That morning, London felt unusually warm.
The sky was not entirely clear, yet bright enough to make everything seem… promising.
At the residence of the Teck family, the day unfolded as it always did. Calm. Orderly. Unremarkable.
Mary of Teck went about her routine without disturbance.
Reading.
Replying to letters.
Engaging in light conversation with her family.
There was no restlessness.
No strong premonition.
Just an ordinary day.
A letter had arrived earlier—from Louise, Duchess of Fife.
A simple invitation.
Tea.
Conversation.
Nothing formal. Nothing ceremonial.
Just a visit between friends.
Louise—George's sister—had always shared an easy closeness with Mary. And so, the invitation raised no questions.
And yet…
That day would change everything.
The spring air at East Sheen Lodge was soft and gentle. Sunlight filtered through the trees, casting quiet warmth against the windows.
But elsewhere, that calm did not exist.
George stood by the window of his room for a long time.
His hands folded behind his back.
His gaze distant.
His thoughts—far from still.
A decision circled endlessly in his mind.
One he had delayed for far too long.
"If not today… then when?" he murmured under his breath.
He drew in a deep breath.
And as always, one name surfaced first.
Eddy.
The memory of Prince Albert Victor had never truly left him.
And today… it felt closer than ever.
As though he stood on the edge of something that had once belonged to his brother.
But alongside that memory… another face appeared.
Not a shadow.
But something real.
Mary.
Not as a possibility—
but as someone who had quietly become part of his every day.
In conversation.
In silence.
In the small, unremarkable moments he had come to depend on.
George closed his eyes briefly.
Then turned away from the window.
Today—
he would choose.
At East Sheen Lodge, Mary sat with Princess Louise, Duchess of Fife, engaged in light conversation.
Nothing serious.
Nothing memorable.
And yet…
something felt different.
Quieter.
As though the day itself was waiting.
A servant entered the room.
And for a brief moment—
everything stilled.
"His Royal Highness is here."
George.
Louise allowed him in, her expression calm—though there was something knowing beneath it.
"Georgie," she greeted lightly, "what a surprise."
George managed a small, controlled response.
"I thought I might visit… briefly."
Louise smiled.
"You are always welcome. Aren't you, May?"
Mary nodded gently.
"Of course."
The conversation that followed was… normal.
But George was not.
He was too quiet.
Too distant.
Present in body—
but not in thought.
Louise noticed immediately.
And she acted.
"Georgie," she said suddenly, "why don't you show May the pond?"
George blinked, slightly startled.
"Yes… of course."
Mary rose, though a quiet curiosity had already begun to form.
George was not simply reserved today.
He was… unsettled.
They walked into the garden.
The air was soft.
The light warm.
But George's steps felt heavier than usual.
His hands tightened behind his back.
He had stood at this threshold before.
The memory came uninvited—
Marie of Edinburgh.
A different time.
A different place.
A different hope.
He had once gathered his courage… only to be turned away.
Not cruelly.
Not harshly.
But enough to leave its mark.
Enough to teach him that courage alone did not guarantee anything.
Since then, he had become more careful.
More silent.
And now—
he stood here again.
But this time… it was different.
Because this was not just hope.
This was something already woven into his life.
And that made the risk far greater.
What if he lost this too?
He closed his eyes for a brief moment.
And once again—
Eddy.
Past and future collided within him.
"If I am wrong again…" he whispered quietly.
But this time—
he could not step back.
"Did you say something?" Mary asked gently after the long silence.
"No," George replied quickly. "Let's continue."
She smiled softly.
And they walked on.
Until they reached the edge of the pond.
There, George stopped.
Turned to face her.
And for a moment—
no words came.
Not because he did not know what he felt.
But because he knew it too well.
"I… am not very good at this," he admitted at last.
It was not polished.
Not princely.
But it was honest.
Mary did not smile.
But her gaze softened.
And that was enough.
"I have been wrong before," he continued, his voice low. "And perhaps… that made me wait too long."
He did not say her name.
But the past lingered in the space between them.
"And I do not wish to hurt anyone's memory," he added quietly.
That, too… needed no explanation.
Silence followed.
Then George drew in a breath—
and did not turn away this time.
"But I know one thing now," he said, looking at her fully.
"With certainty."
"That whatever happens… I do not wish to live my life without you in it."
The words were simple.
Imperfect.
But deeply, unmistakably true.
And then—
without retreat,
without hesitation—
he asked:
"Mary… will you marry me?"