The Season for Loving: A Renegade Royals Novella, Page 3

  Georgie had heard the term dour Scot before, but she’d always thought it a silly exaggeration. People often said ridiculous things about people they didn’t know. Italians were prone to drama, the French wore too much cologne, country folk were clodpoles, and city folk were not to be trusted. Such unthinking prejudice generally stemmed from ignorance or from a selfish regard for one’s own self-importance.

  But she had to admit that Mr. Fergus Haddon seemed to fit the bill of a dour Scot to a remarkable degree. He’d come into the drawing room a half hour ago and had yet to say more than ten words. From the scowl on his face, he was not pleased to be visiting the Friar’s House.

  The fact that he was also a very handsome Scot compensated somewhat for his demeanor. She’d had only a glimpse of him from the top of the staircase when he arrived this afternoon, since she’d made a point of not going down with Bertie and Eliza. Greeting visitors was no longer part of her duties as mistress of the household. Still, she’d managed to catch sight of his tall, broad-shouldered figure swathed in a well-cut driving coat, along with his stern, masculine chin, and a shock of red hair.

  Not that Georgie was acting in the most sociable manner. Annoyed by her fight with Bertie, it had taken her a good half hour of pacing around her bedroom to calm down. She’d still be trying to think through the problem posed by her stubborn brother if one of the maids hadn’t bustled in to help her change for dinner. Given her grumpy mood, Georgie had been tempted to claim a headache, but that would have resulted in Bertie sending for the doctor and forcing her to spend the next two days in bed.

  Mrs. C put down her knitting. “You’re very quiet, Georgie. Are you sure you’re quite well?”

  “I’m fine. And please don’t even dare to ask that again around my brother. You know it would be like waving a red flag in front of a bull.”

  “Oh, yes, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

  From her seat next to Georgie on the sofa, Mrs. C cast a worried glance across the room, where Bertie stood chatting with Will Endicott and Mr. Haddon. Well, Bertie and Will were chatting, while Mr. Haddon had the appearance of a man who’d gone deaf and mute.

  But even the scowl on his face didn’t detract from his quite spectacular physical attractions. He was as tall as Bertie, although leaner—a little too lean, Georgie decided, as if Mr. Haddon worked too hard and didn’t eat as much as he should. Still, he had lovely broad shoulders and long, muscular legs, nicely defined by his form-fitting breeches and tall boots.

  His eyes were his best feature, a shade of forest green that made her think of deep glades and mysterious glens. With his red hair and imposing figure, he was every girl’s dream of a dashing Highlander. Georgie had hoped he’d wear a kilt to dinner, but she supposed that was foolish. Mr. Haddon might look the part of a romantic hero, but his personality seemed more akin to that of a staid, middle-aged farmer with bunions.

  “Or perhaps he just doesn’t like Englishmen,” she mused.

  Mrs. C gave her a startled glance. “I’m sorry, dear. What was that?”

  Georgie hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud. “Oh, I was just wondering whether I had time for another glass of ratafia before dinner.”

  “I should think so. Florian told me that Cook is in quite a flap over the arrival of our guests. Something about a soufflé not rising correctly. Or was it the Devonshire fowl that she scorched?” She shrugged. “In any event, you have plenty of time to have another small glass. Let me fetch it for you.”

  “That’s not necessary—”

  “No trouble at all, my dear.” Mrs. C hoisted her comfortable bulk to her feet.

  Georgie watched her chaperone trundle over to the drinks trolley. She was perfectly able to fetch her own drink, but God forbid she should be allowed to exert herself. Of course, Mrs. C would probably pour out the tiniest glass imaginable. Everything in moderation, they all told Georgie over and over again. No wonder she would sometimes sneak down to her brother’s library late at night to partake of a decent-sized glass of brandy.

  “Miss Gage, I hope you don’t mind if I join you.”

  Georgie looked up and smiled at Evelyn Endicott. She was a lovely woman, garbed in a pretty but modest evening gown and gold spectacles. There was nothing dashing or particularly fashionable about her, but Georgie had liked her on sight.

