A Gentleman For All Seasons

by Shana Galen, Vanessa Kelly, Kate Noble, Theresa Romain

  “It didn’t take much doing,” Georgie told them when she was first admitted to Croftburr. “All I had to do was promise to not lift more than a cup of tea, and lie down if I feel at all faint, and to have Mrs. Clotworthy fetch me anything I might need.”

  Both Belinda and Francesca glanced to Mrs. Clotworthy, who had taken up residence in a very large chair by the fire and begun dozing almost immediately.

  “Perhaps I will have John put a word in your brother’s ear that it is possible to care too much,” Francesca mused.

  “Oh please don’t. He’s horribly proud, and I’m sure would hate to be told he’s done something wrong.”

  “More than he’d hate to have done something wrong?”

  “Ladies!” Belinda interjected. “It is time to call to order the Hemshawe Fair and Harvest Festival Committee.”

  “You have a Hemshawe Fair and a Harvest Festival? Or do they happen at the same time?” Georgie asked.

  “They are two separate festivals. The Fair is in the summer and the Harvest Festival is in the fall.” Francesca answered. “Although Belinda keeps threatening to add a winter-set festival as well.”

  Belinda sent her friend a dark look. “Well now that we have a third member to our team I see no reason why we can’t have a third festival.”

  “Really?” Francesca said, a mocking smile on her lips. “Oh dear. Georgie, run for your life.”

  Over by the fire, Mrs. Clotworthy swallowed a laugh. Belinda, to her credit, laughed outright, before diving back into her planned speech.

  “Be that as it may, we have a number of items to address this week, not the least of which are the livestock stalls, which I am informed must be bigger this year for the Hemshawe Fair.”

  “Well, last year the pigs did break out and there was that… trampling incident.” Francesca replied.

  “If you ask me the vicar deserved all the mud he ate,” Belinda grumbled. “But it if it must be addressed it will be addressed. Along with the entertainment, refreshments, and we will need a new judge for the wine tasting, Mr. Greenleaf is sadly indisposed –”

  “Belinda!” Francesca smiled tightly. “Perhaps… perhaps it would be best if you read the notes from the last meeting first. So Miss Gage can become familiar with what we’re doing.”

  “Of course,” Belinda replied. “I should have thought of that. I drew up this itinerary days ago, before I knew Miss Gage would be joining us.” She glanced briefly about her. “But where is my notebook?”

  “I don’t know, dearest,” Francesca replied. “Did you bring it downstairs?”

  “Of course I did,” Belinda replied, before standing to check her seat, under the cushions.

  “Oh, um…” Francesca fluttered, helplessly.

  Georgie suppressed a smile. Lady Sturridge’s attempt was admirable, but it was obvious subterfuge was not her natural state. “Perhaps you should retrace your steps?” Georgie offered. “That’s how I always find something I’ve lost.”

  “I haven’t lost it, I’ve –” Belinda sighed. “Yes, perhaps you’re right. I’ll be back in trice. With my notebook.”

  Belinda left the room, closing the door behind her, muttering to herself as she went. “…it was on my bedside table last night, so…”

  Finally alone – a snoring Mrs. Clotworthy aside – Francesca had wasted no time in producing the missing notebook from beneath her skirts, and getting down to the real business of the day.

  “Belinda and Adam in love? You must be mistaken. You simply must,” she insisted.

  “I am perfectly serious,” Georgie smiled. “And although I could be mistaken, I rarely am.”

  “It’s true,” Mrs. Clotworthy said from her chair, without so much as moving an eyelid. “The girl knows the minds of others better than she knows her own, I’ve said.”

  “Thank you,” Georgie nodded. “Although I’m not entirely certain that’s a compliment.”

  “But you’ve only just met both Belinda and Adam. And I can’t imagine that they made the best impression – Adam especially.”

  Georgie acknowledged the truth of that statement with a single shoulder shrug.

  “How could you possibly have any idea about their hearts?”

