Page 18 of Marry in Haste
Cal couldn’t help but snort. “The angels?” From all accounts Galbraith’s grandfather, old Lord Galbraith, had been a notorious rake in his youth.
“Turned religious,” Galbraith said, faintly amused. “Respectable as a vicar now.”
“Damn.”
“Damn indeed.” He added in a dry voice, “He’s even picked out the girl.”
Cal was shocked. “What, you don’t get a choice?”
“Of course I do, but...” He shrugged. “The old man is failing, and I—I’ve given him nothing but trouble all my life. I’ve decided to marry quickly, so he can die in peace. And since it makes no difference to me who I marry...”
“No difference? You don’t believe that, surely?”
“Why not?” Galbraith said indifferently. “All cats are gray in the dark. And you know as well as I that with a title comes the obligation to procreate.” He gave Cal a twisted smile. “Marriage, it comes to us all in the end.”
“Not me,” Cal said emphatically. And then he remembered his own title and the need for an heir. “At least not for a good long while yet. But who is this girl he’s picked out for you?”
“Tell you all about it when you come to dinner. Make it Thursday. Give you a couple of days to find a watchdog for the girls.” Galbraith consulted his watch again. “Must go. The blushing bride awaits.”
Cal continued on his way, a little disturbed by what he’d learned. Gossip at the Apocalypse Club had Galbraith down as a cold bastard and, since returning to England, he’d apparently developed a reputation in the ton as cynical rake and a care-for-nobody. Whatever he was now, most agreed that Galbraith had been a damn good officer—a man to rely on.
But Cal had known Ned Galbraith since school, and back then he’d been quite a different boy. War changed men; some more than others.
And now the rake was to be married. A convenient marriage to a levelheaded female. Cal gave an inward shudder. He couldn’t think of anything worse.
Why did people always think marriage was the answer to everything?
The headmistress’s words came back to him.Get them married off as quickly as you can... Make them some other man’s problem.
A tempting prospect, but such things weren’t so easily arranged. Not quickly, as any rate.
Still, with any luck Aunt Agatha would step in as he’d asked her to. She was his godmother, after all, as well as his aunt. Unlike Aunt Dottie, who was as soft and sweet as flummery, Aunt Agatha was not an aunt to be sneezed at. As a boy he’d been terrified of her—as had his father and every other adult he knew. Except, strangely, Aunt Dottie, but then Aunt Dottie had always been a law unto herself. She saw the world differently than most people, and Cal was beginning to see just how differently.
Aunt Agatha would soon sort the girls out.
***
Emm lay in bed that night, mulling over the events of the day. In the forefront was the tall man she’d met at the bottom of the stairs.
She met so few men—young men—these days.
Apart from the attentions of a couple of elderly widowers who attended the same church as she did, men even older than her father and suffering from a variety of ailments—there was a reason they lived in Bath, after all—with the life she lived, there was very little chance of meeting anyone her own age.
Let alone someone her own age who was so very attractive.
Those cold-seeming gray eyes had lit with humor when he realized Lavinia’s little ploy. A small exchange, a little humorous understanding—oh, she was making too much of it.
Wasn’t he delicious, miss? So stern and handsome and tall, and those eyes...
He was all that, and more. But Emm would never havebeen brave enough to comment on a man’s attractions, not aloud like that, and certainly not with such frank enjoyment.
Was it her age? Or a legacy of the way she’d left home?
A girl’s reputation is a delicate thing...
Emm pressed a hand to her stomach. In a few years she’d be thirty.
Year after year girls returned to the school, proudly displaying their husbands, and as often as not, with a babe in arms to show off and be cooed over. Emm did her share of cooing—she loved babies—but afterward...
