“She’s an inveterate match-maker, and she’s claimed me as her next victim. Lady Reese is determined to marry me off—to a Sassenach, no less.”
Georgie’s step hitched, but then she smoothly resumed their stroll. “And what, may I ask, would be wrong with marrying an Englishwoman?”
Damn. He’d spoken without thinking. “Nothing, of course. I’m sure Englishwomen make perfectly good wives.”
“Thank you for that ringing endorsement,” she said wryly.
“Oh, blast,” Fergus said. “I’m an idiot. Please accept my apology—again.”
“Of course. It’s perfectly natural to wish to marry the type of person with whom you feel most comfortable. After all, I’m sure most Englishwomen would have some trepidation marrying a Scotsman,” she said in a teasing voice.
“Now, that’s a wee bit daft,” Fergus said, laying his brogue on thick. “Dinna ye know we’ve been sweeping pretty English lasses off their feet for centuries?”
Georgie rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’m sure it’s the accent that does it. And the kilt, of course. What girl wouldn’t swoon over chapped, knobby knees?”
“My knees are anything but knobby, Miss Gage. I have it on good authority that they’re both manly and well-formed.”
“Now you’re being entirely silly.”
“I’m sure you’re mistaken. I’m much too dour for that.”
She smiled up at him. “I like it when you’re silly. You should be that way more often.”
“Then I shall practice being excessively ridiculous every night before I go to bed.” He placed his hand over his chest like he was making a solemn vow.
“See that you do. But since we’re now being serious, I’d like to ask you another question.”
“Proceed, Miss Gage.”
She hesitated, a slight blush staining her cheeks. Fergus suddenly found himself holding his breath.
“From the tone of your voice…” she started before trailing off.
“Yes?”
“It sounds like it’s not just that Lady Reese wants you to marry a Sassenach. It sounds like you don’t want to get married at all.”
It was more observation than question, and the truth of it had him mentally flinching. He cursed himself for straying down that path with her. It was a path he didn’t dare travel with anyone.
“I can’t get married.” He shook his head. “I mean, yes. I don’t want to get married.” He clamped his lips shut, well aware that he was making a hash of it.
Georgie came to a halt, forcing him to stop as well. They stood at the bottom of the room in the shelter of a large pillar that gave them a degree of privacy.
“Which is it? You can’t or you don’t want to?”
“I’m too busy to get married.”
She sighed. “Try again.”
Fergus started to feel a bit desperate. “Miss Gage, this is an exceedingly inappropriate conversation.”
“And has been for several minutes, I’m afraid.” She batted her eyelashes at him. “Being an invalid has made me socially inept, remember?”
“That’s a load of blather and you know it.”
“Perhaps. But I think you and I are rather alike, are we not? We’re not outsiders, but neither do we truly fit in—even within our own families. We’re confined to the edge of things. In my case, it’s because I was ill for such a long time. I don’t think that’s so with you. Something else put you in that in-between place.”
He couldn’t do anything but stare into a face that seemed much too pretty and young to hold such a thoughtful, knowing expression. And, good Lord, it was like she’d seen into his mind and his heart.
Finally, he managed to nod.
“Is that what makes you think you cannot marry?” she asked after a pause.
Fergus thought about brushing off her question with a jest or, better yet, ignoring it completely. If he had any brains in his thick skull, he would return her to their party forthwith and never speak of the subject again. But, for some bloody reason, he felt compelled to tell her the truth. At least part of it.
“I hurt my family,” he said. “Very badly. And I almost ruined my sister’s life. In fact, I almost ruined several lives.” By being a stubborn fool who’d refused to see what had been right in front of his eyes.
Georgie’s eyes went wide for an instant, but that was the only indication that she was either shocked or surprised. “That’s a sweeping assessment, and a rather vague one.”
He grimaced. “A tad dramatic as well, I suppose.”
“Lady Reese did mention that the Scots are prone to dramatic pronouncements.”
