Page 13 of The Season for Loving
Chapter Four
Georgie’s rather fierce scowl was unusual enough for Fergus to take note. She was glaring around the Tunbridge Wells assembly rooms as if ready to challenge anyone who had the nerve to wish her a good day.
He’d been taking a good deal of notice of Georgie Gage in the last week or so, although he tried not to be too obvious about it. She was the only bright spot in an otherwise dim prospect. Fergus invariably found himself seeking her company, whether for a walk into Hemshawe, a ride around the estate, or even just a quiet conversation by the fire after dinner.
Not that they actually had the chance to engage in many outings away from the Friar’s House. Bertie and Mrs. Clotworthy relaxed a tad when Fergus was along to escort Georgie on rides or walks into the village. But if there was even the slightest bit of wind, or a cloud in the sky, they did everything they could to persuade her to stay indoors.
Fergus still couldn’t understand why Georgie didn’t tell her brother to go hang himself. She was a sensible young woman perfectly capable of looking after herself. That she didn’t snap her brother’s well-intentioned nose off on a regular basis was a testament to her incredibly kind and cheerful nature. Aye, Georgie was a bonny lass, and he was beginning to enjoy her company a great deal more than he ought.
She certainly wasn’t in a good mood this morning, though. In fact, she’d just narrowed her pretty eyes at two young ladies who’d strolled past their chairs for the third time this last half hour.
Perhaps she was simply bored. After all, there was nothing to do in Tunbridge Wells except choke back the foul tasting water, stroll along the Upper Walk, and gossip and drink endless cups of tea before strolling past the shops once again—and that much was only possible if the weather cooperated. Had it not been for the considerable pleasure of Georgie’s company, Fergus would have been bored out of his skull by the place.
Georgie muttered something under her breath that sounded remarkably like an oath.
“Is everything all right, Miss Gage? Do you want me to nip out and get you another glass of mineral water?”
“Ugh, not you, too,” she said. “I can’t stand the blasted stuff, and Mrs. Clotworthy insists that I drink at least two glasses every time we come to the spa. It smells like a moldy old cellar and tastes even worse.”
Fergus was in whole-hearted agreement. “Then perhaps a cup of tea? I’d be happy to fetch one.”
She shot him an irritated look. “You don’t have to treat me like a feeble old lady, you know, even though I must look like one at the moment.”
He eyed the heavy wool shawl swaddled around her shoulders. “That does seem a bit much. It’s not exactly drafty in here.”
The assembly rooms were packed, and the atmosphere was close. Fergus had been forced to evict a group of lounging dandies to secure seats for the ladies. A few sharp words from Lady Reese had helped. Even the rudest of dandies couldn’t hold his starch under her withering scorn.
“I’m broiling,” Georgie said. “It’s like the tropics in this confounded room. All we need are some pineapples and palm trees to complete the effect.”
When Fergus laughed, she cut him a reluctant grin. “I’m sorry for acting like an old grump. I have no business snapping your nose off.”
“You didn’t. And I agree with you. I’m wilting around the edges, like a tired piece of lettuce.”
“Nonsense,” she said. “You’re looking as fresh as a daisy. Whereas I am resigned to the fact that my face is as shiny and red as an apple.”
“No one’s ever compared me to a daisy before. I’m not sure how to take that.”
“Take it as a compliment.” She leaned around him and glanced at her chaperone, seated a few chairs away and talking to Eliza. “I really must take this shawl off or I’ll expire on the spot.”
“That would certainly shock the ladies. Here, let me help you.” Fergus took the voluminous piece of wool and folded it up, draping it over the back of her chair.
Georgie gave him a grateful smile. “That’s so much better. Thank you.”
He frowned at how flushed she looked, almost as if she were feverish. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
The fierce little scowl returned. “I’m fine. I told you. I’m simply hot.”
“Why the devil didn’t you take the confounded thing off before?” he asked with some asperity.
“You know exactly why. Mrs. Clotworthy would kick up a fuss and lecture me about catching cold. Most times it’s not worth the aggravation.”
Fergus understood about interfering families, but he’d learned to assert himself. Of course, it was easier for men to do so than for young ladies. Georgie had a very accommodating temperament and wished everyone to be happy. She always did whatever she could to achieve that—at times to her own detriment.
“I’ll speak to Mrs. Clotworthy,” he said. “One doesn’t wish to catch a chill, but it’s also not healthy to become overheated.”
Her lips twitched up. She had a wonderful mouth—full and pink and very prone to smiling. One of his favorite activities these days was looking at it.
“I’m being horrid again, aren’t I?” she said. “I apologize. I’m not normally so out of sorts. It’s just that—” She broke off.
