The Season for Loving: A Renegade Royals Novella

by Vanessa Kelly

  Evelyn followed her inside and closed the door. Fergus made a mental note to tell Bertie that he would pay for the damage caused by the doorknob crashing into the wall. It looked like a sizeable dent.

  Lady Reese stomped up to a surprised Bertie. “Now, see here, Mr. Gage, I can certainly understand your desire to protect your sister, but I will not have you impugning poor Fergus in order to do so.”

  Bertie took a step back from the fingernail that was jabbing at his nose. “I’ve done no such thing,” he protested. “Just the opposite, in fact.”

  “Then what is the problem, may I ask?”

  “It’s his mother. She’s a…” Bertie waved a hand.

  “Madwoman? Yes, we all know that,” Lady Reese said. “What’s that got to do with Fergus?”

  Bertie stared at her ladyship as if she were the one who’d gone mad. Fergus didn’t blame him one bit.

  “I expect Mr. Gage is worried that madness runs in the family,” Fergus explained. “It’s a legitimate concern, you must admit.”

  “I’ve already explained to you at length that such is not the case,” Lady Reese said impatiently. “There is no taint of madness in your family, as your uncle, the Earl of Riddick, will be happy to confirm for Mr. Gage. Your mother was an unfortunate aberration.”

  “A hell of an aberration,” Bertie exclaimed, obviously forgetting his prohibition against profanity. “She shot her own daughter.”

  Georgie let out a squeak and grabbed Fergus’ hand.

  “Technically, it was an accident,” Evelyn said. “She wasn’t aiming at poor Donella.”

  “No, she was aiming at her nephew, as I understand it,” Bertie said in a sarcastic voice.

  “Goodness. How…how dramatic,” Eliza said.

  Georgie looked at Fergus, her features soft with sympathy. “I imagine you were embarrassed to tell me. You didn’t have to be, you know. I would have understood. I do understand.”

  “What a sensible young woman,” Lady Reese commented.

  Fergus sighed. “It’s not exactly something one bandies about in casual conversation. Hello, I’m Fergus Haddon, and you should know that my mother tried to murder my cousin and his wife. Oh, and by the way, will you marry me?”

  Georgie squeezed his fingers. “You truly do want to marry me?”

  He smiled. “Lass, of course I do. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’m madly in love with you.”

  When she choked out a laugh, he winced. “Very poor choice of words,” he said. “But you know what I mean.”

  “I do,” she said, “and I feel exactly the same way.”

  All the women let out romantic, happy sighs. Bertie, however, shook his head in disgust. “You’re all demented.”

  “I don’t mean to point fingers, Mr. Gage,” said Lady Reese, “but perhaps we could refrain from employing such terms in the present circumstances.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” he said. “That was rather clumsy of me.”

  Eliza went to her husband and slipped an arm around his waist. “You must admit that Fergus is wonderfully protective of your sister.”

  “He is, but I don’t need protecting,” said Georgie.

  “Certainly not,” Fergus said. “You’re perfectly capable of taking care of yourself.”

  Her smile lit up every corner of his heart. “Do you really mean that?”

  “Of course I do.” He hesitated for a moment. “I, however, apparently need you to protect me.”

  “What do you mean?” Georgie asked with a puzzled smile.

  “I need you to protect me from my own stupidity,” he explained.

  “Fergus, you are no more stupid than the average male,” Lady Reese said. “And less so than most,” she added, directing a stern look at her host.

  “Well, I like that,” Bertie said indignantly. “I’m just trying to protect my little sister.”

  “I know, Bertie,” Georgie said, “and I love you for it. But you can’t wrap me up in cotton batting forever. I need to make my own decisions, and even take some risks now and again. It’s time for me to grow up.”

  Bertie stared at his sister, obviously struggling with strong emotions. “Yes, of course you do. It just took me a while to get there.” He looked at Fergus and extended a hand. “Welcome to the family, old boy.”

  Fergus got up and shook his hand. “Thank you. Rest assured I will do everything in my power to make Georgie happy.”

  “See that you do,” Bertie said. “Or I’ll—” His wife poked him in the ribs. “Er, I’ll have to give you a stern talking to.”

