“And for a woman also,” her father said gently.
“I amalmostcertain that I will accept him,” she said.
“Almost?”
“I am still not entirely confident of his character, but I am not minded to be harsh. I want to be married, Papa, and I shall never get another offer so good. He will have to do something quite unforgivable for me to refuse him now.”
He nodded. “You are a sensible girl, Winnie. I can depend upon you to make a wise decision. And now, judging by the chatter in the hall, the guests are departing. Why do you not go and bid them farewell, eh? And if you have any concerns about this man, or wish to talk about anything at all, my door is always open to you.” He picked up his glass again, and reached for his book.
“Thank you, Papa.”
She curtsied and opened the door, where the noise of many conversations in competition with each other assaulted her ears. She was absorbed effortlessly into the throng, and for perhaps twenty minutes a succession of carriages drew up on the drive and were filled with cheerful ladies. Only when the final carriage had been waved away did Hebe and Lily grab an arm each, and drag Winnie, laughing, into the drawing room, where Mama firmly closed the door on the interested Maynard.
“Oh, Winnie!” they breathed, almost in unison.
“What a fine man!” Hebe said, sentimental tears filling her eyes.
“How lucky you are,” Lily said, with a great sigh. “I wish I may find such a husband.”
“She is indeed fortunate,” Mama said, smiling benevolently. “Four thousand a year, and a fine estate, by all accounts. It is mentioned in all the guidebooks.”
“He is so handsome,” Lily said.
“So splendidly attired,” Hebe said. “I never saw boots shine so much. But where were the tassels, Winnie? You said he wore boots with tassels.”
“Hessians?” Lily said. “But that would be town wear. For the country he wears top boots and breeches like everyone else. It is in all the journals.”
“Not at all like everyone else,” Hebe said. “I never saw anyone so smart, even in York. His waistcoat — did you observe it? And the lapels of his coat! He must have the finest tailor in London.”
“His manners were everything they should be, too,” Mama said. “I rate good breeding far above coats and tassels on boots.”
“He is magnificent,” Lily said, in tones that brooked no argument. “You lucky, lucky creature, Winnie.”
28: Distant Rumbles
Winnie’s head was in a whirl. Her life had always been so placid, with nothing to ruffle the smooth surface of her days, and now everything was in turmoil. She had careered from one excess of emotion to another, with no respite. First the flare of hope in finding that Walter was freed from his betrothal to Bea Franklyn. Then the slow, dreary recognition that he still did not see Winnie as more than a friend. Then Mr Lomax and the prospect of a different husband, very much second best, but still a desirable object. That, too, had faded to nothing, before exploding in rage at Walter’s interference, which had ended in his totally unexpected offer. Which she had rejected! But it had given her hope… and now Mr Lomax again, and a dilemma.
Walter had offered for her once, albeit spurred by guilt. Could he conceivably offer for her again? Was there any corner of his heart where Winnie lurked, curled into a tiny mouse-like ball, perhaps, but lying there inside him, prodding him to offer for her again, properly this time? She had thought she had plenty of time to find out, but now there was no time left. If —when— Mr Lomax made his offer, she had to reply, once and for all. Yes or no. Mrs Lomax or… possibly Miss Strong forever more. If Walter were ever to offer for her, it had to be now, but she could not see how it could be done. For three days, Mr Lomax came to call, and there were outings and walks in the garden and long evenings when he monopolised her attention, and there was not a single moment alone with Walter. Even her morning walks were accompanied by Hebe, so even if Walter had gone to the tree house too, there would have been no opportunity for private conversation.
But one morning, waking unusually early, she managed to evade Hebe and escaped alone for her walk. That at least was something! She needed time for quiet reflection to decide whether she could live with a man who lied to her. What would happen if he carried such dishonesty into their marriage? If she came to suspect him of gambling debts or unfaithfulness or some other misdemeanour, and asked him if it were true — would he look her straight in the eye and lie? Yes, she rather thought he would. He would consider that he was protecting her from unpleasantness, perhaps. It would not occur to him that she did not need protecting.
So her thoughts ran as she reached the tree house, and settled herself on her usual swing. She had not been there more than a few moments when she heard rapid footsteps approaching. Hebe, perhaps, chasing after her.
But it was Walter. “There you are, Mouse. You are a fast walker. I was sure I would catch up with you long before this.”
“You have been following me?”
“I saw you leave, and I wanted an opportunity to talk to you without— alone. You are never alone these days.” Then, hesitantly, “May I?”
“Of course. I am glad to see you alone, too. I understand I have you to thank for Mr Lomax’s unexpected appearance on the doorstep. You wrote to him, I believe.”
He sat down on the other swing, not looking at her. “I did. Once I understood the truth about all those foul rumours about you, I felt obliged to undeceive Lomax. Your father said not to tell you, in case it raised your hopes, but I am glad Lomax has seen sense at last.” He raised his head and looked directly at her. “I am pleased for you, Winnie. He will make you an admirable husband.”
“Will he? You had a very low opinion of him at one time.”
Walter gave a slight chuckle, looking embarrassed, his head sinking again. “It was arrogant of me to presume to judge a man of whom I knew nothing except that he wears a great many fobs. A man’s worth is not measured by the number of his fobs.”
“Nor by the width of his lapels or the shine on his boots.”
