Thirty years.
Well, twenty-nine years and some months. But still a lot of years. A lifetime. When he was twenty-nine years old, he’d been a soldier of Gondor and had fought in a war. When he was twenty-nine years old, he’d travelled to Rivendell with Merry, to get Merry’s newborn daughter...
She had grown up too quickly, but that was usual for her Big Folk blood. She was eighteen, a grown woman, now, though other hobbits her age were still children.
Would the years matter? Would she regret it later, saddling herself to a husband more than twice her age?