  “That would be wonderful, Mrs. Endicott. I’ve been longing to speak with you. I’ve known Will since I was a little girl, of course. He came to visit with my brother when they were on furlough, but it’s been years since I’ve seen him.”

  “Please, call me Evie. You and your brother are dear friends to Will, which means you are my friends as well.”

  “Then you must call me Georgie. We’re pleased and honored that you could visit with us at the Friar’s House. We know how busy Will is with his duties in the diplomatic corps.”

  “Too busy, although he does enjoy his work,” his wife said in a good-humored tone. “It’s lovely to have a little time off to visit family and friends.”

  They chatted for a few minutes about life abroad, which sounded terribly exciting to Georgie, and about the challenges of being a diplomat’s spouse. Mrs. C returned with two glasses of ratafia, but then scurried off to help replenish drinks for the other guests.

  “But that’s quite enough about my life,” Evie said. “I want to hear all about you and Bertie. I understand you are permanently settled in Hemshawe and your London house is shut up, for now.”

  Georgie tried and failed to repress a sigh. “Yes, that’s correct.”

  Behind the frames of her spectacles, Evie’s eyebrows tilted in a questioning lift. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to raise an unpleasant topic. Are you not fond of the country?”

  “I am, actually. It’s just that—”

  “Oh, drat,” muttered Evie. “Not again.”

  Georgie frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s my mother. She’s up to something.”

  Lady Reese was no longer sitting with Eliza. She’d joined the men and was in the process of pulling Mr. Haddon aside. From the looks of it, he wasn’t happy about it.

  “Your mother seems to be a very, er, decisive woman,” Georgie said.

  “That’s one way of putting it,” Evie said dryly. “Best prepare yourself. You’re about to be managed, as is poor Fergus.”

  Georgie shot her a puzzled glance, but then smiled as Lady Reese came marching over, towing a clearly reluctant Mr. Haddon.

  “Evelyn, my love,” Lady Reese said in a brisk voice, “Mrs. Gage wishes to consult with us on our plans for the next few weeks. Why don’t you let Fergus sit with Miss Gage while we attend to that?”

  “But I’ve only just starting chatting with Miss Gage,” Evie said.

  “You can speak to her later,” Lady Reese said. “Besides, it’s more pleasant for the young people to spend time talking to each other than having to entertain old married people like us.”

  “Good Lord,” Evie said. “Fergus is older than I am.”

  Mr. Haddon finally broke his grim silence. “You’d better go with her, Evelyn. She won’t give any of us a moment’s peace until you do.” His brogue carried more than a hint of sarcasm.

  “Fergus, there’s no call to be rude,” Lady Reese said. “You’re not in Scotland where everyone’s used to that sort of behavior. You’ll quite shock Miss Gage.”

  “I imagine we’re shocking Miss Gage right now,” Evie said, clearly suppressing laughter.

  “Nonsense, my manners are impeccable, as are yours,” Lady Reese replied.

  As if to prove her wrong, Mr. Haddon gave Georgie an extravagant bow. Quite remarkably, he managed to convey sarcasm with that, too. “Please forgive my rough manner, Miss Gage,” he said. “Apparently, we Scots are an untutored lot.”

  “That is unfortunately true,” Lady Reese said in a sympathetic tone. “They simply cannot help themselves. I’ve learned to make allowances, however.”

  Georgie stifled a giggle. She couldn’t
tell if Lady Reese was joking or not, and Mr. Haddon’s ironic expression certainly wasn’t providing any clues.

  “All right, Mamma, you win,” Evie said, rising. “Fergus, I promise Miss Gage won’t bite.”

  Georgie flashed Evie an appreciative grin. Their visitors were shaping up to be more entertaining than she’d expected. But when she caught sight of Mr. Haddon’s expression as he settled beside her, her amusement faded. He’d gone back to looking grim, which wasn’t much fun at all, or very flattering. However, since he’d been that way since he entered the room, she decided not to take it personally.

  “It’s all right, sir,” she said in a quiet voice as the ladies walked off. “You don’t have to sit with me if you’d rather rejoin the men.”

