. . .


THE CRUCIVERBALIST COURTSHIP

Chapter Seven - Winter 1936


"Ahhhhhhhhh." Amy sank into a chair in the library with the exhale she'd been holding in for days, and her deep sigh caused Sheldon to raise his eyebrows as he poured tea from the tray on the large round ottoman.

"Tired?" he asked, passing a cup over to her. "If you need a nap instead of tea with me, I'd understand."

Amy shook her head and took the first sip of the hot, sweet liquid with a similar but smaller noise. She would not pass up this opportunity for a private tea with Sheldon. Bernadette had already claimed a nap for herself and Rajesh was . . . whatever Rajesh was doing with Stuart that would not be discussed at any time. "Not tired in the sense you are thinking. Let's just say I'm pleased my parents left this morning before the snow had the opportunity to delay their departure."

Making a small grunt, Sheldon sat back with his own cup and said, "Indeed. Perhaps I should have invited my sister's family after all; he's a duke, you know."

A stretch of quiet and unspoken understanding unfurled in the library as they enjoyed their hot beverages, lost in their thoughts. They had both, Amy felt, endured a trial of social customs and emerged mostly unscathed. Her father, never a worry, had been his usual mostly silent self. Sheldon had proposed a game of chess to him one day, and Amy imagined the two of them sitting at the table in the library, never uttering a single syllable and relishing the sweetness of the calm. Her mother had been another story.

All of Amy's life, she had heard both that she should just get married, as though single men of high intelligence were in abundance, while simultaneously being told any man in her vicinity was morally bankrupt. Expecting a barrage of insults, it had taken Amy a full year to inform her parents that she was being courted. And perhaps she'd only done so because of the unfortunate gossip column about the events at the Dorchester; she knew they won't have read it themselves, but she couldn't risk word reaching them. Just as her mother opened her mouth to utter something derogatory about a man of whose existence she'd just learned, Amy said, "His name is Lord Sheldon Cooper," which had left her mother momentarily speechless.

Only momentarily, for then began the last three months of something far worse than endless contempt. Instead of moral depravity, her mother saw only pound signs. Every time Amy saw her mother since that Sunday lunch, the needling was more upsetting than any slight Amy had heard before. She tried, for weeks, to convince her mother that she did not want Sheldon for his money or his title or his estate and neither should her family, but it was hopeless.

When the invitation for Christmas at Medford was extended to Amy and her parents, she seriously considered declining without mentioning it to them, although she wanted to spend the holiday with her beloved. But she also knew there was a process and a way things were done, so there seemed no other course than to warn Sheldon, stiffen their upper lips, and endure together. And endure they had.

Completely oblivious to Sheldon's discomfort with his role, her mother had worked endlessly at ingratiating herself into the lifestyle she thought she had been entitled but had somehow been cheated by repeatedly flattering his position and his wealth and drawing attention to how Amy could better herself by being his wife. That her mother would also be bettered by association and perhaps monetary assistance went unstated but heavily implied. Bernadette, newly arrived from Germany, and Rajesh had tried their best to change topics over meals and evenings in the drawing room, but they were quickly dismissed as "too foreign" by Mrs. Fowler. Amy's cheeks burned in shame.

But, at last, after four miserable days that felt like weeks, Amy's parents had been bundled off to the train, leaving only poor Mr. Bloom to suffer through the short journey to the station with them. Now sitting in the quiet of the library, Amy made a mental note to write him a kind letter for all his efforts when she returned to her bedsit.

"The snow here is so much more lovely than in London," Amy said wistfully, looking out the French doors at the estate beyond. It had started to snow just after lunch, white fluffy flakes that blanketed the earth and made everything feel peaceful and clean. "And it so rarely snows at Christmas."

"More lovely?" Sheldon asked. "Rain turns to snow at the same temperature everywhere."

"I know," Amy said, stretching to pick up a biscuit from the tray. "But when it snows in London, it's only miserable. It's dirty from the soot and it makes walking dangerous. Not to mention the extra fog. But here, it looks pristine."

Sheldon turned his head to watch the snow for a moment and then said, "Perhaps tomorrow morning we could take a walk, while it's fresh. Just the two of us. Unless you'd be too cold."

Amy smiled at him. "No, that sounds lovely."

"Good."


