The Wedding Dress(56)

“Certainly, Mr. Kirby.” The waiter backed away, his olive skin, dark eyes, and thick hair revealing his Italian lineage.

Daniel picked up his fork and twirled his noodles into a thick ball, inhaling the aroma of garlic and tomatoes. The first bite—hot and delicious—warmed his bones and energized his emotions. But talk of Emily only made him miss her more. A dozen times he’d gone to the phone room at the Ridley House to place a call to the Cantons, but hung up before the operator could take his request.

“Tonight, we get you dancing, Ludlow. On your feet, twirling over the dance floor with a pretty belle in your arms. Yes, we will.” Ross cut up his meatballs.

“So you’ve said.”

“Nothing like a gal to make you forget another.”

“Unless the first one is unforgettable.”

Ross made a face at Alex. “I told you, pal, call the doctor. Danny-boy is lovesick.”

Daniel released his angst with another forkful of pasta and a slow grin at his buddies. Ross had been his best friend since their Phi Delta pledge days at the university. More than anyone, save God, Ross understood Daniel’s struggle over Emily. He’d been the first to hear the news when Daniel returned to their quarters after his first date with her. “She’s the girl I’m going to marry.”

Ross kindly listened, without snickering, and did not consider him a fool. Even now, he didn’t recall Daniel’s silly, failed, romantic notions in front of Alex. The dinner talk moved to work—Daniel’s students and his position at the Institute, Ross’s reporting at the Birmingham Age-Herald, and Alex’s banking aspirations—then back to the true longing of the gents’ hearts.

“The only feminine thing I touch these days is the tip of a woman’s glove as I pass her money across the counter at the bank.” Alex brought his fork to his lips for an exaggerated kiss. “How’d I do, boys? Think I can remember how? What’s a fellow to do for a date these days?”

“Have money,” Daniel confessed before he’d considered his words. But he didn’t repent. It’s what won Saltonstall Emily Canton’s hand.

“Look at it this way, Danny boy. If all it takes to win Emily is money, what kind of girl is she anyway? Deep down where it counts? What kind of wife and mother would she be? What would happen if you fell on hard times? The first rich, debonair man to come along would steal her affections while you were out breaking your back to make ends meet.” Ross stabbed the air with his fork, his dark hair falling loose from his hair cream and flopping over his forehead. “No, no, you’re better off, chum. Believe me. Best you find out now the kind of woman Emily is.”

“That’s the thing. The Emily I knew wouldn’t marry a man for his money.”

“That’s what she had you believing, chum. I see it like this . . .”

Back and forth, debating, laughing, deciding if one married for love or money or beauty. If a woman could marry for money, why couldn’t a man marry for beauty?

“The more money in a chap’s bank account, the lovelier his bride. It’s the way of the world,” Alex insisted. “I see it every day.”

Talk of love somehow morphed to talk of sports. The discussion was serenaded by the clink of glasses and the clank of silverware against porcelain plates, scented with the aroma of melting candle wax, garlic, hot bread, and fruity wine.

The warm room, with music and laughter, sank into Daniel’s soul, lifting his tired spirits. Ross and Alex proved to be far better chums than he’d been lately. They were right. Emily wasn’t the only beautiful, kind, smart, loving gal in Birmingham.

It’s just . . . Daniel downed the last ounce of his wine. It’s just that the melody of her laugh still sang him to sleep at night.

She’d been the center of all his dreams and plans. Sometimes when he looked up from grading papers by the evening gaslight, he felt as if only half his heart were beating.

As the waiter cleared away their plates, Ross mused over his life plan and what he might do for his future. Daniel mentioned rather off the cuff he might continue his education, perhaps seek a professorship. Politics interested him.

Yet no matter how hard he tried to envision the future, Emily’s face proved to be the most distracting roadblock.

In the middle of Alex’s dissertation on rising through the banking ranks, he let out a low, slow whistle, nodding toward the door. “Now there’s a blessed feller. Moneyed, by the cut of his suit, and escorting a goddess of a woman. I’ve just got to get some of my own money to flash around.”

“Chin up, Alex, it’s not all about—” Daniel’s exhortation ceased as he turned toward the door, his eyes landing on the man beneath the top hat and tuxedo. All the light in the room narrowed onto his face. “That’s Saltonstall,” he whispered.

What was he doing here after midnight? And with her. He’d not seen them on the street since the day he spoke with Emily at Newman’s and tipped her off.

Nor had his police officer father and brother seen or heard anything of Phillip Saltonstall’s extra activities.

“Saltonstall? Which one—the father or the brother?” Ross angled around for a better look.

“That’s not a brother. Or father.” Daniel quick about-faced, putting his back to the door. What a lowdown scum. “That’s Phillip.”