  He went stiff beside her—well, even stiffer—and for a few awkward moments his face was entirely shuttered. Then he let out a sigh. “Lady Reese has the right of it, I’m afraid. Forgive me, Miss Gage. For my, er…”

  “Dour mood?” she prompted.

  His rueful grin was surprisingly engaging. “That’ll do. But it has nothing to do with you, please be assured.”

  “Then what has you in the dumps? Are you wishing you were somewhere else?”

  When his eyebrows shot up, Georgie shrugged. “You seem like the sort of person who’d prefer not to mince words,” she said. “Like me.”

  “You’re right, I don’t mince words, which means we should get along very well. And to answer your question, it’s not precisely that I don’t wish to be here. The Friar’s House looks interesting, and your brother and his wife have been very welcoming. It’s that…”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s not home.”

  That she understood. “And where is home?”

  “Blairgal Castle, north of Glasgow.”

  She couldn’t help an envious sigh. “I’ve always wanted to visit the Highlands. What’s Blairgal like? A castle sounds very romantic.”

  “I’ve never thought of it as romantic, but perhaps that’s because I know it so well.”

  “Were you raised in the castle?”

  “No. My family—” He paused, as if to correct himself. “I own a manor house at the other end of the glen. My uncle is the Laird of Blairgal, and he employs me as his estate steward.”

  “That’s rather an unusual arrangement, isn’t it? You have your own manor house, and yet you work for your uncle?”

  He stared at her with his striking green gaze. “You clearly do believe in plain-speaking, Miss Gage.”

  She winced. “Oh, dear. One should never ask questions about money or financial arrangements. Please forgive me. I don’t spend much time in company, so I’m not very adept at socializing.” Not especially with handsome young men with brawny shoulders and muscular thighs.

  He gifted her with a smile that was no less charming for being reluctant. “I’m not very good at it either. I’d much rather spend my days working, and my nights by the fire with a good book or periodical.”

  “Goodness, your life sounds almost as boring as mine. I don’t even get to work, unless you count embroidering endless tablecloths and kerchiefs as work.”

  “My work, fortunately, keeps me busy. I have tenant farmers to deal with, and the estate keeps cattle and sheep. My uncle also owns a whiskey distillery and has several business interests in the city. I help him—and his heir, my cousin—with all of that.”

  “Well, that doesn’t sound boring at all,” Georgie said. She could hardly imagine being so busy. “Do you enjoy the work?”

  “I love it. I am truly blessed that my family values my efforts.”

  “With your own manor house to take care of too, I wonder how you even manage it all.”

  No wonder he was so thin. Now that she was close to him, he looked a little weary too. Fergus Haddon couldn’t be more than thirty, but there was something about him that suggested he carried too many burdens.

  Georgie had the strangest notion that she could somehow help him, as absurd as that sounded.

  He gazed down at the glass in his hand. “It is a lot, although not as much as it used to be. My cousin was away for many years, serving in the military. I stepped in to help my uncle during Alec’s absence. But he is home now, and is taking on more of the duties that come with managing the estate.”

  “I suspect that you’re not entirely happy about that state of affairs, are you?” Georgie asked.

  He looked at her, as if for the first time. “How did you guess?”

  Because her situation with Eliza was similar, enough to give her that bit of insight. “It just makes sense, I suppose,” she said vaguely, not wanting to suggest any criticism of Bertie or her sister-in-law.

  “Miss Gage, has anyone ever told you that you’re alarmingly perceptive?”

  “Actually, yes.”

  “And do people think it’s a good thing?” His tone of voice indicated that he couldn’t make up his mind.

  She smiled. “I don’t think my brother is that keen on it.”

  “I expect that brothers—especially older brothers—don’t relish the notion that their sisters might be smarter than they are.”

  “Do you have sisters, Mr. Haddon?”

  “I have one sister, a younger one.”

  “Are you close?”

  A wistful expression colored his gaze. “We are, though I don’t see her very often. Only a few times a year right now, and probably less in the future.”

  “That sounds rather sad. Did she marry and move away?”

  His shoulders went up a bit. “Ah, no. She entered a convent, up near Inverness. Once she takes her vows, I doubt we’ll have the chance to see her very much.”