It was cold, but Amy dressed in Sheldon's old sweater, the jodhpurs she'd saved to buy from a second-hand shop just for walks on the estate, and her long green coat. The new cap, scarf, and gloves she'd knit herself would help. On her feet were a new pair of leather boots, one of her Christmas presents from Sheldon. But the sun was shining, almost too brightly, and she found herself wishing her glasses had tinted lenses like Penny often wore this past summer. Not seeing the need to bother Mr. Bloom, Sheldon bundled up warmly alongside her in the cloakroom and they took off together out Medford's front door, crunching through the snow. Amy enjoyed the novelty of being the first to make footprints over the vast expanse of lawn.

Sheldon suggested they visit the formal garden, and it was a good choice as the boxwoods and empty fountains formed interesting white shapes. They pressed close together for warmth, their arms linked tightly, and they discussed Amy's last term of classes and preliminary research before she began her dissertation in earnest. Sheldon shared news of how his patent for yet another type of rubber was progressing.

"Shall we sit?" Sheldon asked, stopping in the middle of a path. He lowered his scarf, panting a little, and his breath formed a cloud of vapor. "Walking in snow requires greater effort."

"Sit? In the snow?"

"No, here. It's our bench," Sheldon pointed. Amy smiled under her muffler. It was the bench they'd sat on more than once, under the vine. Last fall, when it was dying, then in spring when it burst forth in a riot of purple wisteria, and in the summer when the flowers were replaced by the more solid leaves. Once again it was dormant, conserving itself for another season of change and renewal, a new cycle of life.

Without awaiting her reply, Sheldon had used his arm to shove most of the snow off the bench and then removed his handkerchief, one embroidered with the Medford crest and his initials in the corner, and placed it over the remaining fine layer of crystals. Amy chuckled good-naturedly at this chivalrous act and situated herself on the prepared spot only to laugh outright when Sheldon produced a second handkerchief for himself.

"Where you planning this?" she asked.

"I admire preparedness." He sat, turning toward her and taking her hand. "Amy, I want to ask you something, but I want to preface it correctly."

"Oh?"

"I wish to marry you - tomorrow if I could - but I know you want to finish your degree."

"I - I do?" It was a question because she was uncertain if she was meant to reply.

Sheldon swallowed. "I know you do, and I support your education. But this is your last term of classes, after which you'll be free to research and write on your own, correct?" Amy nodded, her breath suddenly coming faster. "I propose we marry early this summer, at the end of term, and then you can do your research here, in our laboratory. I am aware this was not your original plan, you've been very clear on that. But I find I do not wish to wait any longer to bring you here, to live with you as my wife. I know you will periodically need do some work or meet with a professor in London, but you can stay in the flat. Perhaps I'll even join you, if I wouldn't be too much of a bother. And I will not allow the duties at Medford impede your work; I've been running it alone for years. Does that sound reasonable?"

It was not what Amy expected, not at this exact moment, but now she saw the snow and the bench and the two handkerchiefs for exactly what they were. Amy worked her mouth, hidden from him by her scarf, into several opening words before she settled upon, "Just to clarify, are you proposing?"

"Why, yes." Sheldon tilted his head, his eyes wrinkling in confusion. "I said, 'I propose we marry this summer.'"

The sharp frostiness whirled around her, but Sheldon's mittened palm was warm over hers. Something inside of her melted. It had, she realized, been thawing for months; every day, it was harder to battle the misogyny and the teetering edge of poverty. But, mostly, it was harder to battle her own heart. She was exhausted from the wait, from her self-imposed independence. Sheldon was extending his hand, literally and figuratively, and Amy no longer saw a reason to avoid taking it. Instead, she saw it as another form of independence, not one that was less earned but one that they shared. Letting out a clear, high-pitched laugh, Amy pulled her scarf away and leaned forward to kiss him, smacking his cold lips with hers.

"Wait," Sheldon pushed her gently away, "is that a yes?"

"Yes! Marriage sounds very reasonable to me!" Amy laughed again, shaking her head, "I have to admit I always imagined you asking on one knee with a ring. But yes. Yes!"

Sheldon smiled back, a thing beautiful for its rarity. "Well, yes, the ring. That needs a preface, too. But not here."

It was cryptic and Amy raised her eyebrows, trying to imagine what he could possibly mean. He, however, seemed unconcerned and spoke again. "Also, if we marry in the early summer, Leonard and Penny can be here. And Mr. Wolowitz will at least be able to visit, although I remain hopeful his visa, as Bernadette's spouse, will have been approved by then."

