“That is absurd. You like children. I’ve seen you with children,” Walter said, stating the obvious.
“Yes, I like other people’s children very much, and even more when I hand them back.” She smo
othed her hands over her skirts, anxiety filling her. “I simply don’t wish for my own, I never have, so there is no point in marrying.”
He stared into space and Melanie held her breath. His jaw clenched firmly and his brows wrinkled as if he was struggling with a confusing idea.
“Say what is on your mind, sir?”
His face darkened to a deep red and she flinched. Melanie had seen Walter angry only once before. The day Linus Radley had proposed and then insulted her. Walter had been terribly upset with the man. More than he should have been. More than her own brother even.
He was angry now too and she was ashamed to concede she might have led him to think there could be more between them. She’d allowed him to kiss her, and matches had been made on account of far less.
Her heart ached but she couldn’t retract her words or change her opinion. She would never put a child through the same despair she’d suffered. She wasn’t like other women. Her arms didn’t ache to hold a child.
He cleared his throat. “I cannot say what I feel.”
“Well I can.” Valentine sprang to his feet. “This is something you might have told me. Should have told me long ago.”
“I apologize.” She bowed her head, contrite but not changed.
“You do realize that despite the distance, our parents expect you to marry very well.”
She didn’t need the reminder. “They have already been very clear about my duty to the family; they have pressured me to marry for many years with no success. But I am a long way from them so I try not to think about future disagreements.”
Walter turned his face aside. If one of Walter’s greatest wishes was to have a family, and he’d come to think of her fondly, she must have sorely disappointed him. After a moment, he met her gaze again. “For what reason?”
“I beg your pardon.”
“For what reason do you not wish for children.” He stared at her hard, clearly baffled by her decision. “Are you afraid to lose your figure?”
Julia gasped and crossed the room to sit at her side. “Mr. George, that is a very rude question you ask.”
For a moment, it surprised Melanie to have Julia jump to her defense. Many women in society were vain about their appearance and it pained her that Walter thought so little of her. She didn’t care about her figure. Her decision was reasoned, and entirely sensible.
That wasn’t much comfort now though. Melanie rubbed her arms. “So, like Mr. Radley, you think maintaining my appearance is all that is important to me.”
“Is it the reason?”
She met his gaze steadily. “Of course it is not.”
“What will you do? Spend the rest of your life waiting on Julia and her children? Return to Oxford to tend to your parents’ ailments in their final years?” Walter asked, his voice rising. “I imagine that will be hard to do convincingly.”
“Walter George, that is enough,” Julia protested.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” he snapped.
He leaned forward. “What will happen to you when Julia does not need or want you underfoot anymore? Will your father’s estate provide a home for you?”
“Steady on, George,” Valentine warned.
Walter rose, towering above her, but she remained seated and held his gaze. She really had upset him over Imogen and she was sorry for that.
“Without her sight, Imogen was prepared to live alone, away from the ones she loved. She couldn’t bear the idea of being a burden, of having to be watched and waited on at all times because she could not see the dangers ahead of her.”
Melanie shivered. Imogen’s illness had once brought on such extreme panic in herself that she had spoken once without thought, venting her fears in a way that made her cringe now. To lose one’s sight was a tragedy, but more so in Imogen’s case because she wrote such wonderful tales. Melanie had prayed for her recovery every day, but Walter could not know that because she’d done so privately and never breathed a word of it to anyone. All anyone had heard of Melanie was the bad, because her cousin had made everything she said and did seem even worse. “She was very ill.”
“She was not ill. She was afraid, and hurt by the things you said about her particularly. As was I.” His jaw clenched tight a moment. “I thought you’d changed, but you are still entirely selfish. You chose the easy way, to love only yourself. I doubt you could ever put another’s needs first.”