Fergus gave her a reluctant smile. “She would seem to have the right of it, if my behavior is any indication.”
“I don’t suppose you’d care to elaborate, would you?”
What would be the point? It would only embarrass them both, and make him an object of pity in her eyes. They only had a few more weeks, and then he would likely never see her again. Fergus didn’t want to ruin their precious time together with ugly stories from his past.
“I’m afraid I can’t, other than to say that I feel my decision not to marry is in the best interest of my family,” he said.
She accepted that with a nod, then took his arm and resumed their stroll. Mrs. Clotworthy peered in their direction and waved, indicating their party was ready to leave.
“But you still have a problem with Lady Reese,” Georgie said. “She’ll pester you no end.”
“I’ll just have to ignore her as best I can.”
She flashed him an inscrutable look. “I think we can do better than that.”
“How?”
“You could pretend to court me.” She said it as calmly as if she’d said we ’re having lamb and mint peas for dinner.
His mind froze and his feet stumbled. A portly gentleman almost ploughed into them, and Fergus had to lift Georgie off her feet to save her from being run over.
“What did you just say?” he asked once he’d set her down.
“You heard me. If you pretend you’re courting me, Lady Reese will leave you alone. After all, it would only be for a few weeks. Then you can go merrily on your way with no harm.”
She regarded him with an enchanting half-smile, her eyes glinting with mischief. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out if she was playing a game.
“That is the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever heard,” he said. “I could never take advantage of you like that.”
In truth, some part of his brain thought it was a splendid idea—and not simply to put Lady Reese off the scent. No, the temptation arose in the form of the lovely, warm-hearted slip of a girl standing in front of him.
Don ’t be an idiot.
“I won’t mind,” she said. “I like spending time with you. And everyone will be so pleased that we’re not moping around like invalids that they’ll stop pestering us about eating enough or getting fresh air, and all the other silly things they lecture about. It’ll be fun.”
“Fun?” he croaked.
She gave an enthusiastic nod. “You could help me organize the skating party for Boxing Day. Eliza says it’s a tradition at the Friar’s House, a treat for the children of the tenants. She asked me to plan it this year.”
“But everyone will take it the wrong way.” It could get extremely dicey if Bertie thought Fergus was toying with his sister.
Georgie batted that objection aside with a careless wave. “You mean Bertie? He’ll be thrilled that I’ll have someone to watch over me when I go on outings, making sure I don’t fall into a ditch or tumble off my horse. Besides, I don’t think my brother can even imagine a gentleman wanting to court me. It probably won’t even occur to him that you’re doing it. Or pretending to,” she corrected.
“That’s absurd. He must know that any man in his right mind would be happy to court you—and marry you. They’d be idiots not to.”
She rewarded him with a smile that almost blinded him with its radiance. “Thank yo
u, Mr. Haddon. But I do believe you’re not an idiot, and you’re clearly in your right mind.”
He stood there like a dolt, blinking at her. The blasted girl was running circles around him.
“Do we have a deal?” she asked.
He mustered one more attempt to dissuade her from the crazed notion. “Miss Gage, as flattered as I am by your trust in me—”
“Oh, never mind that now,” she said. “Everyone’s waiting for us.”
“But—”
“Just promise me you’ll consider it,” she said as she tugged him in the direction of their party. “Think of all the fun we could have. It’ll be a lark—you’ll see.”
Fergus had the feeling that he’d be thinking of little else, including how the devil he was going to say no.
Chapter Five
* * *
Fergus hadn’t said no, which only showed what a fool he was when it came to Miss Georgette Gage. He hadn’t said yes either, but it was clear she’d taken his waffling for an unqualified affirmative. Over the last ten days he’d found himself spending more and more time in her company. They’d stood up a total of five times at two assemblies held in Tunbridge Wells, they’d gone riding almost every day, and they’d tramped through the woods with the local children, collecting mistletoe and holly for the Christmas decorations.