"Yes, that would be logical." Amy copied his calm demeanor. So much for romance. It shouldn't have surprised her, Sheldon's rational and thoughtful approach to a proposal of marriage. He would want to work out the details, to arrange things just so, as soon as he was able. All of his grand acts of passion had seemed to come as a surprise, to him as much to her.

"If it were up to me, we'd just go to the registry office, but it's tradition for the Cooper line to be married here in Medford, at the village parish. I do not know how your mother will react, because I know she is religious. Do you think she will be too disappointed if we do not wed in London?"

"I think she will only be disappointed that there will be fewer people to boast to," Amy said. "I, for one, would prefer to marry here at Medford, away from the prying eyes. Something small, I hope?"

With a nod, Sheldon said, "Yes, although it's tradition to hand out cake to the farmers and villagers. But we needn't be present for that. The wedding breakfast will be here, at Medford Hall, of course."

"Of course."

He smiled and leaned over to kiss her cheek and then said, "I think that's everything decided, then." He started to rise.

"Wait," Amy stopped him with her voice, "what about the flowers and the cake and the invitations and such?"

"Oh." Sheldon sat down again. "I thought the servants might handle it all. That's how it happened for my sister's wedding."

"Did she not get a say in anything?"

Sheldon tilted his head. "I don't know. Perhaps she gave the directions. Or my mother did. I was at Oxford and it didn't interest me. But wouldn't you prefer to have it done for you, as you'll be busy with your school and your work?"

"Well, I suppose I'd be happy for their assistance implementing it all, of course. But I would like to decide some things myself."

"Alright." Sheldon nodded sharply. "We'll decide who you should be in contact with here. Mr. Bloom?"

"Yes, he seems organized and capable. And he's artistic, that's nice."

"Good. It's all settled, then." Once again, Sheldon began to press up off the bench.

"Wait." Amy reached out to stop him.

"There's more? It's a wedding, not an invasion of Russia."

"Sheldon, we need to discuss . . ." she bit her lip. "The heir and the spare."

He stretched his neck in that way he had. "The heir and the spare?"

"Children." Amy took a deep breath. "I assume you want them. To continue your linage."

"Oh." He reached for her hand again. "Of course I want them. Not for our linage, though; I want them with you. I think we'll make exceptional parents, don't you?"

"I do." Amy smiled and then let it fall. "But, well, I don't want them just yet, you see. I still have my dissertation, as you mentioned, and I don't want to be pregnant, with all the illness and difficulties that can entail, while working on it. And if I'm visibly pregnant, I cannot participate in the ceremony to receive my degree at the end. How disappointing that would be after all the work I'd put into it."

"I see."

Amy leaned forward, gripping his mittened hand tightly. "Are you disappointed?"

Shaking his head, Sheldon said, "No. I see your reasoning. There are, so that booklet from the family planning clinic informed me, several ways to avoid children at the wrong time."

"Yes. But I'll need your permission to procure a . . . a device. A letter from you should suffice, I think."

"A letter about martial congress! Whatever for?"

Frowning, Amy explained, "An unmarried woman is not allowed to procure family planning measures. At least, not the type I understand would be best for this situation. But if you wrote a letter, explaining the situation - that you're a man and the husband -" she growled out the offending words "- I believe it can be done shortly before the wedding."

"Oh! How ridiculous."

"Quite."

Sheldon leaned closer and whispered, "Will I have to mention your lady bits by name in the letter?"

Amy smiled. Never had she imagined a marriage proposal quite like this one. "No, I don't believe so. I'll - I'll do some investigative reporting, shall I, and find out what is required? I'll write a draft for you to copy."

His face relaxed. "Very good. And please, see the best doctor you can find for such a thing, somewhere hygienic and discrete. I'll pay, of course. This - " he added quickly "- is not a negotiation of charity to threaten your independence. Rather, surely you agree it is a necessary to maintain it."

She would not have dreamed of arguing. "Of course. I thought I might go to one of the birth control clinics. I'm not sure of the fees, but yes, I'll let you pay. Such a device will be to our mutual benefit."

"Yes," Sheldon murmured. Then louder, "Is it safe to assume that now everything is settled, or do we need to discuss gravy boats before we return to the house?"

"Let's go back."

"Good. My feet are so numb they feel like gravy boats."

Laughing, Amy stood and helped him retrieve the handkerchiefs before settling her hand back into the crook of his arm. "Although, perhaps it is time to consider changing the monogram on the napkins."


They unwrapped themselves in the warmth of the cloakroom, causing Sheldon to tell Amy all about a story about Egyptian mummies he'd just read in his newest issue of Amazing Stories. Nodding and making noncommittal noises throughout, Amy finally interrupted him as he was lacing his brogues.

