Page 20 of The Season for Loving
“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.”
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.
But Eliza clamped a hand on her husband’s arm and tugged him around. Although Fergus couldn’t hear what she said, she spoke with animation, gesturing to the other side of the dance floor. When Bertie set off in that direction, Eliza looked straight at Fergus and winked.
Good God, another bloody matchmaker in the house. While that should make him happy, he felt the weight of guilt on his shoulders. Because at the end of the day he was going to have to disappoint them all—especially Georgie, it would seem.
They passed through the doors and into the hall, where the sound of holiday revels was now muted. Georgie cast a quick glance at his face, and her smile died. “You’re looking quite frowny, all of the sudden. Perhaps you’re not happy with me dragging you all over the place, after all.” She made a funny, adorable grimace. “I’ve been doing that for the last two weeks without a word of complaint from you. How dreadful of me to be so selfish.”
Fergus simply couldn’t lie to her, even if he should. “It’s been the opposite of dreadful. In fact, I’ve enjoyed every minute of it.”
She grinned. “Then I can get on with the dragging?”
He should say no. But soon enough he would have to say goodbye, probably forever. Like a greedy fool, he couldn’t pass up the chance to spend more time with her, storing up as many memories as he could.
He held out a hand in silent invitation. She slipped her fingers into his and led him across the hall. The butler scrambled to reach the door before them, holding it open with a flourishing bow. “Allow me, Mademois—er, Miss Georgette,” Florian said.
