A Marriage Proposal

It was going to be a very long day, Lily thought, as the sun drew her eyes open and the rooks welcomed the day with their obnoxious song. As she sat up in bed and put her slippers on, she recalled the previous afternoon: “I shall be round at 9:30 on the dot, with Agatha, to fetch you, and we shall make a day of it.” Peter’s voice resounded in her ears, mingled with her father’s shouts of “Splendid! Splendid! What fun!” By the time she had bathed and dressed, it was only 8:00, so she took the liberty of stalking the garden until breakfast was served. She was not unhappy, though she felt that must be how she appeared; rather, she was uncertain: about the future, and her ability to shape it. It felt like she was reaching into a pitch-dark void and grasping something so solid and sure without knowing at all what it was. That’s what the future was. Solid and sure, but totally unknown. Or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe she knew exactly what it was, exactly how everything would play out for the rest of her life, but had no idea what it would feel like, and thus could not feel sure about it. Like something she could see clearly right in front of her, but if she tried to reach out and touch it, it would dissolve and reform farther off. 

These thoughts occupied Lily’s mind as she paced back and forth in the garden until Bertha’s voice yelling, “Breakfast is on the table, dearie!” drew her out of her reverie. 

“Deep in conversation with the rooks again, my dear Lily?” Richard thought it humorous to poke fun at his daughter in this way, and thus did so nearly every morning, or at least as often as Lily began her day in the garden. 

“Eat up, Miss Lily, you’ve a long day ahead of you,” Bertha said, winking, as she piled Lily’s plate with sausages, toast, and eggs. 

“That is far too much for me to eat, Bertha, thank you, I can serve myself perfectly well,” Lily said with loving exasperation, taking the serving spoon from Bertha’s hands. Bertha huffed in indignation, but kissed Lily’s cheek before returning to the kitchen. 

Lily’s mother Katherine watched Lily from over her tea with inquiring eyes; Lily seemed nervous, but Katherine could not tell whether it was an excited or a fearful nervousness. “How did you sleep, dear?” she asked in her quiet and calming voice, which today had quite the opposite effect on Lily; Lily could sense something unspoken in her mother’s question which put her out of ease.

“Well enough, thank you,” she responded feebly. 

“Let’s hope you slept well, with the day you’ve got ahead of you!” Richard boomed, happily oblivious to any feeling other than the simple contentment and excitement he felt. He had been waiting for this day many months now, and it took everything in him not to blurt the reason for his excitement right out loud, in plain words; but to do so, he felt, would profane the sacred aura he had cast over the events to come—not to mention ruin all surprise for Lily; although Lily would have to be a fool not to suspect what today would entail. 

Indeed she did suspect, and feared, what today’s trip was for. She glanced at the clock: it was 9:30; no sooner had she registered the time than she heard the sound of hooves coming along the drive. In her nervous state she had eaten no more than half a slice of toast, but she regretted even that when she felt her stomach turn at their arrival. Soon enough Peter and Agatha Birch were sweeping into the room, like cheerful harbingers of doom, Lily thought. 

Peter bowed and Agatha curtsied as Richard heartily welcomed the siblings. “You’ve caught us just finishing up breakfast, and here is the lady you are here for, of course, my lovely daughter,” Richard said, gesturing to Lily, who stood in a nervous half-bow, half-curtsey position. 

“Good morning, Mr. Birch, it is a pleasure to see you,” Lily mumbled, eyes fixed to the floor as she added, “Hello, Miss Birch, a pleasure.” 

“Come, Miss Alston, surely by now you may call me Peter, as I hope I have the liberty of calling you my dearest Lily,” Peter said with a blush. He was a handsome man with chestnut hair that fell stubbornly into his left eye (causing the habit of his constantly smoothing the hair back on that side) and a perpetually smiling face that was universally charming. His sister was an eighteen-year-old beauty, as like a sprite as one could imagine, and no less smiley than her brother. 