"I'm sorry, Sheldon, but aren't you even going to tell me about the ring? You said there was a story."

"How do you know this isn't it?"

"Unless my engagement ring is a ruby cursed by Ra, I fail to see the connection."

Sheldon stood. "Well, now you'll only be disappointed by the truth. But come along. It's probably easiest to show you."

Intrigued, Amy followed him to a door she had never seen open prior, just beyond the grand staircase. It opened to a smaller room with three walls painted dark hunter green and a bare parquet floor. There were a couple of older chairs in the corner but it was mostly empty. Not that it mattered, for Amy's attention was immediately drawn to the mural along the fourth wall, an aerial painting of the estate. It wasn't to scale and the style was a century or so out of date, but it was incredibly detailed with plows in the field and a shiny barouche coming up the lane. White fluffy clouds lined the top, near the crown molding, and the whole thing felt like an idyllic summer's day.

Moving closer to the painting, Amy realized that some of its life-like quality came from the surprising element of relief: there was a texture to the crops in the fields, a soft puff of the paint over the boughs of the trees and Medford Hall itself, although more simplistically rendered than Stuart's fine architectural drawing, stood out from the wall by a few millimeters.

"This is wonderful," she said, turning toward Sheldon. "I don't know if I've ever seen a mural quite like it. Why are you hiding it away?"

"This was my father's office," Sheldon said, although it explained very little. "It's where he would be meet his farm manager and perform other business. But I've always found it too dark."

Amy made a soft noise of agreement. It was true that the library, as a whole, was a much more pleasing space. She imagined this room would be cramped with a large desk and cabinets, and the green paint was heavy-handed. It was a room designed, she thought, to appear manly and intimidating, right down to this impressive display of landed wealth.

"But, there's this." Sheldon pressed on the mural, just off the edge of the Medford Hall relief, and a click sounded. He looked over and grinned at Amy's gasp of surprise, swinging the entire facade away to reveal the front of a large safe.

"How amazing!" Amy said, touching the edge of what was now clearly a door. Medford Hall had been painted on a piece of wood. She looked at Sheldon working on the dial. "Has it always been this way?"

"The safe itself is modern, of course, but it's been a hidden cabinet since the Napoleonic wars."

"Is that all?" Amy murmured.

With a last metallic sound, Sheldon pulled open the safe and then turned, holding out a velvet jewelry box in front of him, although larger than Amy would have imagined. "The ring." He lifted the lid and Amy studied the contents in confusion and fascination. "There are -"

"Two. I know." He pointed to the top ring. "This one -" it was a simple gold band with a respectable diamond solitaire "- was my grandmother's. And this one -" it was considerably showier "- was my mother's."

"It's - it's mesmerizing," Amy whispered, unable to tear her eyes away from the way the second ring dazzled even in the dim light. "What is it?"

"A rare gray diamond flanked by two gray pearls. It was commissioned to symbolize the money from Texas oil and steel that she was bringing to the estate."

"How interesting." Amy felt at a complete loss for additional words. Not only were the stones unusual, but the whole thing was also massive. He had not mentioned it, but the three large jewels were elaborately surrounded by smaller white diamonds and flecks of what appeared to be jet. Would she even be able to lift her hand while wearing it?

"Now you understand, I think. You can have either - well, you can have both - but I could not decide which to present to you. I think the gray one would be impractical for a laboratory setting, but I did not want to deny you your rights as a countess."

"A countess," Amy repeated, the word a mere hush. She looked up, finally tearing herself away from the jewels. "I shall be, shan't I?"

"I cannot fathom how you missed your mother mentioning it every hour on the hour."

Not wishing to bring her mother up more than necessary, Amy said, "You're right, of course. It's only reasonable to wear the solitaire. Perhaps there might be some formal event at which I need to be known as a countess and I'll wear the gray one then."

Sheldon plucked the more simple golden band from the box and took Amy's hand, sliding the ring down on her finger. "There, now it's official."

"I suppose it is." Amy sighed happily, holding her hand up to catch the light from the window. She loved this ring for its simplicity. It felt honest and certain and grounded, which is exactly how she would have described her daily love for Sheldon. The other ring was flashier, no doubt, like the passion she felt for him, but she hoped their life together would more often be like the proposal on the garden bench: a meeting of like minds, mutual respect, sharing, asking, planning. Something steadfast and straightforward.

