Page 16 of The Season for Loving
It was a valid point, though. Her ladyship did seem to treat him with the same brusque affection she showed her children. And she interfered just as much.
He had to admit her attentions were entirely lacking in self-interest, unlike those of his own mother. She’d been monstrous, so insane and selfish that she’d almost destroyed their entire family.
“I think she’s rather sweet,” Georgie said. She breathed out a tiny sigh. “I barely remember my mother, because I was so young when she died. Poor Bertie, though, suffered twice—first losing his mother to illness, and then his stepmother. He felt that second loss as keenly as the first.”
Suddenly, Fergus felt ashamed. Yes, his mother had brought sorrow to the family, but at least he’d had one. And despite her faults, she loved him. Mamma couldn’t help that she’d fallen prey to madness.
“I’m so sorry, Miss Gage,” he said.
“Fortunately, I had Mrs. Clotworthy. She’s a wonderful person, as you can see.”
“I can see that, although there’s all that mysterious knitting she engages in. I find it vaguely alarming.”
Her brow cleared, and she broke into a delighted laugh. It was like the sun rising over a Highland meadow on a bright spring day. And like those beautiful Scottish morns, it made him happy.
“You have no idea how alarming,” she said.
“Perhaps you can borrow Lady Reese for a while. It would be a nice break for me,” Fergus said. “I know for a fact that she doesn’t knit, and she certainly wouldn’t smother you.”
“No, she’s not the coddling type,” Georgie said. “But she strikes me as rather managing.”
“Ratheris an understatement.”
“I wonder why she’s so attentive to you. It’s quite puzzling.”
“She’s an inveterate match-maker, and she’s claimed me as her next victim. Lady Reese is determined to marry me off—to aSassenach, 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.
