What I should be doing now is reading a number of rather tedious and lengthy articles on multivariate statistics, but a) it is Friday--the end of a very long week and b) I, Lady Susan, am feeling a tad sentimental--all very good reasons why I should write the third section of this seemingly never-ending proposal.
Wherein Mr. F. asks for my hand in marriage.
A large part of the next segment of the story happens behind the scenes, and only Mr. F. could describe it with justice (hint, hint). I only know vaguely what occured. We have the following dilemmas: what kind of ring to buy, how to propose, where to propose etc. However, these decisions were satisfactorily decided upon, and we are brought to the current scene:
The scene is the living room of Mr. F.’s apartment—a room filled with happy and comfortable memories of the not so distant past. Lady Susan is laying down her purse and Mr. F. is rummaging in his backpack.
Mr. F.: So I have a card to give you. I am a little nervous about giving it to you. I have wanted to give it to you all day, but I was waiting for the right moment.
Lady Susan (looking confused): but you give me cards all the time?
Mr. F.: Yes, but this one is different.
Mr. F. gives me the card, and clueless, I take it. I notice first off that there is a wax seal on the back. Why the italics? I have his thing for wax seals, ever since I saw The Scarlet Pimpernel. Seriously. So, after rambling inanely on about how I love wax seals, I open the envelope and notice that the card inside is blank. Again, slightly unusual as previous cards have always had some image on them. And because I feel a need to comment on everything, I comment on that too. On opening the card however, I was struck dumb. Inside was a picture of a ring, and right below was written simply,
Will you marry me?
Dear readers, I am a bit ashamed at my first thought. My first thought was, “Is he serious?” My second was the slightly indignant, “we hadn’t even talked about this.” But then I looked up and saw that indeed Mr. F.’s was in all earnestness. In his hand was a matching ring. He then asked the question out loud,
"Will you marry me?"
Well, what else should a single young woman of nine and twenty say when proposed to by a man she loves?
I said yes.