He was not unmoved by their plight—two weeks inside would make anyone restless. But he’d already made arrangements to go out. Galbraith clearly wanted a break from his courtship, and after weeks of girls and aunts and drama, Cal was in desperate need of some uncomplicated male companionship himself.
“Another time,” he told them firmly. “No, no arguments. Thank you for bringing me the sandwiches and coffee, Rose. Good-bye.”
***
York House had provided another fine dinner, living up to its reputation as the finest hotel in Bath. The wines served with dinner had been excellent and now, in the same private parlor as before, the two men were making inroads into a very fine bottle of cognac—Galbraith’s inroads being rather heavier than Cal’s.
A fire crackled merrily in the grate. Cal had recounted the tale of the debacle of his nephew George, and now talk had turned to Galbraith’s prospective bride.
“Quiet girl—doesn’t say much. Doesn’t smile much, either, and when she does, she doesn’t show her teeth. Odd that. Thought for a while there she mightn’t have teeth, or that they were rotten or something but no, she bit into a biscuit and they’re white and even enough.” He sipped his cognac and added thoughtfully, “Haven’t actually heard her laugh, yet. Very serious girl.”
“You’re really going to marry her?” Cal asked, a little disturbed by the dispassionate description.
“Grandfather’s coming to Bath. Head of family, needs his signature on the settlements. Been making the journey in easy stages—did I mention he’s not been well?”
Cal nodded. “He’s not actually on his deathbed, then? So you don’t have to marry this girl if you don’t fancy her.”
“No reason not to marry her,” Galbraith said. “She’s pleasant enough and pretty enough, agrees with everything I say—”
“Yes, but it doesn’t sound as if you like her much, so why go ahead with it? Your grandfather dotes on you, so—”
“Can’t let the old man breathe his last thinking I’ve let him down. Again.”
“What do you mean? You distinguished yourself—”
Galbraith cut him off with a curt gesture. “I just need to give him this one thing.”
“Does it have to be this girl? Don’t you know anyone else?”
“I run with a pretty rackety crowd these days—don’t know any respectable females. This girl is the daughter of one of his oldest friends.” He drained his glass and refilled it. “She’s very virtuous. Practically a saint. Itching to straighten me out and lead me down the path of righteousness,” he said with a cynical grin.
“Good God.”
Galbraith gave a careless shrug. “If it lets the old man die happy...”
“But will she make you happy?”
“All marriage is a gamble,” Galbraith said indifferently and set down his glass. “Now, real reason I asked you here tonight, want you to be my best man at the wedding.”
Cal shook his head. “I’d be honored to, but I’ll be back on the Continent in a couple of weeks.”
“What about next week? Still here then?”
“Probably, but—next week? You’re not going to get married—?”
“No date set yet, but it’ll be soon. Need to get the knot tied while the old man’s still alive and kicking. Do my best to get an heir on the way before he gives up the ghost.” He patted his pocket. “Got a special license.”
“Good God.”
“Don’t look so appalled. Marriage. Comes to us all in the end.” Galbraith lifted his glass. “So a toast, old friend, to my finally becoming a tenant for life.”
It was as dismal a wedding toast as Cal had ever heard. “A tenant for life,” he echoed.
***
Cal left Galbraith staring into the fire. It was a cool, clear night and he walked home from York House in a thoughtful state of mind. He didn’t envy his friend one little bit.
Marriage. Comes to us all in the end.