But their smiles overwhelmed Lily, and the words “my dearest Lily” were left ringing in her ears, so that all she could manage was a blush in return, which Peter took as the affirmative, praying the blush was a symbol of her modest affection more than knowing it to be so. 

Soon enough Lily was sitting in the Birch carriage, Agatha squeezed in the middle. Agatha was thrilled to have been chosen to chaperone this momentous trip (though did not miss the irony of being the youngest there), and thus immediately sprang into action as liaison between the two lovers—as she saw them—drawing Lily and Peter into an awkward sort of conversation that passed through her, even though they were near enough to hear each other over Agatha’s petite head. 

Soon enough they had arrived in Dover and were sitting down to an early lunch. The meal went by in a daze for all three. Lily could not identify the food as it passed through her lips, so preoccupied was she on maintaining a semblance of cheerfulness, while Peter strived to dedicate each individual flavor to memory, so deeply did he want every moment of this day to live vibrantly in his mind forever. 

Soon enough they were walking along the cliffs, Lily’s arm hooked in Peter’s, as Agatha tactfully trailed behind, and the wind and waves sang in deafening harmony. 

“It is such a profoundly beautiful day,” Peter said, trying to keep a romantic air while shouting to be heard above nature’s din, “but it is nothing compared to the beauty of you.” 

“Please, Mr. Bi—Peter,” Lily started, forcing herself to use this familiarity, “you exaggerate, and do the day an injustice. I’d venture to say that no human beauty could compare to a day such as this.” 

“Then if you do not surpass the beauty of this day, then you certainly increase it, and make it more beautiful by your presence,” Peter said, smoothing the hair out of his eye. 

“I can do no more than to thank you, for your kind words, and for bringing me here today; it is wonderful to see the ocean again.”

“There is something more you could do—if you would—if you were willing—that is—I would be honored—if—” he stopped and sighed. “Miss Lily Alston: would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

She stood frozen in place. 

“Yes.” 

Yes. One simple word which held within it the rest of her life. 

Soon enough, they were back in the carriage, trundling home, Agatha in raptures, Peter beaming, Lily numb. Mr. and Mrs. Alston could tell the result as soon as the carriage rolled up the drive and they saw Peter’s triumphant smile. 

“My dear Lily! My dear child! What, leaving your poor old father so soon?”—though Richard’s smile betrayed his exultant satisfaction with this match. Lily stepped out of the carriage, grasped her father’s hands, embraced her mother, and saw there, by the door—it was her Aunt Grace! 

“Yes, we invited her to dine,” Katherine said, spotting Lily’s gaze, “because, of course, we guessed what we would be celebrating tonight, and thought you would want her here.” 

Lily ran to Grace’s outstretched arms and shared a meaningful embrace. Grace was Richard’s sister, eleven years his junior and widowed young; she was Lily’s dearest friend and closest confidante. 

After various embraces, kisses, and congratulations, the party moved inside. Dinner would be served in half an hour, and in the meantime, Lily went upstairs to freshen up; Grace joined her. 

“Lily, my dearest: you are an engaged woman. Tell me truthfully: are you happy?” 

She saw the answer in Lily’s eyes, but nonetheless waited for an answer. 

“Mr. Birch is a good man. I believe he loves me.” 

“He is your fiancé, you may call him by his first name. And you did not answer my question.” 

“Oh, what can I say? I feel I hardly know him. And I cannot see myself being a wife to him.”

“And yet?” 

“And yet, I said yes.”

Silence for a moment and then: “Why?”

The question Lily had been asking herself all the way home. 

“Because I was expected to. Tell me, dear Grace, how could I do otherwise? In all honesty? Father adores him and mother approves. And he is so good and kind. And it is a good match. That is what everyone says: It is a perfect match.” 

“Indeed. I know the feeling.”

“Is there ever love in marriage, do you think? Real, true love?” 

“We must hope so.”

“Then I will hope.”