“You’ll be happy to hear it’s intimate,” Lady Reese said. “Just the Gage family and the four of us. After all, Miss Gage is still recuperating from her illness, as are you, Fergus.” She suddenly beamed at him. “Just think. You’ll be able to rest, drink the spa’s restorative waters, and regain your strength—all with a pleasant little companion who will not tire you out. And once we accomplish that, we’ll be more than ready to resume the search for a suitable wife.”
Chapter Two
* * *
“Georgette Gage, that is the worst idea I’ve ever heard.” Bertie said, looking aghast.
Georgie sighed. Her brother only used her full name when he was very upset. “But don’t you think—”
He cut her off with a dramatic chop of the hand. “Over my dead body.”
“That’s a rather infelicitous choice of words,” she said dryly, “considering that both of us found ourselves on death’s doorstep not that long ago.”
He visibly winced. “It’s just a figure of speech, old girl. I didn’t really mean anything by it.”
Death had become a rather touchy subject in their household since Bertie suffered a near-fatal wound in the war three years ago. Georgie’s illness had been of more recent origin. Only last year, she’d almost died from a dreadful lung infection, one that left her weak as a kitten for a very long time. Her recovery had been slow, painful work, with her family on tenterhooks throughout the entire process.
That unfortunate experience caused her brother to act like a nervous old man whenever he thought she was over-extending herself, or when she so much as sneezed or had a runny nose. Georgie supposed it was a bit ironic that she was throwing the same tactic back in Bertie’s face.
Eliza looked up from her embroidery. “Bertie, darling, do stop looming over the poor girl. You’ll give her a crick in the neck.” She patted the sofa cushion. “Come sit next to me. I’m sure we can talk about this with perhaps a tad less drama.”
Bertie gave his wife a sheepish grin. “Yes, I suppose I was flying up into the boughs. Thank God I have you to pull me down.”
For a moment, the two simply gazed at each other, lost in the joys of wedded bliss. There had been many such moments since their marriage a few weeks ago, intimate ones where they forgot that the rest of the world even existed. Georgie was thrilled for them. Bertie was the best man in the world, and he deserved all that was good. He’d found that in Eliza Greenleaf.
Their marriage was the main reason Georgie wanted to move out of the Friar’s House. As large as the manor was, they were all constantly thrown in each other’s way. She was beginning to feel as if she didn’t truly belong there anymore. Bertie and Eliza would be horrified to know how she felt, but she couldn’t help it.
Bertie settled next to his wife. “I didn’t mean to bite your nose off, Georgie. You simply startled me, that’s all.”
“I understand,” she replied in a soothing tone. “Would you like a cup of tea? And let me fetch you one of those cheddar scones you like so much.” Maybe he would be more amenable to her suggestion if she could stuff him full of tea and treats.
“Allow me,” Mrs. Clotworthy said, rising from her seat tucked away in the window alcove. Georgie’s companion had been so quiet that she’d almost forgotten she was there. No doubt Mrs. C wanted to stay as far away from the fireworks as possible.
They were gathered in the private sitting room at the back of the house. Though small compared to the drawing room and the library, it was warm, cozy, and had a charming view of the garden. It was also, by tacit agreement, a retreat for the ladies of the house. Although initially Georgie’s private escape, Eliza now spent a fair amount of time there, too. Bertie had rarely set foot in the room before his marriage, but now his new wife drew him there like a lodestone.
The last thing Bertie and Eliza needed was to be tripping all over Georgie or worrying about her health, which they did to an endearing but vexing degree. Because of that, she’d come up with the perfect plan.
Too bad nobody else seemed to agree.
Bertie smiled when Mrs. C handed him a cup and a plate piled high with scones and a large slice of plum cake. After taking a sip of tea, he put the cup down with a decided click, ignoring his plate to study Georgie with a worried expression. “But here’s what I don’t understand,” he said. “Why did you come up with this daft idea to set up your own establishment, and in London, no less? You’re much too young to be out on your own, even with Mrs. Clotworthy to serve as chaperone.”