  Georgie cocked her head to one side. “You recognize that your brother-in-law was a bit brash when we met, yes?” At Francesca’s nod Georgie continued. “But you still like him.”

  “Of course. Adam is a very kind soul, even if he can be… overly casual. Which is exactly what drives Belinda mad about him.”

  “And Miss Leonard is quite exacting, but you still like her as well.”

  “Of course I do,” Francesca smiled. “She’s the best friend I’ve ever had.”

  “So two people who are supremely likeable not liking each other does not strike you as odd? Or perhaps, forced?”

  Francesca’s pretty brow came down. “But some people in the world are just destined to never get along. Belinda and Adam are like oil and water – and they always have been.”

  Georgie’s gaze narrowed. “How long have you known them?”

  “Oh, I’ve known Adam and my John since I was a girl. My mother was particular friends with theirs, so we would often spend holidays together. I spent a good many summers in Hemshawe in my youth. And Belinda moved here at about nine or ten, if I recall correctly. Her parents had died, and she’d been sent all the way from India to live with her uncle, Sir Henry Leonard.”

  “India?” Georgie asked. “That must have been quite the change.”

  “I believe it was. But Belinda would never let it show. She simply held her head up and marched forward, the way she handles everything.

  “I remember the day we first met her. Sir Henry had brought her over to Sturridge Manor for tea, and we were all playing bowls. She came right up to us, assured us she was quite good at the game and asked which one of us wanted to be her partner. My darling John was nearly a decade older – and of course he wasn’t my darling then – but since he was gallantly spending time with us children he offered to pair with her.”

  “No wonder your John got along with my brother at school,” Georgie smiled. “The two are a pair.”

  Francesca sighed, lost in her own memory. But then her expression clouded. “The game came down to one bowl, Adam against Belinda. Belinda proved that she was quite good, and so the game had become quite competitive. Belinda beat us by one point. She cheered, we all applauded, and then she’d turned to Adam. He politely congratulated her and then turned away. But not before leaning down to me and telling me that he’d had to let her win, since everyone felt sorry for her, having lost her family.”

  “Oh,” Georgie’s eyes went wide. “And Belinda overheard?”

  “I’d never seen anyone go so pale, then so red. But instead of crying, or lashing out, she just challenged him to a game.”

  “And what did Mr. Sturridge say?”

  “He said he wasn’t going to play against a bad sport, a girl, and one so much younger than himself,” Francesca replied. “So Belinda had them reset the pins, and bowled a perfect set. Then she did it again, and again. She did it until John started laughing. And then I did. Adam was young and prideful and turned beet red before stalking off the green.”

  “But he’s no longer young and prideful,” Georgie chided gently.

  “True, and honestly, it didn’t last long then either – he came forward and tried to make amends after tea, but Belinda would have none of it. She ignored his invitation to play cards and settled in next to me, and taught me all about how girls in India wrapped their shawls.”

  “Hmm.” Georgie fingered her chin. “Sounds less like a case of oil and water and more like they got off on the wrong foot.”

  “If that’s so, they’ve been on the wrong foot for fifteen years,” Francesca replied. “I doubt they would know the right one if it smacked them in the face.”

  “Well,” Georgie mused, “perhaps we should show them the right foot, and see if the recognize it.”


  Francesca sat up straight. From the winged-back chair, Georgie was certain she heard a distinctive chortle. Luckily, if Lady Sturridge heard she paid it no mind.

  “What on earth do you mean?”

  Georgie leaned in conspiratorially. “It has been my experience that to have so much antagonism towards someone, a person must inevitably think about them a great deal.”

  Francesca nodded, doubtful.

  “And that having someone be at the forefront of one’s thoughts makes that person extremely important. More important than perhaps someone held in dislike should be.”

  Francesca grew silent for a moment, pondering, her mouth pushing into a frown.

  “You wish for your brother-in-law to find someone to be happy with, don’t you?”

  Her head came up. “Of course I do.”

  “And you wish for Belinda to find happiness as well?”

  “Naturally – but the idea of them being in love with each other, it’s… it’s… preposterous!”