  Georgie stood and gave her brother a quick, fierce hug. Then she flung her arms around Fergus and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll try to be the best wife in the world. Even if I am a Sassenach.”

  “And I’ll try to be the best husband a lass could wish for.”

  It was a promise Fergus intended to keep—for a lifetime.

  Epilogue

  * * *

  February 1818

  The Friar ’s House

  The guests were departing, and Bertie and Fergus had gone down to see the last stragglers off to their carriages. Georgie had retreated to the family drawing room with Eliza and Mrs. C, finally able to rest a bit. Her feet ached and she’d consumed too much cake and champagne, yet she’d never been happier.

  After all the excitement of her wedding day, she intended to spend a quiet evening with the people she loved before retiring to bed. Georgie was so eager to be alone with Fergus—a wee bit of wedding night nerves aside—that she could hardly sit still. But she wouldn’t rush the evening or miss a moment of the time spent with her family, because in another three weeks she’d be moving to Scotland. There, a new home and life awaited her, with a new family and new obligations. She was eager for all that, but knew she would miss Bertie and Eliza more than she could imagine. Fortunately, they’d promised to come for a nice long visit in the summer.

  Eliza let out a happy sigh and curled up on the large velvet settee in front of the fireplace. A fire crackled merrily on the hearth, chasing away any drafts that dared make their way through the old walls of the Friar’s House.

  “I loved every minute of the day,” Eliza said. “But it’s so nice to have the house to ourselves again.”

  Georgie kicked off her silk shoes and tucked her feet up under her gown. The dress was the most beautiful she’d ever worn—plush green velvet with white fur trimming the hem and sleeves. She would hate to take it off, although she supposed she didn’t have to worry about that. Fergus would enjoy taking it off for her. “It was the most spectacular day in the history of the world,” she said. “I can’t thank you and Bertie enough for hosting such a splendid event.”

  After a private morning ceremony at the local church, her brother and his wife had thrown a huge wedding breakfast that had stretched well into the afternoon. After that, Bertie had arranged for festive sleigh rides and snowball fights for the village children on the estate’s back lawn. There’d been as much mud as snow, but everyone seemed to have a great deal of fun. All the hot chocolate and other treats had been consumed in short order.

  The day had ended with an intimate dinner party with friends that included Will and Evelyn Endicott, and also the Sturridges and Lochleys. There had been so many wonderful moments throughout the day, and Georgie knew she would cherish every memory.

  “I’m only sorry Fergus’ family could not make the trip from Scotland,” Eliza said. “But he tells me Lord Riddick has promised to hold a grand ball to celebrate your marriage, with bagpipes, reels, and clan salutes galore.”

  Fergus had been disappointed that his family was unable to attend their wedding, but he understood. The earl was in declining health, and Edie Gilbride was pregnant. Under the circumstances, no one could blame them for not making the long trip south in winter.

  “Yes, but it was lovely that Will and Evelyn and Lord and Lady Reese were able to come,” Georgie said.

  “I’m not sure Fergus woul
d agree with you about Lady Reese,” Eliza said in a dry tone.

  “Are you talking about my nemesis?” Fergus said as he followed Bertie into the room. He sat next to Georgie, putting his arm around her shoulders.

  She breathed out a contented sigh and snuggled against him. “Yes, although you really shouldn’t call her that. Without Lady Reese, we might never have even met.”

  “I’ve actually grown quite fond of the old girl, if you want to know the truth. And she’s certainly been loyal to me—which is not half-bad for an Englishwoman.” Fergus laughed when Georgie poked him in the side.

  “Well, this Englishwoman is going to tell her you said that,” Georgie replied.

  “Please don’t, or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

  “I’m just thankful that the Sturridges offered to put them all up,” Bertie said as he settled next to his wife. “As fond as I am of Will and Evie and her family, it’s nice to finally have a little peace and quiet. Besides, my wallet is feeling the strain of all these guests and parties.”

  “What nonsense, you’re as rich as Midas,” Eliza said. “Besides, it was worth every shilling to send Georgie off in style, don’t you think?”

