“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 your 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.
<
br /> 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.
“Baxter Adley.” Her mother said his name as she tapped a finger against her lips, a sign she was trying to remember something.
Oh dear.
“I should be going. They’re expecting me.” Though they weren’t.
“Wait. Baxter Adley. Now I remember. I understand he and Lady Alice are renewing their acquaintance, so it’s good that you’re not growing fond of him.”
The pain that swept through her took her by surprise. What could Baxter possibly see in Alice? The woman might be considered a beauty, but she had directed her cutting remarks at Violet and her sister, Dalia, on more than one occasion. She was mean-spirited and often petty. Violet was tempted to warn him of her poor behavior but doing so would make her no better.
“If he likes Lady Alice, then he doesn’t have good taste,” Holly announced with a tone of authority.
“You’ve never met Lady Alice,” their mother pointed out.
“I’ve heard enough about her to know that to be true,” Holly countered.
“Holly,” their mother protested. “That is hardly the way a young lady should speak of others.” She looked at Violet once again. “You’d be far better off spending time trying to attract a lord’s notice rather than reading to the elderly couple next door.”
“I’m helping them with a few things as well.” Why Violet bothered to defend her actions she didn’t know.
“Such as?” Holly asked, one brow raised.
Violet’s gaze swung to her mother, wondering if she truly had to answer. At her mother’s matching brow, Violet sighed. “They have asked me to help them plan an old-fashioned Christmas.”
“Whatever for?” her mother asked.
“They miss the activities they enjoyed in their youth.” At her mother’s blank look, she added, �
�Singing carols, decorating with holly, playing snapdragon.”
“Good heavens. That is a terrible game.” Her mother rubbed her fingers as though remembering it all too well.
“Maybe we could plan a few family activities this year,” Violet suggested.
“Your father and I are attending a supper on Christmas Eve. And on Christmas Day, we’ll all have dinner at Letitia and Nathaniel’s. That is more than enough activity. The rest is far too much bother.”
Her words only made Violet pleased she’d be able to enjoy some of the festivities at the Adley residence. At least then she’d have the chance to celebrate a more traditional Christmas.
“I must be going,” Violet said and slipped out the door before her mother could further protest.
The icy frozen streets and walkways had melted, but the chill in the air had returned. Her breath came out in little puffs of clouds, making her release several purposely just to see them.
She chuckled at her silliness as she knocked on the Adleys’ door. To her surprise, Baxter opened it.
His watchful gaze swept over her face, lingering on her lips, and bringing to mind their kiss once again. The sensation that fluttered in her stomach was becoming familiar but still threw her off balance, and there was no ice underfoot on which to blame it.
“Good day, Violet.” His deep voice added to the fluttering sensation.
Oh dear. She was growing quite enamored with Baxter no matter how she wished otherwise.
~*~
The next afternoon, Violet couldn’t help but smile as she watched Baxter.
He stared at the bowl of cranberries, along with a needle and thread beside it, a look of consternation on his face. “What is the purpose of this?”
Violet giggled at his expression. “To decorate with. Don’t tell me you’ve never threaded cranberries before.”
“I can’t say that I have. Have you?” he asked.
“No,” she admitted. “I only said that, so it would sound like something one should do for the holidays.”
“How did this idea come to mind?”
“My father’s cousin lives in America and sent an entire crate of cranberries to us. My mother has no idea what to do with them. I mentioned it to my friend, Lillian, and she said the Americans often thread them on a string for decoration on the Christmas tree.”
Wishing Upon A Christmas Star (The Seven Curses of London Book 8) Page 7