In spite of the disaster the evening had been, something had clarified in him nonetheless. She was the one for him. Now all he had to do was to make her understand he was the one for her, but he had no illusions about how hard that was going to be. It would be months before he was home on leave again and he just hoped the bakery she’d spoken of would keep her too busy to notice if any other men appeared on the horizon.

He ground his teeth, frustration and helplessness knotting his insides. He was a thirty-two-year-old man but he could have been a callow schoolboy still wet behind the ears, the way she affected him. He had got no encouragement from her tonight, not a word or the slightest softening in her attitude, and yet— His heart beat faster. He would swear on oath that behind that reserve and iron-clad will of hers she was attracted to him. He had known too many women in the past not to recognize the signs. He nodded to himself, remembering what had been in that last look of hers when they had stood so close they were just a breath apart.

After a minute or two he was calmer, and he clicked to the horse to start trotting down the snowy street. It was too early for revellers to be out yet, but behind closed curtains lights shone and he heard the occasional sound of piano-playing and laughter, or a child calling. Normal, everyday sounds, but tonight they caused him to feel like the loneliest man in the world. This was an alien environment to him, these working-class streets of terraced houses and small back yards packed side by side where folk lived cheek by jowl, but tonight he envied the occupants.

In deference to Lawrence his mother hadn’t arranged her usual New Year’s Eve ball at the house, but there was still a small soirée to get through and one of the Conway sisters in particular had made it plain that she would be more than willing to warm his bed. He didn’t doubt for a moment, however, that Gwendoline’s ultimate plan was to get him to marry her. He had heard from Lawrence that she’d made a name for herself with her carryings-on with some of the young bloods in London, and her parents had clamped down on her escapades, whipping her back to their estate in the country. They were anxious to see her walk up the aisle before she brought the family name further into disrepute, but according to what Estelle had learned from Gwendoline, the girl was champing at the bit to get back to London. Who better as a husband than an army man who was away most of the time and would leave her to her own devices, but with the respectability of a wedding ring on her finger?