  Georgie refrained from giving in to a frustrated sigh. She wasn’t surprised that Lady Sturridge proved hard to convince. She’d been witness to years of animosity. While Georgie has only been witness to strained tension and a half-dozen heated glances.

  Glances that could have burned the sun.

  “If you don’t agree I of course will not make any further mention of it,” Georgie said. “But there is an easy way to test my theory.”

  Francesca’s eyebrow went up. “How?”

  “Simply mention Mr. Sturridge in Miss Leonard’s presence. Gauge her reaction. With new eyes.” She smiled, and picked at the lace trim of her sleeve. “I could be wrong. I’ve been wrong before.” Not often. Rarely, in fact. Maybe once, but she couldn’t be blamed for thinking her governess would fall in love with the man who delivered their pastries. She was seven, and half in love with him herself. “But if I’m right…”

  Francesca turned a sly, knowing look to Georgie. “You’re a matchmaker, Miss Gage.”

  “My brother would say I’m a mischief maker,” she replied. A click of the door latch had them scooting apart just a moment before it swung open. “Shall we find out which is true?”

  “I have absolutely no idea what happened to my notebook,” a very frazzled Belinda Leonard said as she marched into the room. Her dress was impeccable, but the state of her hair said she had been searching every nook and cranny of the house.

  “Never mind, dearest, I found it right after you left,” Francesca said. This lie came smoother, with only the slightest hesitation in her voice and blush on her cheek. Belinda took the proffered book with equal parts relief and frustration.

  “Excellent. Well, then we can read the notes from last week’s meeting and –”

  “There is no need,” Georgie interrupted. “Lady Sturridge has kindly brought me up to date.”

  “She has? You have?” Belinda said, trying very hard not to look heartbroken. Then, she picked her head up, and marched forward. “Good. Then perhaps it’s best if we discover what your talents are Miss Gage, to see what tasks would best suit you.”

  “Oh goodness!” Georgie laughed. “I am sadly untalented. I have only a little ear for music, I cannot paint or draw. I run my brother’s household, but as it consists of little more than myself and Mrs. Clotworthy, I cannot claim any great organizational talent either. I do enjoy putting together a good outfit. Perhaps something with arranging colors?”

  “Colors!” Belinda smiled. “Perfect – for the Fair, we will be putting together a summer fruit display on the central table on the stage. You would delight in that, I am sure.”

  “Lovely,” Georgie agreed, letting a slow smile spread across her face. “Mr. Adam Sturridge was saying just the other day how he liked my bonnet, and I trimmed that myself. So a fruit display will be perfect.”

  “Mr. Sturridge?” Belinda’s head came up from what she was jotting in her notebook. “He said he liked your hat?”

  “Yes,” Georgie replied sweetly. “Why?”

  “Nothing,” Belinda mumbled, shaking her head. “I should have said before that Mr. Sturridge has no taste when it comes to hats, but yours was very lovely.” She fidgeted with her skirt. And while Georgie was not long acquainted with Belinda, she would guess that Belinda was not one to fidget. “Perhaps he’s learned a thing or two about fashion up in Scotland.”

  Then Belinda did something strange. Her hand, which once was fidgeting, went up to her blonde locks, smoothing them. As if adjusting a bonnet that she was then surprised to not find on her head.

  Georgie sent a look to Francesca, who was wide-eyed and silent, watching Belinda.

  “Scotland?” Georgie asked, all innocence.

  “Yes, where he lives. Well, nearly. He inherited his mother’s estate on the border and is supposed to be up there setting it to rights. Yet he’s down here, aggravating me.”

  “…and meeting his new nephew,” Francesca reminded gently, once she found her voice.

  “Yes. Of course. But let’s have no more talk of Adam Sturridge and consign him back to Scotland where he should be,” Belinda said, shaking out her shoulders. “Now that the cornucopia is sorted, perhaps we should tackle the issue of the livestock stalls?”