Georgie forced herself to be patient with him. “There’s nothing daft about it, dear. If you will recall, Mrs. Clotworthy and I were on our own for almost two years after Papa died, and while you were in the army.”
“Yes, but—” he started.
“And,” she interrupted, holding up a finger, “you were still not well when you finally returned home. We managed things quite effectively until you recovered.”
When Bertie looked ready to argue the point, Eliza gave him a little dig in the ribs with her elbow.
“You did hold down the fort in splendid style,” he admitted. “But there’s no need for that anymore. Why should you be bothered with all those annoying details when I’m here to take care of things? And don’t forget that Eliza can help run the Friar’s House. Who better, since she actually grew up here?”
“I believe that’s part of the problem, my love,” Eliza said.
He frowned. “I don’t understand.”
She patted his hand. “Of course not. You’re a man.” She scrunched up her nose at Georgie. “I’m sorry, dear. I know it’s been difficult having me swan in and take everything over.”
Georgie forced a bright smile. “Don’t be silly. This is your house. Of course you should manage it as you see fit.”
But her sister-in-law was right. It had been hard to relinquish management of her home. Aside from making several new friends in the area, it had been the one thing that had kept Georgie from going mad with boredom.
“Oh,” Bertie said. “What a dolt I am not to think of that. You’ve always liked to keep busy.”
He looked so crestfallen that Georgie had to smile. “It’s not anyone’s fault. This is your house—yours and Eliza’s. But, as you say, I’ve never been the sort to sit around like a lazy old thing. Can you really blame me for wanting more than that, especially now that I’m healthy again?”
“If it’s useful activity you’re looking for, I can certainly use your help,” Eliza said earnestly. “There’s enough to keep us both busy and then some, especially since we’re going to be renovating the old priory wing. Just think how much fun that will be.”
Renovating a house didn’t sound like much fun to Georgie. But before she could respond, her brother jumped in. “I’m sure I could find something for you to do as well. Perhaps to do with the succession houses I want to add at the bottom of the gardens.”
They simply didn’t understand. It wasn’t just about the lack of meaningful activities, ones that challenged her brain as well as her body. “It’s more than that,” Georgie said. “I want to have some control over my life. To make my own decisions about how I want to live.”
Bertie had been lifting a scone to his mouth but plunked it back down on the plate. “I thought things were better in that respect. I’ve been trying not to hover so much or order you about.”
“I know, and you don’t order me about. Not really.”
He was the kindest and most solicitous of brothers, and the rest of the household also leapt with alacrity to give her whatever they thought she wanted. That was the real problem. They practically smothered her with attention and kindness, although Bertie had been trying his best to give her more independence.
“And I just bought you that new mare. You’ve even gone out riding on your own,” he said in a hopeful tone.
“And each time she did you were convinced she would end up in a heap in a ditch,” Eliza said in a wry tone, picking up her needlework. “You were a wreck by the
time she returned home.”
Bertie sighed. “As bad as all that, is it?”
Georgie waggled a hand. “It does tend to put a damper on things.”
“All right, I’ll try not to be such an old worrywart,” he said. “And you should definitely do more about the house. Perhaps you can help Eliza plan the Christmas festivities. After all, we’ll have a full house, what with Will Endicott and his family coming to stay.”
“That’s a splendid idea,” Eliza said. “There’s the Christmas party for all the tenants, for one thing. And I thought we might add a skating party for the children on Boxing Day. It used to be an old Greenleaf family tradition.”
“I’m sure Georgie could do a bang-up job organizing that,” Bertie said in an approving voice. “Brilliant as always, my sweet.”
