He laughed properly at that. “Especially not that. All his boots prove is that he employs a competent valet. Winnie, I may not greatly admire his style of dress, but I hope I am not so unjust as to condemn him for such a trivial matter. He holds you in the highest esteem, and that alone engenders my respect for his good judgement. You will be very happy as Mrs Lomax.”
Winnie could not let the moment pass. He was saying everything that a good friend would be expected to say, but did his words hide anything deeper? Or was he exactly as he appeared — nothing but a friend? She took a deep breath. “It is by no means certain that I shall accept him.”
Walter’s head shot up. “What? I thought youwantedto marry him.”
“I want to marrysomeone, Walter. I want a husband and my own establishment and my own children, and not merely play the aunt for my nephews and nieces, so I shall probably accept Mr Lomax if he offers. He is not perfect — he is very far fromperfect. He has not been honest with me, and I cannot like that he believed those foul rumours about me. He feels… alien, somehow, not comfortable like a friend. He makes me feel odd, as if I am not quite me when I am with him. But he is the best that is on offer. I cannot expect to find a man more to my taste, not at my age, and without anything to boast of in the way of looks or dowry or accomplishments, so I shall take him, I suppose.”
She dared not come closer to the truth. If Walter did not respond to such an obvious opening, then she would give up all hope of him once and for all.
He was silent for a long time, then he said slowly, “Youaredifferent when you are with him, Mouse, but I think it is as much those fancy new clothes of yours as anything. You look so fashionable in your London gowns, and with your hair done just so. You are a perfect match for him, you know. You look well together.”
“It is not about clothes!” she said impatiently. “Why does everyone judge by clothes? I am stillmeinside, whatever I wear.”
“I hate to disagree with you, Mouse, but I think youaredifferent. Look at you now, for instance — a dilapidated old gown, a cloak that is so old I cannot even tell what colour it is and your hair just bundled up on your head anyhow, with bits of it falling down. And here you are, completely the familiar old Winnie to me. Whereas when you put on your new gowns and walk around on Lomax’s arm… well, you seem very different. Very ladylike. Very refined. Just like your mama.”
She pulled a face. “But I do not want to be like Mama. Ladylike… perhaps. I should not like to beunladylike. But in my own family, may I not be at ease and behave in a more relaxed way? Yesterday, for instance, when everyone was playing cricket on the lawn. Even Papa and Uncle Alfred and Hebe. EvenWilliam Plaister! I wanted to play, too, as I always had before, but Mr Lomax wanted me to sit with him and I did, but it made me feel… so strange. To be sitting on the terrace with him and Mama and Lily like a useless ornament instead of running about enjoying myself… I have always been a doer, Walter, not a watcher, and he is turning me into a watcher like him.”
“And is that not how it should be?” Walter said gently, his expression earnest. “A wife should follow her husband’s lead in all things.”
“As Bea Franklyn would have followed your lead, I suppose? No, Walter, a woman, be she wife or spinster, should always follow her own principles before all else.”
“But a wife must be guided by her husband, do you not agree? You may argue as much as you like withme, but when you are married to Lomax you must abide by his wishes. It is a part of growing up, I think. I have had to grow up by losing my inheritance and carving a new path in the world, and you will have to grow up when you become Mrs Lomax. You are nervous about it, which is perfectly natural, for you are already feeling the changes that will be necessary, but it will all be worth it, Winnie. Lomax will make you very happy, and no one deserves that more than you.”
That was the point at which Winnie gave it up in despair. If Walter had nothing to say to her except to push her towards Mr Lomax, then it was clear he had no attachment beyond simple friendship. They walked back to the house together in uneasy silence.
***
It was more than a week before Mr Lomax came to the point, and then it almost came as a surprise. The whole family had gone on a long drive up onto the moors for a picnic, arrivinghome grubby, hot and dishevelled late in the afternoon. Mr Lomax, his shirt points wilting in the heat, had retreated to the inn at Birchall to restore himself to his usual sartorial glory, returning only shortly before dinner. For once, he did not sit beside Winnie, choosing instead to sit between Mama and Lily, which was something of a puzzle. Winnie refused to allow her imagination to speculate on the reasons for that, but Lily had no such inhibitions.
“Is he going to run away again?” she whispered to Winnie, as the ladies withdrew after dinner, but Mama shushed her at once, for which Winnie was grateful. It was bad enough waiting for a proposal that might never come without Lily trying to read the poor man’s intentions from every trivial deviation from routine.
So she sat and pretended to read a newspaper, while all the time wondering how many more days must pass before he made his declaration. The summer was drifting away and he showed no sign of progress. There had been no words of love, no tender looks, no meaningful pats of her gloved hands. Just the obvious admiration in his eyes and his eagerness to be with her. Most of the time.
It was rather like waiting for the thunderstorm at the end of a long hot day. Even now she could hear distant rumbles, but perhaps it too would come to nothing, fading away into the night. Hebe and Lily were playing together, Lily’s delicate harp all but drowned out by Hebe’s enthusiastic efforts on the pianoforte, but no one asked Winnie to join in. They understood, and respectfully left her to her own thoughts. Another day gone and she was still not betrothed.
Mama was called away by Maynard, and then, a few minutes later, Maynard returned. “You’re wanted in the book room, madam,” he said to Winnie.
Madam. Even the butler knew something was afoot. Her stomach suddenly tied in knots, Winnie left the room to sudden silence. Her sisters knew the significance of this moment.
Mama and Papa were both in the book room, sitting side by side and smiling at her. Mr Lomax stood beside the fireplace, one arm resting on the mantel, as if he were too anxious to sit, but he was smiling, too. The time had come, then. This was the moment when her life would change irrevocably.
She was aware of a sudden terror of him, this stranger to whom she was about to bind herself. What did she know of him, in truth? Very little beyond what he had told her himself. This was a mistake! She should run away as fast as she could… she should tell Walter outright that she loved him. And then what? He would feel obliged to offer for her, obliged to marry her and he would resent her for the rest of his life.
The thought steadied her. Walter had had his chance, and had chosen not to take it. So be it. She would marry Mr Lomax instead. Lifting her chin, she curtsied. “You wished to see me, Papa? Mama?”
“It is Mr Lomax who wishes to see you, Winnie,” her father said, still smiling. “He has something very particular to say to you. I would have you understand, Winnie, that this has the approval of both of us, but the decision is yours to make. We will accept whatever you choose to do.”
Mama gave him a quizzical look, but Winnie said, “I understand.”
“Very well,” her father said. “We shall await news in the drawing room.”
Then she was alone with Mr Lomax. Her future husband.
He came towards her, and took her hands, kissing one after the other. “My dear Miss Strong… Winifred,” he began.
She was startled to be called‘Winifred’, a name probably not used since her Baptism, but made no comment, not liking to interrupt his speech.
He pulled her to a sofa and sat down beside her, still holding her hands. “You will have been aware of my intentions for some time, delayed only by…”
