Page 1 of The Season for Loving
Chapter One
On the road, somewhere in Kent
December 1817
To say that he was never the life of the party was an epic understatement, as Fergus Haddon well knew. Lady Reese seemed determined to hammer the point home with ruthless efficiency.
“You simply must try harder.” The viscountess wagged a finger at him from the opposite side of the carriage. “Hiding behind ballroom columns, mumbling to yourself, will hardly endear you to young ladies.”
“I wasn’t mumbling to myself,” he said. “I was merely whistling under my breath.”
He’d done that for as long as he could remember, whenever he was bored or irritated. And at most of thetonparties Lady Reese had dragged him to since his arrival in London a few weeks ago, he was one or the other. Often both.
“A most unfortunate habit,” Lady Reese said. “And not one that will aid in your efforts to find a wife, especially an English one.”
“But I don’t want a wife,” Fergus protested. “Especially an English one.”
Any other woman might have been offended by his blunt reply, but not Lady Reese. She was made of sterner stuff. “Nonsense. Any gentleman with a brain in his head wishes to get married. Is that not so, William?”
Captain Will Endicott, Lady Reese’s son-in-law, had long ago given up trying to look interested in their conversation. In fact, he’d all but dozed off in the opposite corner of the carriage. But he snapped to attention when addressed by the imperious viscountess. Any man—or woman, for that matter—ignored her at his peril.
“Ah, yes, of course,” Will said, struggling to appear as if he’d been following their absurd conversation. “I’m sure you’re absolutely right. No doubt about it.”
Lady Reese gave Fergus a triumphant nod. “You see, William agrees with me. And he should know. After all, he is now a high-ranking British diplomat in Vienna.”
Evelyn Endicott, who was seated next to Fergus, let out a lady-like snort. “Will has no idea what you’re talking about, Mamma. He’s been asleep off and on for the last hour.”
Lady Reese shifted in her seat and gazed at her son-in-law with narrowed eyes. “Surely that is not the case.”
“Certainly not,” Will protested. “I’ve heard every word.”
“Really?” Evelyn said. “Then please tell us what have we been talking about.”
Will gave her a sheepish grin. “Well, maybe I did miss a word, here and there. You know I didn’t get much sleep last night.” When he winked at his wife, she blushed a deep shade of pink.
Lady Reese gave a disapproving cluck, although it wasn’t clear if she was more offended by Will’s mildly risqué jest or his failure to hang on her every word.
“We’ve been talking about my utter ineptitude when it comes to socializing,” Fergus said, coming to his rescue. “Something I sadly cannot dispute.”
“You’re not inept,” Evelyn said in a bracing tone. “You’re simply a little…”
“Hopeless?” he filled in sardonically.
It was the simple truth—not that he cared about not knowing how to gossip or prattle on like, well, a prat. He had better things to do than drone on about cards, cravats, and the latest play. Or, at least he’dhadbetter things to do before his uncle, the Earl of Riddick, had sent him south to recuperate, as he’d put it.
“Perhaps a tad shy,” Evelyn said.
“And ifIthought you were hopeless,” Lady Reese added, “I would never have offered to sponsor you in the first place.”
She had most definitely not offered to sponsor him. In fact, her ladyship had been dragooned into hosting him for the winter by her other daughter, Edie, who was married to Alec Gilbride, Lord Riddick’s grandson and heir. That made him Fergus’ well-meaning but interfering cousin. Originally, it had been Edie’s idea to send Fergus south to London after his illness. She’d decided that leaving the fresh, healthy air of the Highlands to spend the winter in London, with its dirt, chaos, and noise, would be just the thing to restore his health and set him to rights.
It was another one of Edie’s madcap notions, and Fergus had told her so in rather forceful terms. Unfortunately, like everyone else in her blasted family, Edie never backed down. She’d managed to convince not only her husband but also Lord Riddick. And since Lord Riddick was his laird and employer, Fergus had found himself at the end of November in one of the earl’s luxurious travelling coaches, making the dreary journey to the London townhouse of Lord and Lady Reese.
With every passing mile away from Scotland, Fergus had sunk further into gloom. He hadn’t exactly been capering with joy before that, given all the family troubles of the last few years. The only thing that gave him any satisfaction these days was his job as the estate steward for his uncle. Riddick lands and the people who worked them meant everything to Fergus. Like clan and family, they were what truly mattered.
Edie’s absurd plan to restore him to health was made infinitely more hideous by her mother’s determination to find him an English wife. As if any pampered society miss would wish to marry a Highlander who worked for a living and had only a modest estate and a small manor house in an isolated valley to call his own. The latest scheme involved hauling him off to various house parties to meet eligible young ladies in what Lady Reese called a more comfortable and intimate setting. Fergus had told her that it wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference what the setting was, but the blasted woman simply wouldn’t listen.
“Give it up, old man,” Will said in a sympathetic tone. “When the ladies decide you have to do something, you’d best just get on with it.”
