“You are more forbearing than I should be,” Hebe said, still weeping slightly. “Dear, dear Winnie! Such an angel! But you never described him in your letters, dearest. Was he so very handsome?”
Winnie tried and failed to recall Mr Lomax’s face to her mind. How odd that he should have faded from memory so soon. Some aspects of him were very memorable, but not his face.
“I cannot say,” she said cautiously. “His features were… pleasant, I should say. His manners were excellent, and he was a very stylish dresser, quite in the height of fashion. He wore those shiny boots with tassels, and his shirt points were up to here.” She waved her hands vaguely about her cheeks. “Walter used to make fun of him, but I thought he looked very well. But then Walter has always been such a careless dresser. He and fashion are entirely unacquainted.”
She stumbled to a halt. Why was she talking about Walter? She must be careful not to say too much.
“But was he tall? Dark or fair? What colour were his eyes?”
“Not above average height. His hair was a medium brown, and as for his eyes… I cannot tell you.”
Now if it were Walter, she could talk all day about his imposing height, his broad shoulders, his not-quite-blond hair that fell across his forehead so boyishly. He had eyes the colour of the sky on a warm summer’s day, and long, long lashes darker than his hair. His hands, too… he had lovely hands with long fingers, strong, masculine hands. His nose was perhaps a shade smaller than perfection demanded, but his chin was a charming shape and his lips— She shivered suddenly. This was not a sensible line of thought.
“Let us not talk about Mr Lomax,” she said quickly, seeing Hebe ready to settle in for a long discussion. “Tell me instead about Prudence. Does she always scream so, or is it merely that she dislikes so much fuss? She was passed from hand to hand like a parcel yesterday.”
“Oh, she will settle soon, I am sure,” Hebe said easily. “The disruption, you know… being jounced about in the carriage,and then all the new faces… yes, I am sure she will settle very swiftly.”
“Perhaps a quieter day with Aunt Winnie would suit her? I can try out my repertoire of lullabies.”
“Oh, no, no, no! You must not… so distressing for you, when you have been denied the chance for babies of your own.” Hebe’s tears were threatening again. “Nurse knows how to deal with her. There is no need for you to have anything to do with her.”
“No, indeed, I shall very much enjoy playing the rôle of aunt again. She was so tiny last time I saw her. There will be so much more we can do together now that she is more active. I can bring her out here and introduce her to the swings. She can sit on my lap and see how she likes the motion. It is a family tradition for the young ladies of the family to come here. You must not deny poor Prudence her birthright.”
Hebe smiled through her tears. “So brave, dearest!” she whispered.
***
With visitors to be entertained, Lady Strong had devised a full program of amusements. Every day had its outing or some gathering at Birchall House, and every evening the covers were increased for dinner to the greatest extent the dining room would permit.
Winnie had little part to play in these events. Whenever the carriage was summoned for some expedition or other, Mama would say, “Shall you accompany us, Winnie?”, but when she declined, nothing further was said. Mama merely murmured, “Very well, dear,” and patted her sympathetically on the shoulder. And if everyone supposed she was pining for Mr Lomax and not ready for much company, that suited her very well. She spent her days with little Prudence, or catching up onstill room tasks, and occasionally she was called in to take notes for Uncle Alfred. This was a particular pleasure, since Walter was there.
She felt they were gradually regaining their former easy companionship. Indeed, it was impossible to live under the same roof as Walter, to meet him at breakfast and again each evening, and occasionally bumping into him on the stairs or at the stables, without lapsing back into friendship, for he was the most easy-going of men. Each time they met, he was a little less aloof, and when, eventually, he felt sufficiently unconstrained to flick her on one cheek and call her Mouse in the old way, she was thrilled.
Breakfast was the best time of the day, but evenings were pleasurable too, for at least she was in the same room as Walter. She was able to admire him from afar, for he was easily the best looking and most imposing of all the men present. And sometimes there was the great joy of sitting beside him at dinner, or at the card table later.
On one such occasion, Winnie was partnering Hebe’s husband, William, at whist, and Walter was gamely trying to instil the basics of the game into Lily, albeit without much success.
As Winnie shuffled inexpertly, Walter said to William, “You live at Pickering, I understand, Mr Plaister. Is there much to do there at this time of year? It always seemed rather a dull place to me, nothing like so lively as Scarborough.”
William smiled. “It is true that Scarborough is livelier, but Mrs Plaister and I do not much care for that sort of liveliness. Mrs Plaister has her music society and her sewing circle and her work for the church, and I have my philosophical society and my political society. Not that I am strongly political myself, but I like to know what is happening in London and the colonies.”
It was so much of a piece with the characters of both that Winnie could hardly suppress her own smile. William was a meek, bespectacled man whose quiet ways exactly suited Hebe’s timid nature. They would never set the world on fire, but they would live retired, contented lives together, attending their little societies and raising a brood of equally timid children. Winnie could never imagine herself in such a situation.
“Is that the same political society that Mr Nicholson attended?” Walter said.
“Oh, yes. He was a very well-known personage in Pickering on account of the political society, and his businesses.”
“Hisbusinesses?”Walter said, his tone suddenly sharp. “A man of God, chaplain to the Earl of Rennington, owned businesses in Pickering?”
“Indeed. A chandlery and an ironmongery, that I know of. There was talk of a haberdashery, too, but that was not certain. They did not operate under his name, but it was widely known that he owned them.”
“Well!” Walter said, leaning back in his chair. “That is a surprising turn. I wonder if Captain Edgerton is aware of this.”
“Is it important?” William said. “A man may own a business or two without censure, I believe.”
“Certainly, but still… it is interesting. And he owns a property there, I believe. A house, rented out to a respectable widow.”
And for some odd reason, William blushed furiously, even the tips of his ears reddening, and murmured something inaudible.
