his arrival.

  “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 Violet 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 Violet, all of this could be avoided.

  “I would much rather do the ac
tivities I mentioned with our family. And Violet, 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 Violet’s. “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 Violet’s hands to gesture toward the items.

  “How lovely,” Violet 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?” Violet 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 Violet.

  “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.