“He’s not actually my Mr. Wanamaker quite yet” was all Wilhelmina could think to respond—a response that Miss Griswold completely ignored as she smiled somewhat grimly and continued on as if Wilhelmina had not even spoken.
“In all honesty, I don’t believe Lucy thought the matter through properly, although the whole thinking business is always questionable when it concerns my stepsister. Lucy evidently didn’t consider the potential consequences of you and Mr. Wanamaker being discovered alone together. I certainly don’t believe she expected him to immediately declare his intention to marry you. That intention, amusingly enough, has caused my stepsister to take to her bed today. She’s armed with a cool cloth and a bottle of smelling salts, moaning ever so often as her mother, my stepmother, sits by her side, wringing her hands and pondering whether or not a doctor should be summoned.”
Wilhelmina fought a smile. “You do have a way of painting a scene with your words, Miss Griswold. But if you’ll recall our conversation of last night, as you so kindly drove me home, I’m not entirely convinced it would be fair of me to take Edgar up on his offer.”
“Mr. Wanamaker, from what I’ve observed of him so far, is a gentleman,” Miss Griswold countered. “Because of that, you have no option but to take him up on his offer, or else he’ll be forever plagued with feelings of guilt and . . . he will most certainly sink into a deep and life-altering melancholy.”
“Edgar has never been prone to melancholy.”
Miss Griswold pursed her lips. “He’ll more than likely become prone to it if you don’t accept his offer, especially after Mrs. Travers makes certain your reputation is destroyed. That will then see you out of your job as a social secretary, and the next thing you know, you’ll be seen wandering through the city in rags, holding out your hand for a scrap of bread from anyone who passes you by.”
Wilhelmina tilted her head. “Have you ever considered dabbling a bit with writing? I daresay you’d do well penning a gothic novel, what with the knack you seem to have for imagery.”
Waving that observation aside, Miss Griswold plowed on with her argument as if Wilhelmina hadn’t just voiced a brilliant suggestion. “Truth be told, I’m not exactly certain why you’re dithering about accepting Mr. Wanamaker’s proposal of marriage—especially since I’m convinced you truly care about the gentleman.” She gave a rather knowing nod of her head. “You probably have never realized this, but when you speak of the man, your voice takes on a distinctly sappy tone.”
Opening her mouth to dismiss that idea, Wilhelmina suddenly pressed her lips together when the thought struck that there just might be a grain of truth to Miss Griswold’s observation.
“I fear you may be right about that, Miss Griswold,” she finally admitted. “And truth be told, I have recently come to the conclusion that I care about Edgar far more than I’d realized. Having said that, I’m simply not comfortable with the marriage idea, given that he made his offer under what can only be described as extenuating circumstances.”
“Wasn’t it his idea to go to the conservatory in the first place?”
“Well, yes, but considering nothing untoward happened between us, I’m not comfortable holding him responsible for us being found out, nor am I comfortable holding him to his offer of marriage, especially after I rejected him all those years ago.”
The sting of tears caught her by surprise. Turning her head, she brushed them away, but when she returned her attention to Miss Griswold, she found that lady considering her with far too much understanding resting in her unusual eyes.
Clearing her throat, Wilhelmina summoned up a smile. “The good news about that long ago rejection, though, at least according to Edgar, is that he claims it helped turn him into a man—a role he fills rather nicely.”
“He does indeed,” Miss Griswold agreed.
Wilhelmina’s smile widened. “Do you know that one of the reasons I turned down his proposal all those years ago was because I didn’t think he was measuring up very well against the older gentlemen who were seeking my favor?”
Her smile faded straightaway as the truth of what she’d actually done that night settled into her very soul. “I was so foolish, you see, having my head turned by those other gentlemen, all of whom were certainly more sophisticated than Edgar, but none of whom, in hindsight, were prepared to give me what I truly needed—affection of the most genuine sort, something Edgar had always made available to me from the time we were mere children.”
Miss Griswold immediately took to clucking. “From what you told me last night, you, my dear Miss Radcliff, were all of seventeen years old. Most young ladies are complete idiots at that age and make ridiculous choices on a frequent basis.”
“Did you make ridiculous choices when you were seventeen?”