Page 26 of The Season for Loving
“Of course he’s worthy of me! He’s wonderful,” Georgie exclaimed.
“I agree,” said Eliza. “So you must convince him of that.”
Georgie cocked on eyebrow at Evie. “I don’t suppose you can give me any more details about this mysterious past of his, can you?”
“I’m sorry, but it’s not my story to tell,” Evie replied.
“Then how the devil am I supposed to convince him that he shouldn’t push me away? The whole thing seems impossible.”
“Hmm.” Eliza pulled her knees up and rested her chin on top of them. “You need to start with the most salient point.”
“And that is?”
“You need to ask him if he loves you. That will force him to take a stand.”
“And you need to do it quickly,” Evie added. “Because we leave for Maywood Manor in three days.”
* * *
Georgie soft-footed her way down the stairs and craned around the banister to look around. Fortunately, the entrance hall was deserted, since most everyone was in the kitchens or outside preparing for the skating party. Bertie had worried that the ice on the pond wouldn’t be thick enough to support the skaters, so the entire enterprise had been in doubt. But a string of cold days had done the trick, and Bertie had just this morning pronounced the ice solid enough for skating.
That had sent everyone scrambling to get organized—the men outside and the women indoors.
Many of the staff had the day off, so Georgie, Evie, and Eliza had been busy in the kitchen all morning. Cook had volunteered to stay, but she’d needed help to produce the mountain of sweets for the children to consume once they’d had their fun. Georgie had only just managed to slip away to race up to her room to change. She had no intention of bearding the lion in his den when she was covered in flour and blotches of cake batter.
She scurried across the hall to the library. Fergus had retreated there an hour ago, after helping set up tables and benches by the pond. Georgie had little doubt that he intended to spend the rest of the day in the library, avoiding the fun and definitely avoiding her.
Sending up a little prayer for courage, she opened the door and slipped inside. Fergus was sitting in one of the leather club chairs by the fireplace, his nose deep in an agricultural journal. He was so engrossed in his reading that he didn’t notice until she was practically on top of him.
He stared blankly at her for a moment before dropping the journal and springing to his feet. “Georgie, er, Miss Gage. What are you doing here?”
He was so tall she had to tilt her head to meet his gaze. Yes, she could have backed up a few steps, but she wouldn’t put it past him to try to bolt if she gave him room. Really, who would have thought she was so intimidating?
“I was looking for you,” she said. “I believe we need to talk.”
He cast a glance over her shoulder, as if seeking a route of escape.
“Don’t even think of trying to run away, Fergus Haddon,” she said, her thin veneer of control deserting her. “If I have to tie you up in order to have it out, I will not hesitate to do so.”
He frowned. “I have no intention of running away, Miss Gage. But it’s not proper for us to be alone like this. I can’t imagine that your brother would like it.”
“Dear me. You didn’t seem to mind being alone with me last night.”
“And look how well that turned out,” he said.
“I’m sorry you found the episode so distasteful,” she said, trying to sound dignified rather than hurt. “But I have no intention of throwing myself on you today. You are quite safe, Mr. Haddon. You have my word.”
“You’re as daft as I am if you think that’s what I’m worried about. It’s just that—” He broke off as if to collect his thoughts, and then gave her a rueful smile. “Of course we shall talk, if that’s what you want. I’m at your service.”
That was a depressingly formal response. Still, she managed to return his smile and allowed him to hand her into the club chair. He opted to stand, propping a broad shoulder against the edge of the mantle, his expression polite but distant, as if he was mentally already halfway back to Scotland. Fergus Haddon did not look like a man in love, and it took every shred of optimism in Georgie’s soul to dredge up the words she needed to say.
“First of all,” she said, “I want to apologize for throwing myself at you last night. I realize you were shocked, and I’m sorry I put you in so uncomfortable a situation.”
His wary gaze softened. “I will admit to being a trifle shocked, but you did nothing that warrants an apology.”
“But I did make you very uncomfortable, did I not?”
“Not in the way you think.”
