“I understand where you’re coming from, Jorah, but… the front? Is it really a wise decision?” Galbart asked, turning to face Jorah with a perplexed frown. “I can’t believe your cousins would agree with that. Or your aunt, for that matter.” And all that just because of his reluctance to write articles under a pseudonym. Galbart wasn’t sure whether to find that honorable or simply infuriating anymore, considering how many times he’d tried to talk some sense into him over the years.
“Do you mean to tell me that your feelings for her have simply…stopped…after all this time?”
Galbart broke out in a cold sweat at the question, but struggled to keep his composure, clearing his throat slightly and taking a few seconds before answering, visibly stiff.
“What I mean to tell you is that I am now engaged to miss Mary Dougall. We are to be married next year, in June.”
“I can’t believe your cousins would agree with that. Or your aunt, for that matter.”
Jorah frowned. “It’s really not their decision. It will be for their betterment—for the family’s well-being—in the end,” he said stiffly. He was tired of justifying his decisions to people. It meant he had to justify them to himself and the more time passed, the harder he was finding to do that.
“What I mean to tell you is that I am now engaged to miss Mary Dougall. We are to be married next year, in June.”
Jorah’s surprise showed on his face. “Oh.“ With the surprise came a sinking feeling of disappointment that he could not quite explain. “Mary Dougall. That is—quite a prudent match.” He paused. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, “And this is—what you want for yourself?”
Galbart felt a sudden pang of guilt at Jorah’s reaction. It was quite clear that the older man was not expecting such news, and he silently cursed himself for not being more considerate about it. But there was no roundabout way, and while he had hoped to be able to discuss the matter with more time and more ease there was nothing to be done about it anymore; the conversation had taken an unexpected turn from the very beginning.
He fought to keep his expression impassive.
“…Yes. She’s a very kind woman.”
That much, at least, was true. They did get along well, and she would probably make a good wife, though Galbart preferred to omit the fact that the match had been facilitated - or more accurately, imposed - by his widowed mother, who had always been vocally unhappy about her eldest son’s prolonged bachelorhood.
Jorah nodded. “Good—that is good. I’m glad for you.” He was, in his way, though at the moment he had a hard time vocalizing it. It was a prudent match…as his marriage to Erena had been. It had been a responsible choice for him and his family—he couldn’t fault Galbart for doing the same. He and Erena had come to love each other, too. The same was quite possible for Bartie and the Dougall girl, if they didn’t already.
He looked down at his hands, then looked back up at Galbart, a sad smile on his face. “Your sister would have been so excited.”
Galbart sighed slightly. “Thank you. I hope you will be able to come to Scotland for our wedding. I am sure Mary would be thrilled to finally meet you in person.” he then said, with a smile of thinly veiled relief as he looked at Jorah.
“...I know. I wish she were here too.” he added in a soft murmur as his smile faded, lowering his eyes. His beloved older sister Erena, Jorah’s first wife, had died when he was but a boy, and though more than fifteen years had passed since then, the memory of that painful day was still fresh in his mind, and he still felt her loss keenly. Robett had been too young to remember much at all, but Galbart remembered. He remembered everything.
Nothing had ever been the same again for him and his family: the grief had taken its toll on their mother, but their father had never recovered from the loss, spending the last few years of his existence in almost complete isolation, without ever leaving Deepwood Manor. Galbart had never seen him smile again.