He’d even helped her dig up the old family recipe for the wassail bowl. Eliza claimed it had been handed down from the time of Charles II, scribbled out an old parchment. Someone had apparently misplaced it last year, and Georgie and Fergus had been assigned to look for it. They’d finally unearthed the blasted thing in the family Bible, slipped inside a passage foretelling the birth of the Christ child.
During all those hours spent together, something terrible had happened—Fergus had fallen in love. Pretending to court Georgie had turned into nothing less than an unmitigated disaster. A man couldn’t pretend with someone like her. She was simply too honest, too intelligent, and too sweet.
She was also bloody good fun. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d truly had fun.
“Fergus Haddon, stop lurking behind that pillar like a common thief,” intoned his personal voice of doom—Lady Reese, looming out of the crowd of revelers like one of Macbeth’s witches. “And is that whistling I hear? Stop it this instant.”
“I’m not lurking,” he said. “I’m simply resting between sets.”
“Nonsense. You haven’t danced a step. You’re hiding.”
He gave her back scowl for scowl. “And who might I be hiding from, your ladyship?”
She looked pointedly toward the center of the dance floor. They were in the Great Hall of the Friar’s House, a cavernous room that had once been the refractory of the old monastery. It was normally closed up at this time of year, but the ladies had decreed it be opened for a grand party for the local gentry on Christmas night. They’d spent the last three days decorating the high-beamed room, with its flagstone floor and a fireplace big enough to hold an ox. With swags of greenery and beribboned clusters of mistletoe and holly, it looked splendidly festive.
It seemed every person from miles around had come to celebrate the holiday with the Gages. In the center of those festivities was Miss Georgie Gage, a beautiful Christmas angel in a white velvet gown trimmed with silver spangles and shiny green ribbons.
At the moment, she was dancing with the oldest son of the local squire and enjoying herself immensely. Fergus couldn’t help but notice that her partner was a tall, well-dressed fellow who most girls would consider a fine-looking fellow. He grudgingly had to admit that they looked perfect together and seemed to share the same sort of good-natured personality. By any reasonable measure, Mr. Poppet would make her a more than respectable match.
Mr. Poppet obviously thought so too, since he’d been paying Georgie a great deal of notice this last week, so much so that Fergus could barely keep from hauling the man out to the terrace and throwing him over the balustrade into a thorny bush. Georgie was now attracting more than her share of attention from Hemshawe’s eligible bachelors. Fergus should be happy for her, but it annoyed the hell out of him that the girl he was supposed to be courting suddenly had a line of feckless youths trotting along behind her.
“Took them long enough to notice,” he grumbled.
Lady Reese cocked an ear. “What was that?”
“I said, I haven’t a clue what you’re referring to,” he said, raising his voice over the music.
She whacked him on the shoulder with her fan. “Stop moping about like a tragedy queen and go ask the girl to dance. Better yet, take her outside on the terrace for a breath of fresh air.”
“Forgive me for saying so, but I always knew you were daft. It’s the dead of winter out there, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“You’re the daft one if you can’t think of a way to keep Miss Gage from getting chilled.”
“Good God, daft doesn’t even begin to cover it. You’re positively demented.”
When she started to starch up, he grimaced. “That was incredibly ill-mannered of me, and I beg your pardon. I’m the last person who should say things like that.”
Her ladyship’s rather stern features softened a bit. “Fergus, you must stop thinking about that. It wasn’t your fault. Well, it was your fault that you challenged your cousin to a duel, which was exceedingly stupid, but you were acting on false assumptions.”
Even when Lady Reese was trying to be encouraging, she still managed to insult him. It was a rare talent. “If I hadn’t been so wrapped up in my own anger and resentment, I might have noticed something was wrong with my mother.”
“Lord Riddick and Alec’s father should have noticed too,” she said. “You were a young, hot-headed man, while they had age and experience on their side. And still they failed to see the deterioration in your mother’s condition.”
