“I am reminded of standing with you on another, far more modest stone bridge,” she said. “Was it really only a few weeks ago?”
“Somewhere between Prospect Hall and Elm Court?” he said. “But just as lovely as this one.”
At the time he had been happy to know she was coming here—for Maria’s sake. He had been trying to convincehimself that it was in no way for his sake too that he was glad. He had been aware of her dislike, even revulsion.
“Oh, look!” she cried suddenly, awe in her voice. “Look, Justin.”
The sun, unnaturally huge, exaggeratedly orange, was coming over the horizon, and the river turned color with it.
“Why, oh why, do we not get up early enough every morning to watch this?” she asked.
He watched her instead, sunlight on her face, sparkling in her eyes, her dark hair pinned high on the back of her head, but inexpertly, even a bit untidily. She looked breathtakingly lovely. “Why indeed?” he said, and she turned her head to smile at him.
“You are not evenlooking,” she said.
“Oh, yes,” he assured her. “I am. Estelle...”
She turned to face him fully then and took her hand off the balustrade to set it in his. He clasped both her hands and raised them one at a time to his lips.
“Yes?” she said.
He had had two weeks to prepare a speech that would improve upon the one he had given at the summerhouse. It ought not to have been hard. It would be difficult, after all, to compose one that would be more disastrous than that had been. He had procrastinated, however, and now his mind was quite blank. He had so wanted the perfect moment, and he had it. They both turned their heads to watch the sun clear the horizon and begin its daily journey across the sky. He heard her inhale as she watched it. And he had so wanted the perfect words.
“I am not going to talk about the equality of our birth or our relative age parity,” he said. “Or about duty. Or the fact that you must allow me to make an honest woman of you, though of course you must.”
It wasnota good start.
“Thank you,” she said, and she was gazing into his eyes again. “Whatareyou going to talk about? How is that sonnet coming?”
He grimaced. “I believe the sonnet was your idea,” he said. “But I have been working up something. How aboutShall I compare thee to a summer’s day??”
“Hmm.” She tipped her head to one side. “It has promise. Depending, of course, upon the type of summer day to which you mean to compare me.”
“Thou art more lovely and more temperate,”he said.
“Well, thank you,” she said.
“Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,”he said.
“I like that phrase—the darling buds of May,” she said. “That was clever of you. But shame upon the rough winds.”
“And summer’s lease hath all too short a date,”he said.
She frowned and pursed her lips. “Do you know?” she said. “This is beginning to sound vaguely familiar.”
“I suppose,” he said, “some dastardly poet has already stolen it from me. That Shakespeare fellow, for example.”
“Maybe you should forget the poetry and speak to me in plain prose,” she said. “I believe I would rather you not go on to tell me thatevery fair from fair sometime declines.But oh, Justin, you should always smile like that. You do not need to cower behind that granite facade any longer, do you?”
“Cower?” He raised his eyebrows.
“Hide,” she said. “You do not need tohideany longer. You can be the Justin Maria remembers and all your relatives and hers. The Justin your father knew and loved. But with the added experience and fellow feeling that have grown inthe twelve years since you left here. You can be the Justin I have come to know in the past couple of weeks, and so much more.”
“I love you,” he said.
She smiled, and the light from the sparkling river flickered against the side of her face. “The best poetry of all,” she said.
“I want you in my life,” he told her. “Forever. Or at the very least until I die. I do not want to have to live without you. You are the light of my life. Will you make me happy and marry me?”
