Page 4 of The Season for Loving
Chapter Two
“Georgette Gage, that is the worst idea I’ve ever heard.” Bertie said, looking aghast.
Georgie sighed. Her brother only used her full name when he was very upset. “But don’t you think—”
He cut her off with a dramatic chop of the hand. “Over my dead body.”
“That’s a rather infelicitous choice of words,” she said dryly, “considering that both of us found ourselves on death’s doorstep not that long ago.”
He visibly winced. “It’s just a figure of speech, old girl. I didn’t really mean anything by it.”
Death had become a rather touchy subject in their household since Bertie suffered a near-fatal wound in the war three years ago. Georgie’s illness had been of more recent origin. Only last year, she’d almost died from a dreadful lung infection, one that left her weak as a kitten for a very long time. Her recovery had been slow, painful work, with her family on tenterhooks throughout the entire process.
That unfortunate experience caused her brother to act like a nervous old man whenever he thought she was over-extending herself, or when she so much as sneezed or had a runny nose. Georgie supposed it was a bit ironic that she was throwing the same tactic back in Bertie’s face.
Eliza looked up from her embroidery. “Bertie, darling, do stop looming over the poor girl. You’ll give her a crick in the neck.” She patted the sofa cushion. “Come sit next to me. I’m sure we can talk about this with perhaps a tad less drama.”
Bertie gave his wife a sheepish grin. “Yes, I suppose I was flying up into the boughs. Thank God I have you to pull me down.”
For a moment, the two simply gazed at each other, lost in the joys of wedded bliss. There had been many such moments since their marriage a few weeks ago, intimate ones where they forgot that the rest of the world even existed. Georgie was thrilled for them. Bertie was the best man in the world, and he deserved all that was good. He’d found that in Eliza Greenleaf.
Their marriage was the main reason Georgie wanted to move out of the Friar’s House. As large as the manor was, they were all constantly thrown in each other’s way. She was beginning to feel as if she didn’t truly belong there anymore. Bertie and Eliza would be horrified to know how she felt, but she couldn’t help it.
Bertie settled next to his wife. “I didn’t mean to bite your nose off, Georgie. You simply startled me, that’s all.”
“I understand,” she replied in a soothing tone. “Would you like a cup of tea? And let me fetch you one of those cheddar scones you like so much.” Maybe he would be more amenable to her suggestion if she could stuff him full of tea and treats.
“Allow me,” Mrs. Clotworthy said, rising from her seat tucked away in the window alcove. Georgie’s companion had been so quiet that she’d almost forgotten she was there. No doubt Mrs. C wanted to stay as far away from the fireworks as possible.
They were gathered in the private sitting room at the back of the house. Though small compared to the drawing room and the library, it was warm, cozy, and had a charming view of the garden. It was also, by tacit agreement, a retreat for the ladies of the house. Although initially Georgie’s private escape, Eliza now spent a fair amount of time there, too. Bertie had rarely set foot in the room before his marriage, but now his new wife drew him there like a lodestone.
The last thing Bertie and Eliza needed was to be tripping all over Georgie or worrying about her health, which they did to an endearing but vexing degree. Because of that, she’d come up with the perfect plan.
Too bad nobody else seemed to agree.
Bertie smiled when Mrs. C handed him a cup and a plate piled high with scones and a large slice of plum cake. After taking a sip of tea, he put the cup down with a decided click, ignoring his plate to study Georgie with a worried expression. “But here’s what I don’t understand,” he said. “Why did you come up with this daft idea to set up your own establishment, and in London, no less? You’re much too young to be out on your own, even with Mrs. Clotworthy to serve as chaperone.”
Georgie forced herself to be patient with him. “There’s nothing daft about it, dear. If you will recall, Mrs. Clotworthy and I were on our own for almost two years after Papa died, and while you were in the army.”
“Yes, but—” he started.
“And,” she interrupted, holding up a finger, “you were still not well when you finally returned home. We managed things quite effectively until you recovered.”
When Bertie looked ready to argue the point, Eliza gave him a little dig in the ribs with her elbow.
“You did hold down the fort in splendid style,” he admitted. “But there’s no need for that anymore. Why should you be bothered with all those annoying details when I’m here to take care of things? And don’t forget that Eliza can help run the Friar’s House. Who better, since she actually grew up here?”
“I believe that’s part of the problem, my love,” Eliza said.
He frowned. “I don’t understand.”
She patted his hand. “Of course not. You’re a man.” She scrunched up her nose at Georgie. “I’m sorry, dear. I know it’s been difficult having me swan in and take everything over.”
Georgie forced a bright smile. “Don’t be silly. This is your house. Of course you should manage it as you see fit.”
But her sister-in-law was right. Ithadbeen hard to relinquish management of her home. Aside from making several new friends in the area, it had been the one thing that had kept Georgie from going mad with boredom.
“Oh,” Bertie said. “What a dolt I am not to think of that. You’ve always liked to keep busy.”