The newlyweds were so much in love that Georgie was tempted to dump a cup of tea over their heads. That was simply awful of her, she knew, but it rather hurt that everyone seemed to be getting married these days. Peregrine and Caro Lochley, for instance, were months into their union, happily making wine and helping Caro’s father manage his farms. And Belinda Leonard had married Adam Sturridge, moving north to join him on his estate. Belinda was already with child, which meant the Sturridges would not be coming to London for the Season, or visiting Hemshawe any time soon.
Georgie was truly happy for all of them—after all, she’d done everything in her power to foster their marriages. And it wasn’t that she needed to get married, although she hoped that someday she would fall in love and wed. What she did need was a life of her own, one where she took care of herself. She’d been coddled for much too long.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “But organizing a skating party will hardly address the problem.”
Bertie and Eliza both wore slightly bemused expressions. “Um, why not?” Bertie asked, his mind clearly still on his pretty wife.
Argh.
Georgie tried a different tack. “It’s not just the work, or lack of it. As much as I like the Friar’s House, I miss London. After all, it’s always been my home. I’d like to move back there—permanently.”
“You cannot be serious,” said Bertie, aghast.
“I will always come back for visits,” Georgie said. “But the only reason we moved here was so I could drink the waters at Tunbridge. Well, I’m not sick anymore, and I’m ready to move back to town.”
“But I thought you liked it here,” Eliza protested.
“I do. I like it very much.” Surprisingly, the country had been good for her. It had helped her heal and showed her that there were different and equally valuable ways to live. But she missed shopping on Bond Street and strolling through Hyde Park, watching the elegant ladies and dashing gentlemen gossip and flirt. She missed the theater and the bookstores, and getting ices at Gunter’s. She missed art exhibitions at the Royal Academy.
Some days, she even missed the noise and traffic, which showed how bored she’d become. London was vibrant, with an endless procession of sights and sounds. Georgie knew she had no right to feel bored, not with all the blessings she enjoyed. But in her mind, life in this little village of Hemshawe had come to represent her illness. She needed to start over again—healthy, strong, and in control of her life.
That would never happen as long as she remained under her brother’s worried eye.
“I do want to move back to London by March,” she said. “We can open up the house in Kensington until I come of age. After that, I can set up my own establishment.”
“Absolutely not,” her brother said.
“I don’t see why not,” Georgie said, defiantly. “I can certainly afford it, and Mrs. Clotworthy will be there with me.”
Bertie whipped around to stare at Mrs. C, who was doing her best to fade behind the curtains framing the alcove. “Mrs. Clotworthy, please tell me that you don’t agree with this mad scheme.”
“Well, er, I…that is, I suppose I did. Not that I necessarily think it’s the right thing to do,” she added hastily.
Georgie had to repress the impulse to growl. Mrs. C was devoted to her but hated going against Bertie’s wishes. Although Georgie adored her, she did not adore the lady’s old-fashioned inclination to defer to every decree made by the man of the house.
“I should think not,” Bertie said, sounding relieved. “Although I don’t understand why you would even have agreed in the first place.”
“She is Georgie’s chaperone,” Eliza said. “Of course she would go wherever her charge would wish to go.”
Mrs. C flashed Eliza a grateful if rather timid smile.
Georgie mentally sighed. She could wish that her chaperone was a tad stronger-willed, but she couldn’t blame her. Mrs. C was entirely dependent on Bertie’s support. He would never dream of letting her go or fobbing her off with only a tiny annuity, as so many did with unwanted family dependents. Still, Mrs. C felt a great deal of gratitude toward Bertie and would never willingly do anything to upset him.
“Why you’d want to move back to dirty old London,” Bertie said, “when you have such a fine life at The Friar’s House is beyond me.”
Georgie finally let her frustration burst out. “Because it doesn’t feel like my life anymore. It feels like your idea of what my life should be.”
Bertie looked shocked at first, then his handsome features subsided into an anxious frown. He rose from his seat to join her, going down on one knee and taking her hand. “Is that truly how you feel, my dear?”