  “Oh, you’re Catholic,” she said with a nod. “I understand many Highlanders are.”

  “No, my family is Church of Scotland. My sister converted to Catholicism.”

  “That’s rather unusual, isn’t it?” she asked, not really sure how to react. “I imagine your sister’s decision caused quite a reaction.”

  She hoped she didn’t seem too nosy, but it sounded exciting and rather radical—a woman taking her fate into her own hands. Not that Georgie had any desire to be a nun. In fact, the very thought of giving up even more personal freedom practically gave her hives. But she had to admire any woman who had the strength to follow her own path, especially such an unconventional one.

  His deeply sardonic laugh told its own story. “You have no idea.”

  Georgie wished she had the nerve to ask him for details but knew she should bring the discussion back to safer ground. “Do you have any brothers, or is it just you at your manor house?”

  Something flickered in his gaze. It was gone before she could get a sense of it.

  “No brothers, just me,” he said. “My uncle and my extended family live up at Blairgal.”

  “So, all you had was your sister,” she said softly. “And yet you let her go. You must miss her very much.”

  “I do,” he said just as softly. “But a religious vocation was what she wanted, and she is happy.”

  Georgie had to clear her throat. “Well, you are obviously a splendid brother. She is very lucky to have you.”

  He looked a trifle embarrassed. “I believe you’re close to your brother, are you not?”

  She cast a glance at Bertie, still deep in conversation with Will. As if he sensed her gaze, he glanced over. His eyes narrowed slightly on her and Mr. Haddon, as if sizing up the situation, but then he gave her a smile and a wink.

  “I think I have my answer,” Mr. Haddon said.

  “Bertie’s the most wonderful brother. Unfortunately, he’s also a bit of a mother hen when it comes to protecting me. He can be a tad dictatorial over it, I’m afraid.” She wrinkled her nose to make sure Mr. Haddon knew she was jesting.

  He nodded. “We brothers can be tiresomely over-protective. I ordered my sister around, too. Barely gave the poor girl a chance to think for herself, I’m sorry to say.”

  “Now you have cast all my hopes d
own to the ground, after I was quite ready to put you up on a pedestal. The perfect brother and a handsome and dashing Highlander to boot. I’m crushed.”

  When he flushed under his tan, Georgie realized she’d put her foot squarely in it again. It was what came of never having the chance to socialize with young men. One generally acted like an idiot when finally given the opportunity.

  After an awkward pause, Mr. Haddon manfully forged on. “I expect your brother is still worried about you after your illness. Although you do look perfectly fit to me.”

  She gave him a grateful smile for so adroitly managing the conversation. For someone who ostensibly had no more social skills than she did, he was surprisingly easy to talk to. “I’m perfectly well, although you’d never know it from Bertie.”

  “I expect it’s partly because he’s a good deal older than you. He feels responsible.”

  “That’s true. It’s been just the two of us for a long time. Or, at least it was until he married Eliza. Which was wonderful,” she hastened to add.

  “Perhaps he’ll stop hovering about you so much now that he has a wife to worry about.”

  “Not so far,” she said wryly.

  He laughed. Georgie couldn’t help noticing that it was a very appealing laugh—deep and surprisingly full of good humor.

  “Families can be quite vexing that way,” he said.

  “Not yours, surely. Besides, you’re a man. You can do what you want.”

  “Believe me when I tell you that such is not the case. In fact, my trip to London was the result of my uncle ordering me south for much of the winter. It was not my choice.”

  “So that explains it.”

  “Explains what?”

  “Why you looked like you wanted to murder us all when you came into the room. I thought Rob Roy might pop up behind you and declare war on the English.”

  He looked torn between amusement and dismay. “I’ll be sure to warn you when the clan is on the march. Again, my apologies. I didn’t think I was so obvious.”

  She waved a hand. “It’s fine. I wasn’t offended. Much.”

  He grinned. “For someone who claims to be socially unskilled, that was nicely done.”

  “Thank you. Do you mind if I ask why your uncle insisted you take a holiday?”