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Lydia had known for years that she would marry no other but Clarice, damn what the law said. Their families completely accepted their relationship, and that was all that mattered. Manderley had burnt down in the autumn of 1926, and with it their reservations about telling her father that they were much more than friends.
He was the last to be told, though he said that he had suspected it for some time and welcomed Clarice into the family with open arms. The fact that there would be no biological grandchildren hadn’t mattered to him.
They were free in their love.
With Maxim de Winter’s backing, they had some security as far as society was concerned. Upon their return from their self imposed exile, the family didn’t bother to lie about who Clarice was to Lydia, and the two young women were often seen together out and about.
Their return to their former circle was gradual, as was the restoration of Manderley, but they made a point to dance together at every ball they attended. They’d steal kisses every once in a while.
“Careful, people might be watching,” Clarice would jokingly caution Lydia.
“Let them,” Lydia would reply with a sly grin.
Lydia finally found a publisher for her music in 1929, and had been offered the opportunity to play the piano for an audience in one of London’s many concert halls. She spent hours meticulously preparing for her debut.
Clarice had suggested she sing as well as play. Lydia told her she might.
There were tears in Clarice’s eyes when her beloved sang a love song that she had written just for her.
Once the concert ended, Lydia returned to her dressing room to find a bouquet of violets from Clarice waiting for her, and her heart leapt with pure joy.
It took some time for Lydia to plan it out, but she had finally come up with the perfect proposal. They had loved one another for 5 years, and she could wait no longer.
It was no secret how much Clarice loved nature, having grown up with a forest in her backyard, so that was exactly where Lydia took her. She had set up a picnic, and they indulged in finger sandwiches, apples, and a little champagne.
“Seriously, what’s the occasion?” Clarice asked.
Lydia beamed, “I’m glad you asked.”
She pulled out a ring hidden in the picnic basket, which caused Clarice to gasp.
“It’s about time I officially ask you to be my wife,” Lydia held out the ring with bated breath.
Clarice took it and slipped it onto her finger.
“You know I was always going to say yes.”