  As Belinda launched into a detailed explanation of why the vicar and his trampling last year were the cause of this year’s current problem, Georgie shared a look with Francesca. Lady Sturridge’s eyes were positively shining with newly discovered glee.

  Matchmaker and mischief-maker. And very pleased to be both.

  Chapter Three

  * * *

  “What a magnificent day,” Adam said, lazily stretching his arm overhead. The sky above was a robin’s egg blue, the grass under his back the sharpest new green. For the first time in months, it seemed as if Mother Nature was not of a mercurial mindset, and the good weather would hold.

  It was days like this that reminded him of growing up – lazy, do-nothing days where all one needed was a few friends and a fishing pole to completely remove the idea of lessons and responsibilities from one’s mind.

  The friends and the fishing pole were in place, as he was lying on the bank of the trout stream, John and Bertram beside him.

  “It’s almost too nice a day to waste fishing,” John said.

  “I think you mean too nice a day to not waste fishing,” Adam replied, and caught Bertram smiling in approval.

  “I have tenants to see to – now that the thaw has finally come, we have fields to dredge and seed to plant.”

  “And fish to catch,” Adam responded reasonably. “Days like this need to be celebrated, not worked. Mr. Gage, back me, would you?”

  “I cannot say. Work in London is rarely as dependent on the weather as it is in the country. But I admit, enjoying the first nice day perhaps makes the less nice ones more bearable.”

  John inhaled deeply, and recast his line. John may feel guilt about not working for one day, but at least he had the sense to not let it stop him from taking a break. Lately, his brother had been so terribly focused on making certain the estate was well managed, under control. And Adam knew why of course. Some might think it was the baby – wanting to make sure everything was perfect for little Johnny’s sake. Some might think that in the wake of their father’s passing a few years ago, he’d begun to feel the weight of the title. But Adam knew it was because of what he himself had found in Scotland.

  Or rather, on the border of Scotland.

  Upon his father’s death, John had inherited the title and the family seat in Hemshawe, but Adam had inherited his own estate in Northumberland, within spitting distance of the border. It came as quite a surprise. It had belonged to his uncle, but he died without issue, and so passed to Adam’s mother. Since she’d been gone for some years, it had then passed into the care of his father. By the time it had gotten to Adam, it was nearly forgotten that it had been in the family at all – except by the attorneys who drew up their parents’ wills.

  Yes, it came as a surprise,
but a good one. Adam had been a bit at odd ends. He’d gone to university, had served in the Army. He vaguely considered studying the law, but never had any true love of it. Then there he was, being handed an estate. A future.

  A future that no one had bothered to check on in a decade.

  When he first got to Northumberland, he thought it was the best practical joke anyone had ever played. The land hadn’t been tilled in ages. The house – more a castle, really – was crumbling. And the sheep had gone wild.

  He’d found the land manager drunk in a pub, where he had apparently been living for some time. Not on the property overseeing things. Just sending in reports that were never read and collecting his pay.

  Adam could hardly blame the man. He might have been the world’s worst land manager, but as he’d had the world’s worst owners up until now, he was merely following suit. Still those habits would prove hard to change so the man was let go from his post, as Adam began the rigorous two-year battle to bring his new home into sustainability.

  He’d found a new land manager. He’d found a good steward. He’d learned all he could about sheep, and how to bring them back to heel if they’ve gone wild. He’d had to apply to John for funds to help repair the tenant’s cottages, and had finally been able to pay him back, with their latest shearing.

  It had been hard work – the hardest Adam had ever done in his life. But it was good work.

  It had also been lonely work.

  He didn’t know a soul in Northumberland. He’d met a few recently, but as he rarely left his estate, anything approaching a social engagement was exceedingly rare. Even having just one of his friends up there – hell, even just one person he knew – would change everything.

  It was also damnably cold.

  Which was why, when John invited him down for Christmas to meet the new baby, Adam jumped at the chance. His new land manager and steward had proved very trustworthy. And the sheep were happily eating their feed and growing their wool. He could visit family for a month. Or two.