  “It would be worth every shilling I own to see my sister happy,” Bertie said, giving Georgie a heart-felt smile.

  She blew him a kiss. “Fortunately, it didn’t cost that much. Although I suspect the lobster patties were shockingly expensive.”

  “Good Gad, you can’t even imagine,” Bertie said. “That’s why I ate so many of them. Had to get our money’s worth.”

  “Bertram Gage, you are the worst tease,” Eliza said.

  Bertie laughed and wrapped an arm around his wife. Eliza settled in with a happy sigh, then nodded toward the large table covered in gifts. “Your new Scottish relatives might not have been able to make it, but they certainly sent some lovely wedding presents.”

  Georgie had found their generosity rather stunning. The men had sent Fergus a handsome brace of gold-trimmed, Manton pistols, and Lord Riddick had picked out two exquisite bracelets of antique Venetian gold for Georgie. Alec and Edie Gilbride had sent her a pair of gold earrings to match, along with a gorgeous fur muff for cold Scottish mornings. Best of all had been the wonderful letters from her new relatives, expressing their happiness and their eagerness to greet her when she came home. She’d choked up reading them, and even Fergus had been too moved to speak.

  “Yes, you had quite the haul. Well done, old girl,” Bertie said.

  He and Eliza had been incredibly generous too, giving her an elegant pearl necklace and a beautifully made portable writing desk. Bertie had promptly extracted a promise from her to write at least three times a week. She knew her brother was struggling with her moving to Scotland, and she would miss Bertie more than she could say. But they’d both found happiness with loving spouses and their new families. For that, Georgie was profoundly grateful.

  “There were so many lovely things,” she said. “I hardly know how to thank everyone.”

  Her favorite gift, naturally, was from her husband. The antique silver brooch, in the shape of his family’s clan badge, had signaled her entry into his Highland clan. When Fergus pinned it to her dress during the wedding ceremony, Georgie had embarrassed herself by dissolving into a puddle of tears. He hadn’t minded, though. In fact, she could swear he’d gotten a little misty around the edges, too.

  “I don’t know how we’ll get it all into the carriage,” Fergus said.

  “I haven’t given you my gift yet,” Mrs. Clotworthy said from her chair tucked away in the corner. “I was waiting for things to settle down.”

  Georgie had forgotten about Mrs. C’s gift, which was probably a bit of wishful thinking. Still, the old darling had been working on it forever, so whatever it was she would make herself love it. Mrs. C had been so much more than a chaperone—she’d been her confidante, friend, and ardent supporter—the woman who’d nursed her through the most serious crisis of her life. In every way that counted, Mrs. C was the mother Georgie had lost when she was a little girl.

  “Oh, would that be the, er, trousseau you were knitting?” Bertie asked, looking vaguely alarmed.

  “Indeed it is.” Mrs. C rummaged around behind her chair before pulling out a large, lumpy package wrapped in brown paper.

  “Are trousseaus usually knitted?” Fergus whispered to Georgie.

  “Not usually,” she whispered back.

  Beaming, Mrs. C trotted across the room and deposited the package on Georgie’s lap, along with a small pair of scissors to cut the string that bound it up.

  “Thank you so much,” Georgie said, smiling up at her. It didn’t really matter what the package contained, because she knew the contents had been made with all the love Mrs. C had for her. That, by its very definition, made it infinitely precious.

  After cutting the string and opening the package, she held up the bundle it contained. Whatever it was, it was made of thick, gray yarn knit in a sturdy, practical stitch, and was lined with gray wool to match. She shook it out, trying to deduce what it was.

  “Is it a blanket?” Eliza asked.

  “No, I’m sure it’s a cloak,” Georgie said, inspecting the frogs and buttons at the top of a large collar. She smiled at Mrs. C. “It will be just the thing for tromping about in the woods on a cold day.” Of course, she’d probably trip herself up in no time, since it was big enough for at least three of her.

  “Oh, well done, Mrs. Clotworthy,” Bertie said with the kindest of smiles. “But perhaps the dimensions are not quite right. Georgie’s rather a slip of a girl, after all.”

  “I can always wear it if it’s too big,” Fergus said. “A sturdy wool cloak never goes amiss up in the Highlands.”

