Walter rose and bowed stiffly. “Of course, ma’am. I should never wish to stand in the way of Winnie’s happiness. Excuse me.”
And with that, he turned and left the room.
Winnie’s eyes followed him all the way, resting on the door long after it had closed behind him.
“You will be Mrs Lomax yet, Winnie,” Lily said in a loud whisper.
“No, I shall not,” she said sharply. “Papa, you must write to Mr Lomax and tell him I cannot marry him, not now.”
“But Winnie—” her mother began.
“Icannotmarry him!”
“Why, because of this odd betrothal to Walter?” she said sharply. “That is nothing at all. It can easily be set aside. It was never a real betrothal, you know. It is very gentlemanly of him to offer for you, but now that Mr Lomax—”
“Mr Lomax! Mr Lomax!” Winnie cried, jumping to her feet. “I shallnevermarry Mr Lomax! Papa, please write and tell him so.”
“I am afraid you will have to tell him yourself, my dear,” her father said ruefully. “He is in the village as we speak, and will be here in…” He glanced at the clock. “…about half an hour.”
Winnie heaved a frustrated sigh. It was too bad of the man to come back after he had left so decisively. And now everything was uncertain again. Walter would nobly step aside, and her parents would push her towards Mr Lomax. Why could they not understand?
Slipping from the room, she found the butler hovering in the hall, wringing his hands anxiously.
“Oh, Miss Winnie! And it’s raining so hard.”
“Is it? Maynard, where did Mr Atherton go?”
“Out, Miss! In the rain, and not a proper coat or a hat or anything but his regular clothes. He’ll catch his death of cold, Miss.”
“I know where he will have gone. My cloak, Maynard — the old winter one.”
“James has already gone for it, miss. We knew you would— Ah, here he is.”
Hastily, she threw on the cloak and dashed out of the front door. It was indeed raining hard, the drops pelting down and bouncing off the lower steps, those not sheltered by the portico. Clutching the cloak tightly about her, Winnie ran down the drive, and onto the path through the shrubbery, a quicker waythan through the flower gardens. There was some shelter there, and more under the trees of the home wood, but even so, she was soaked before she reached the oak tree, where the swings sat motionless and dripping.
Quickly, she climbed the steps to the tree house, her heart in her mouth. Surely he would be here? He must be!
He was sitting on the floor, his knees drawn up to his chest, his head lowered so that she could not see his face. He was soaked from head to toe, water puddling beneath him and little rivulets running from his hair. The rain drummed on the wooden roof just above Winnie’s head.
“Walter?” she said uncertainly. He started at the sound of her voice, but kept his head lowered. “Are you ill?”
A shake of the head.
“Just upset, then,” she said, sitting down on the floor beside him. Not touching… not presuming to touch him, no matter how much she longed to take him into her arms. “What is it about Mr Lomax that bothers you so much?”
He half lifted his head. “Jealous.”
“Jealous?” That was a surprise. “What can you possibly be jealous about… unless… is it that he has his inheritance and you have lost yours?”
He lifted his head a little more, a tiny smile curving his lips. “Not that.”
“Then what is it? What else can he possibly have that you do not?”
A long silence, then he said in a low voice, “He has you.”
Now that was not funny, so very far from funny that she answered him sharply. “Why do you dislike him so much?”
He lifted his head fully, not looking at her, resting his head, still dripping, against the rough wooden wall of the tree house. With a sigh, he closed his eyes. “I do not dislike him… not much, anyway. Well, he is a coxcomb, of course, but I do not hold thatagainst him. It is not Lomax himself I dislike, it is all that he represents.”
