An Unlikely Union Makes Its Debut

In which one reluctantly admits that matrimony, on the rarest of occasions, may not be an entirely dreadful institution.

There are books one sends into the world with confidence.

There are books one releases with a prayer.

And then there are books concerning Miss Elizabeth Taylor, which are simply ushered out the door before she has an opportunity to object.

Word has reached this desk that An Unlikely Union has finally made its debut.

The delay, I assure you, was not my doing.

Certain ladies insisted upon arguing with their mothers, fleeing perfectly respectable houses, quarrelling with gentlemen of unimpeachable patience, and otherwise behaving in a manner wholly incompatible with efficient publishing.

One does what one can.

Regular readers will recall that I recently composed a sensible essay concerning the avoidance of marriages enthusiastically endorsed by one's parents. I continue to stand by every word of it.

It is therefore with only the slightest irritation that I must report the lady in question appears to have ignored me entirely.

Not content with resisting every proposal ever placed before her, she has now gone and fallen in love with the very gentleman she spent so much energy attempting to avoid.

I should like the record to show that I predicted none of this.

I predicted scandal.

I predicted tears.

At one particularly trying moment, I predicted murder.

Happiness, however, was nowhere to be found amongst my notes.

And yet, I have been forced—against every literary instinct I possess—to concede a rather uncomfortable truth.

There are gentlemen whose constancy is mistaken for dullness.

There are ladies whose pride disguises fear.

And there are marriages which begin not with fireworks, but with quiet acts of steadfastness repeated so faithfully that one scarcely notices affection has entered the room until it has made itself entirely at home.

An irritating discovery.

One sincerely hopes it does not become fashionable.

Should you decide to accompany Miss Taylor and Mr. Walker upon their journey, I can promise only this: they shall quarrel, misunderstand one another repeatedly, display varying degrees of good judgement, and stubbornly refuse to become the people anyone expects them to be.

Which, in my experience, is generally how the best stories begin.

Composed on 1st July, 1836, immediately after witnessing a certain improbable union make its long-awaited debut into respectable society. Miss Lucine Elizabeth Watson remains devoted to literature, mischief, and the alarming habit of cheering for couples she had previously advised against.