In the privacy of her little attic room, the magic of the spring sunshine now replaced by the dull reality of rain, Lydia had to acknowledge the very great honour that Sir John had bestowed upon her by asking for her hand. To aspire to be the wife of Sir John Ferdinand, to be mistress of Netley Court and all its land, to have her own horse and carriage and a husband who, though neither young nor fashionable, at least was well respected in the neighbourhood and had an honest heart – she was only too aware of how eligible the match must seem. For one thing (as Sir John himself had pointed out) it offered a level of certainty for the future that her occupation as companion would fail to provide. Whether Judith recovered or not, the role and status of a companion was far less secure than that of a wife. Should the employment come to an end she could well find herself thrown back onto the kind offices of her uncle and aunt yet again. For another, it meant a level of material comfort that Lydia was unlikely to experience anywhere else.
