Dear Future Husband

50. Marry Me

30 April 1895

Maximilian Walker fiddled with the diamond ring in his pocket, the metal warm from the heat of his body. He refrained from pacing the room as much as he wanted to, recalling all the letters he'd read from Rosalie... the few that he'd skimmed before leaving for Paris. Anything more than two or three felt like a violation of her privacy, rather like being a voyeur. But he'd been so desperate to have some piece of her left with him when he hadn't been sure if she was even alive... He was willing to admit that he'd yearned to know what was in her mind, even if it was that of her thirteen-year-old mind.

"Do sit down, Max, you're looking rather pale," Lord Winthrop chastised, though his tone was edged in affection. "I'd hate for you to keel over in the middle of a proposal. That would make for a good story, I suppose, but–"

"Your daughter is here, my lord," said the butler.

"Come in, Rosie," said Lord Winthrop. The nickname made him want to laugh, thinking of her stubborn refusal to have anyone address her with it. Perhaps she reserved it solely for her father.

Rosalie entered the study in her pale blue gown like a pinpoint of light in the dark, stuffy room, covered in mahogany wainscoting and towering shelves of leather-bound books. "Father." She pressed a hand to her chest when she saw Maximilian, her blue eyes widening with surprise. "Mr. Walker. I had not expected to see you here."

"I, ah, invited him here." Was it only his imagination, or were Lord Winthrop's eyes glossy with tears? "I do believe he has a proposal for you."

Maximilian swallowed. Why was he so nervous? It was only Rosalie Winthrop, a girl he had known since he was thirteen, since she'd saved him from certain death and oppression at the hands of a crooked ship's captain... a girl he had befriended so easily he'd almost missed that he was falling in love with her... a girl who had pushed him off of a dock out of excitement...

Yet he realized, even as he scolded himself for being nervous, that it was just Rosalie. It was only Rosalie. There could never be any other woman for him. And that made this moment all the more terrifying.

"Rosalie Grace Winthrop," he began, clearing his throat. "Fate, and providence, have brought us together over the past decade or so. And my own obstinance and foolishness, I suppose, have drawn us apart just as many times. But in spite of it all... I know that God has had a plan for us, and I thank Him every day that He brought you into my life. You are the only woman I know who loves so deeply, who has such a kind heart, and I wish to do nothing else but spend the rest of our lives together, serving the Lord. Rosalie, will you marry me?"

Now he was definitely certain there were tears in Rosalie's eyes, her hands clasped over her mouth. His heart squeezed in his chest, twisting itself into a knot. Trying to breathe deeply, he attempted to lighten the air with a joke.

"I'm afraid that each second is beginning to feel like a year, Rosalie. If I have to wait any longer for an answer, I shall be old and grey before–"

The rest of his sentence remained unfinished as she launched herself at him, flinging her arms around his neck, heedless of her father's presence. "Yes, I shall marry you!"

He stumbled backwards, reaching out a hand to steady himself, but it landed on Lord Winthrop's hatrack, and he found them both tumbling to the carpet. Her blonde hair came undone from its chignon and splayed over his face. Maximilian sneezed, and Rosalie gasped, pushing away from him and resting her elbows on her knee. "Oh no... I've ruined your proposal, haven't I?"

He laughed, shaking his head. "Accepting it was all that I required of you. Clearly, I need to improve my balance if I'm going to spend any more time around you, or I'm afraid more hospital visits will be in my future."