March 30th, 1891 — Library, Macnair House, Cambridgeshire
Charles Macmillan had finally proposed. Her future was secure. And Valerian, Tatiana decided, was free, for she had quite made up her mind—whether based on facts or a strange loyalty to the cousin with whom she had been raised—that he would have not been happy as her husband. She needed now only to tell him.
Tatiana found her cousin in the library, the dressing gong having not yet rung for dinner. The timing, she thought, was ideal: the gong was inevitable, and would provide her a clean getaway, for while she knew that this was for the best—the best for both of them—she had read enough novels to know rejecting an offer of marriage was awkward, no matter from what corner it came.
"Valerian," she offered by way of greeting, hastening to sit so that he would feel no obligation to rise. "Mr. Macmillan has made me an offer of marriage."
She had never been much for preamble.

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