  “There’s a reason it’s so big,” Mrs. C said in a solemn voice. She gazed down at Georgie, a far-away look in her eyes, as if she were remembering something from long ago.

  “What is it?” Georgie asked softly.

  “Georgette, do you remember that when you were a little girl, you would go out into the garden at night and look up at the stars?”

  “Yes, I remember.” In the city, there weren’t that many stars to see. Still, she could remember those nights spent in the small but pretty garden behind their townhouse, picking out the constellations and gazing up at the moon. “I used to dream about all the adventures I was going to have when I grew up.”

  Mrs. C nodded. “You dreamed of travelling to Greece and Constantinople, and visiting the Pyramids and the Nile. All the exotic places you read about in your books.”

  Georgie grinned at Fergus. “I suppose you didn’t realize you were marrying such an adventurous woman, did you?”

  He kissed her on the nose. “I was counting on it.” Then he looked at Mrs. C. “But what does this cloak have to do with Georgie’s childhood fantasies?”

  “When she would go outside,” Mrs. C said, “her father would give her an old woolen cloak to wear, the one he’d kept from his military days. So she wouldn’t get cold or damp.”

  “I remember that so well,” Georgie said in a soft voice. She’d loved that cloak. The rough wool had scratched like anything, but the garment had enveloped her like her father’s embrace—warm, sturdy, and with the scents of bay rum and snuff.

  “You would roll yourself up in it and lie out on that little patch of lawn between the flowerbeds, staring up at the night sky.”

  “I remember that too,” said Bertie in a rueful voice. “I was always afraid Georgie would catch a chill, but Father told me not to fuss about it.”

  “And I never did catch a cold, did I?” Georgie said with a cheeky smile for her big brother.

  “That’s because you were wrapped in your father’s cloak to keep you safe,” Mrs. C said. “But you didn’t just dream about travel to exotic places, did you? You dreamed about other things, a little closer to home.”

  Georgie nodded, suddenly feeling a little shy. “I dreamed about falling in love with a tall, handsome man, who wo
uld go on adventures with me. But also a man who would sit by the fire on a cold winter’s evening, telling stories to our children and reading to them from all the books that I loved.”

  Like her father had read stories to her when she was a child, and like Bertie—who’d read story after story aloud to her when she was sick and confined to bed for week after long week. Truly, all Georgie had ever wanted was a family and place of her own to call home. Like the one she’d had all her life, she now realized, thanks to the people who’d loved and cherished her.

  Fergus slipped his hand into hers. “And you have found all those things with me, love. I promise.” Georgie smiled at him as she blinked away happy tears.

  “He’s certainly tall, but I don’t know about the handsome part,” Bertie said.

  They all laughingly protested his jest, but Georgie wasn’t fooled. She’d heard the catch in her brother’s voice and saw him surreptitiously rub his eye, as if he’d gotten a cinder in it.

  “Bertie, that’s dreadfully rude,” Eliza said. “And it’s a lovely present. Georgie can wrap herself up at night and gaze at the Scottish sky, dreaming even bigger dreams. But I still don’t understand why you made the cloak so big, Mrs. Clotworthy. Georgie will be all but swallowed up in it.”

  “Because it’s not just for Georgie,” Mrs. C said. “Two people can wrap up in it and gaze at the stars together. Georgie and Fergus can even use it in the summertime, for picnics. It’s quite enormous when you lay it out flat. There’s plenty of room for a basket, and perhaps a baby or two.”

  Georgie was afraid she would turn into a veritable watering pot before the evening was out. But the picture was already so vivid in her mind—she and Fergus sitting on the blanket on a beautiful summer day in the Highlands, with a beautiful, red-haired baby lying between them.

  She slipped her hand into Mrs. C’s plump, comforting clasp. “It’s the best present anyone has ever made for me. I don’t know how you knew, but it’s perfect.”

  The older woman’s eyes shone with love. “I knew you thought you would never find your happiness, my dear. You and your brother lost so much, and you both endured a great deal of pain and sorrow. It made it hard for you to believe that you could ever be lucky enough to fall in love and have that love returned.”