"And if there's an event where you wish to be known as a countess by sight, surely the tiara would give it away."

Amy's mouth when dry. "There's - there's a tiara?"

"Of course. More than one, although my mother preferred the diamond one to the others." Sheldon turned from her and reached into the safe, rearranging things and pulling out a larger box. He opened it to reveal the crown. Nothing so tall as the Crown Jewels, of course, but a lovely, sparkly piece with several pointed ornaments. It was all diamonds, not that Amy would have been surprised by a cursed Egyptian ruby by now. She admired the clarity and symmetry of it.

"Can I - can I try it on?" she asked, even as her heart yelped, Put it on me! Put it on me! Put it on me! Put it on me!

Sheldon shrugged and then lifted it out of the box, setting it down on her head. Amy wished her hair weren't so messed from the warm knitted hat she'd just been wearing or that she was dressed in something finer than an old sweater and jodhpurs.

"How does it look?" she asked, Sheldon still standing so close she had to look up through her eyelashes at him.

"Beautiful," he hushed and swallowed hard, seemingly unable to say more. After a moment, he cleared his throat. "I did not anticipate that carbon atoms stacked so neatly could cause such a response."

"In you or in me?" Amy teased, although suddenly she felt a bit guilty wearing the tiara and being so enamored of it. Wasn't that everything her mother was implying? That she would only be beautiful if she was a countess and this was her tiara? She reached up and carefully lifted the crown off her head, surprised at its heft in her hands. As she held it between them, she looked down to study it. "But I think I'd rather render you speechless in my mortarboard someday."

"I look forward to it." The catch of his voice made her look up. His blue eyes, always intense, looked especially so. "Amy, I look forward to every day spent with you, whether you're wearing a tiara or a mortarboard or just that beautiful brain of yours."

He smoothed his palm over her hair, his index finger teasing the small clip she always wore to pull it out of her face. Then his fingers traced down her temple, past her glasses, over her cheek, and touched her lips, raising a line of warmth behind them. Then, suddenly, he knelt on one knee, taking her hand in his. "I should have asked properly." His thumb toyed with the diamond on her finger. "Amy Farrah Fowler, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

"Yes! Of course, I will!"

He stood and captured her so quickly and tightly, Amy yelped into his mouth, the tiara poking through her sweater. She did not mind other than she could not put her hands upon him for fear of dropping it. But she met this rejoicing of their goals and desires equally, so happy to be loved by this man who saw not just diamonds or a vessel for his linage, but a man who saw her for who she really was, brain and jumpers and all.

Even as she closed her eyes and relaxed into the kiss, she heard a voice approaching in the hallway, "Why is the - Oh! Your Lordship!"

Only then did Sheldon let go, although one hand remained at her waist. Amy smiled up at him, turning to see Stuart in the doorway. "I'm - excuse me. I thought perhaps someone had broken in as you typically leave this door locked."

"It's all right, Mr. Bloom," Sheldon said. "It's only Miss Fowler." He paused. "No, not only Miss Fowler. Mr. Bloom, you might as well be the first to know, Miss Fowler has agreed to marry me this summer."

"Oh! How wonderful, Your Lordship!" It was strange to see Stuart so happy and his smile looked out of place on his face, but Amy also saw the smile in his eyes and knew it was sincere. "And you, Miss. I'm so pleased. I'm sure that we all are, here at the house."

"Thank you, Mr. Bloom."

"Shall I open some champagne for luncheon, My Lord?"

"Good heavens! I'm getting married, not taking up drinking."

Amy nudged him in the ribs with her elbow. "It's a celebration, Sheldon, with your guests. You don't have to imbibe."

"Oh. Alright, very well."

"Very good, My Lord. Miss."

After Stuart left, Amy passed the tiara back to Sheldon and watched as he put it back in the safe and closed the door. As he spun the dial, he said, "A letter for a birth control clinic and alcohol at lunch all in one day. What won't you make me do, woman?"

Grinning, Amy said, "Don't worry. You have a lifetime to find out."

To be continued . . .


The first birth control clinic in Britain was Marie Stopes' Mothers' Clinic in London, which opened in 1921. It served only married women. The Family Planning Association was founded in 1930 and also served only married women. It was not until the 1950s that an unmarried woman could utilize such clinics, but proof of an imminent marriage was required in the form of a letter. Obviously, I've taken liberties with timeline here. I suppose it was assumed all newly marriage women would immediately want a child, so no one could imagine a woman to running from the alter to the clinic (or enjoying premarital sex).

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