Fergus sure as hell didn’t feel young anymore. He’d felt weary and old beyond his years ever since the day his life crumbled around him. That had changed when he met Georgie. Then he felt like he might be at the beginning of things, with all sorts of adventures ahead.
Lady Reese poked him in the shoulder, this time more gently. “There is no earthly reason why you can’t court the girl. You’re a respectable man from an exceedingly good family. Even without Miss Gage’s fortune, you are able to support her in good style. I think you’re very well matched.”
When he took in the gleam in her eyes, it finally hit him. “Good God, you planned this all along, didn’t you? That’s why you postponed the trip to Maywood Manor and wrangled that invitation from Bertie to spend Christmas here.”
The bloody woman wasn’t just trying to marry him off—she was trying to marry him off to Georgie.
Lady Reese gazed down her imperious nose. “Mr. and Mrs. Gage were insistent that we remain here over the holidays. And it made perfect sense to change our plans, especially since Will is enjoying spending time with his old friend.”
“I’m not sure your husband would agree with you, since he’s left on his own at Maywood Manor.”
“Nothing of the sort. My husband is spending Christmas with my son and his wife. Besides, he’s happy for a little peace and quiet for a change.”
Fergus could readily believe it, but since there was no polite way to agree with her, he kept his mouth shut. His gaze strayed back out to the floor, where a set had just come to an end. Poppet was now talking to Evelyn and Georgie was nowhere in sight.
“It won’t work,” he said as he scanned the room, looking for the flash of silver and white.
“Why not?”
“A thousand reasons, starting with my mother and ending with the fact that her brother would never let her go to Scotland.”
“Don’t tell me, my dear,” she replied, looking past him with a little nod. “Tell Miss Gage.”
“There you are,” said Georgie in a cheery voice from behind him. “I’ve been looking all over for you, and here you are hiding behind a pillar.”
&n
bsp; Fergus ignored Lady Reese’s ironic eye as he turned to greet Georgie. Her cheeks were flushed a lovely shade of pink, and her rosy lips were parted in a glorious smile. She did look just like an angel, but not the ethereal, wispy kind. She practically vibrated with energy and joy. Just looking at her made him feel happy to be alive.
“You’ve been looking for me?” he said, sounding like a dolt.
“I thought you might like to try some wassail with me,” she said. “After all the trouble we took to find the recipe, I think it’s only fitting that we get some before it’s gone.”
“Oh, you certainly should,” said Lady Reese. “But before you do, could you two fetch the recipe from the library? I promised some of the Hemshawe ladies that I would show it to them. It’s such a wonderful family treasure, and they’re quite eager to see it.”
“I’m sure they don’t need to see it tonight,” Fergus said. Good Gad, Lady Reese couldn’t be more obvious.
“What a wonderful idea,” Georgie enthused. “Some of them probably want to try it out for Boxing Day.”
Fergus gave her an incredulous glance. “No one drinks wassail on Boxing Day, do they?”
“Of course they do, silly,” Georgie said, grabbing his sleeve. “It’ll only take a minute.”
Lady Reese made a little shooing motion. “Yes, off you go. I promise I’ll wait right here. But don’t feel you need to hurry.”
Georgie tugged him along—not that she had to tug very hard. When it came to her, he was all too willing to be led by the nose. Rather like a bull, he couldn’t help thinking.
She glanced up at him. “What just made you laugh?”
“Nothing. A ridiculous thought.”
“Tell me.”
“It’s just that you seem to like dragging me around these days. You’re quite masterful at it.”
She laughed. He thought it the most wonderful sound in the world, like church bells ringing out on a Highland Christmas Eve.
As they neared the wide doorway that led to the entrance hall, Fergus saw Bertie and his wife talking to some of the guests. When Bertie glanced over and caught sight of Fergus and Georgie, he frowned. “I say,” he called, waving as if to flag them over.
The Season for Loving: A Renegade Royals Novella Page 5
