Page 3 of The Season for Loving
“You’re welcome. And your sister did have the very good sense to step aside when Alasdair wished to marry my daughter. She behaved in a very mature fashion.”
She had, but their mother had almost ruined everything by trying to murder Alec when he and Donella broke their engagement. Glenna Haddon had schemed for years to marry Donella to the Earl of Riddick’s heir, and her rage when those plans were thwarted had driven her to desperate, insane measures. Only by the greatest good fortune had tragedy been averted. Fergus’ mother now resided under the care of a physician in Edinburgh, and while he visited her as often as he could, it made him sick at heart to see her slipping further into madness each time.
When he maintained his silence, Lady Reese shook her head. “Fergus, you were not to blame for those unfortunate events. It’s time you accepted that.”
He stared at her, incredulous. “That’s not what you said back then. In fact, you once called my entire family a houseful of lunatics.”
“Mamma, you didn’t,” Evelyn said with a groan.
“I was speaking figuratively,” her mother said. “I didn’t know at the time that his mother trulywasinsane. After all, everyone was so excessively dramatic that Mrs. Haddon’s behavior hardly stood out. Only I acted with any degree of sense whatsoever.” Lady Reese flicked a scowl in her son-in-law’s direction. “Did you say something, William?”
“No, ma’am. I simply coughed,” Will said in a bland voice.
“I do hope you’re not coming down with something. Fergus is barely over his illness, and we don’t need him to relapse.”
“I’m fine,” Fergus said through gritted teeth. “It’s been two months, and it was just a bad cold.”
“It was rather more than that,” Evelyn said with concern. “Edie was very worried about you.”
“Edie worries too much.” Still, he wouldn’t deny that the nasty infection had taken weeks to shake.
“You work too hard,” said Lady Reese, “because you’re trying to expiate your guilt and atone for your mother’s behavior.”
Fergus mentally blinked. Most days, he worked like a dog because it was the only thing that made him happy anymore. But he had to admit that Lady Reese’s analysis hit rather close to home.
“Am I right?” she asked.
He waggled a hand, reluctant to come right out and say it. It made him sound like a mawkish idiot.
“You must cease doing so,” Lady Reese continued. “No one can predict with accuracy when one’s mother is about to go on a murderous rampage.”
“Mamma, that’s a dreadful way to put it,” Evie protested.
“Dreadful but accurate,” Fergus said. “And I wasn’t exactly a model of rational behavior when I challenged Alec to a duel.”
Lady Reese snorted. “That was simply masculine stupidity. Men engage in that sort of silliness all the time. They can’t help themselves, can they, Evelyn?”
“You are so right, Mamma. I could tell you stories about Will…”
“Please don’t,” Will hastily said.
“There, you see?” Lady Reese said. “Fergus, I must insist you stop brooding about things you can’t change and begin to enjoy yourself. That’s what this house party is all about, is it not?”
House parties were a little slice of hell on earth, as far as Fergus was concerned. He would much rather tromp through some muddy pasture after wayward sheep, or have a good chew with one of the tenant farmers about the latest article on crop rotation inThe Scottish Agronomist.
“I’m quite looking forward to meeting Mr. Bertram Gage,” Evelyn said. “Since he was one of Will’s particular friends in the army. I’m hoping to extract some good stories from him.”
“Trust me, love,” Will said, “there’s nothing more boring then old comrades sitting around and exchanging war stories.”
“I don’t know,” Fergus said. “The war did sound rather exciting.”
He’d spent those years helping his uncle manage the Riddick estates while Alec, the heir, had pursued a dashing career as a soldier and spy along with his partner, Will. Fergus didn’t regret his choice—Lord Riddick and the clan had needed him. But when Alec reminisced about his adventures, Fergus sometimes felt that his life in Scotland was small in comparison.
“Bloodthirsty tales are not appropriate for a lady’s ears,” Lady Reese said. “You are not to encourage them in any way, Evelyn.”
Evelyn rolled her eyes. “Yes, Mamma.”
“Besides, Mr. Gage is recently married,” her ladyship said. “He would hardly wish to speak of such things in front of his wife.”
“Probably not,” Will said. “And Bertie’s sister is rather delicate. Miss Gage was exceedingly ill last year. Almost died from pneumonia, apparently.”
Lady Reese nodded. “I believe Mr. Gage moved here so his sister could visit the nearby spa at Tunbridge Wells.” She smiled at Fergus. “Very helpful when one is recovering from a serious illness, you know.”
“I’ve never been to Tunbridge Wells,” Evelyn said. “I’m looking forward to spending a few quiet weeks here before we go home to Maywood Manor for Christmas. I’m very glad you suggested it, Mamma. We can all use a little respite.”
A disturbing suspicion began to take root in Fergus’ mind. “If I may ask, how large is the gathering at the Friar’s House?”
“You’ll be happy to hear it’s intimate,” Lady Reese said. “Just the Gage family and the four of us. After all, Miss Gage is still recuperating from her illness, as are you, Fergus.” She suddenly beamed at him. “Just think. You’ll be able to rest, drink the spa’s restorative waters, and regain your strength—all with a pleasant little companion who will not tire you out. And once we accomplish that, we’ll be more than ready to resume the search for a suitable wife.”