She nodded, feeling miserable. But she had to tell him the truth or she’d begin to resent him. That was the last thing she wanted to do to her beloved brother.
His regarded her with a somber expression. “You must forgive me for being so selfish. It’s just that I’ve been happy here with you and Mrs. Clotworthy—watching you get well again. I honestly believed it was all I wanted from life after everything we’ve gone through.”
Georgie had to swallow before she could speak. “And then you found Eliza, which was the most wonderful thing. And I’m so happy for you. Truly.”
“Yes, I’m the luckiest man in the world to be surrounded by the three best women who ever lived. No man could be as fortunate. I hope that explains a bit why I don’t want things to change. And I do admit that old habits are hard to break. It’s just that—” He grimaced and broke off.
“You don’t want to see anything bad happen to me,” she finished for him.
“Exactly.”
“Bertie, how will you feel when I get married?” she asked.
He actually blanched under his tan. “Are you thinking of getting married?”
“Well…no.” Although Georgie sometimes feared that marriage was the only way she would ever get out of her brother’s house. It was almost impossible to meet eligible bachelors in Hemshawe, and even Tunbridge Wells wasn’t exactly fertile hunting ground—especially with Bertie hanging around, scowling at every man under the age of fifty who talked to her. She knew he worried with the best of intentions. He simply didn’t think anyone was good enough for his sister. And then there was the whole issue of fortune hunters, given her substantial fortune.
“I would like to get married one of these days, you know,” she said. “It’s perfectly natural.”
“Of course it is,” he said. “But you’re young and you’re still recovering from your illness. You need to get your strength back before you can even begin to think of taking on the duties of a wife and mother.”
Georgie’s patience began to slip again. “As I’ve told you repeatedly, my strength is back.”
Bertie stood, shaking his head. “Not according to Dr. Field. He says you’re much too thin.”
“He said no such thing,” she said indignantly. “He said I was in prime twig. He’d simply like me to gain a little more weight.”
Eliza put aside her embroidery and came to her feet. “Darling, I believe I hear a carriage coming up the drive. I’m sure it’s Captain Endicott and his party.”
Bertie glanced
at the clock on the mantel. “Good Lord, I’m sure you’re right. They’re already late as it is. We’d best go down to meet them.”
Georgie huffed out an exasperated sigh. “Just so you know, I’m not giving up on this particular subject. We will be discussing it later, guests or not.”
Bertie tried to look stern but failed miserably. He just couldn’t do stern, at least not with her. “No, we won’t. The discussion is closed.”
Georgie narrowed her gaze on him but decided not to push it for now.
Her brother glanced at Eliza. “Are you coming, my sweet?”
“I’ll be there in a minute. You go on down.”
Eliza waited until he left the room, then gave Georgie a sympathetic grimace. “I’m sorry, my dear. I’ll talk to him later. Perhaps he’ll allow you to go up to London for a few weeks after the holidays. Or perhaps Bertie and I will go up and you can stay here.”
“I won’t drive you out of your own house, not when you just got back into it. But truly, Eliza, I do think he’s going to drive me out of my wits. He tries hard not to, but he can’t seem to help himself.”
“You must be heartily sick of us, mooning about like two love-struck fools. It’s almost embarrassing at our age.”
Georgie couldn’t help laughing at Eliza’s comically scrunched up face. “I do feel like a bit of a voyeur at times, but you are newlyweds, after all. You’re supposed to act like that.”
“We can’t seem to help it, but that’s neither here nor there. Unfortunately, I don’t think Bertie’s going to agree to your plan while you’re still under his guardianship.”
“And I won’t be of age for another ten months,” Georgie said. Even after that he could still be a bother, since he held trusteeship of her funds.
“Drat the man,” said his wife. “I’m not quite sure what to do about this.”
“Neither am I. But be assured I’ll think of something.”
Chapter Three
* * *
The Season for Loving: A Renegade Royals Novella Page 2
