Page 12 of A Scot's Pride
Seizing the opportunity, Freya interrupted before Leila could respond to their mother, “Speaking of Riley, Mama, I need to get ready for our ride.”
“No, dear, you should remain behind. Let Riley go alone with Lord Ashbury.”
“I cannot let her go alone. I’ve already made a commitment. To Lord Lovat.”
Her mother stood pacing and mumbling things that sounded like a list.
“Well, I’m off to change.” This time Freya didn’t wait for permission. She slipped out of the drawing room while her mother’s back was turned and hurried upstairs before she could be called back.
Inside their shared room, Riley was already putting on her riding habit.
“Do you think he will like me in this color?” Riley’s cheeks were pink with excitement. The skirt and jacket were a dusky blue that matched her eyes.
“You look divine, and he is going to think just that.”
As Freya pulled out her own riding habit in a dark green that only made her own eyes look browner, she couldn’t help but wonder what Lord Lovat was going to think of her.
And then she couldn’t help but be disgusted with herself for wondering.
5
The Ladies’ Marriage Prospects Bulletin
Courtship is about making an impression. An eligible bachelor in want of a wife will look for a lady with poise, good manners and skills benefiting an excellent hostess, such as musical talents, fashion and menu planning.
Bryson was grateful for his hat this morning, shielding his eyes from the odd appearance of the sun. London was bleak on most days, and today was no different. When the sky wasn’t clouded with warnings of rain, it was overwhelmed by belches of smog.
He rode through the London streets—seated on his favorite horse for some comfort in a day which he was already regretting—with Ashbury on horseback beside him. They were dressed as most gentlemen in England were, a wardrobe Bryson was eager to shed.
From the moment that he’d awakened, he’d bemoaned his invitation to Miss Freya for a ride in the park. It had been a request made without thinking after seeing Ashbury return in a state he’d never witnessed in his friend after walking with the older Miss Grysham. A state he wanted to continue, for the lad deserved happiness, didn’t he? He’d decided it was why he’d invited her sister to get the object of Ashbury’s affection to agree. There was no going back now; they were nearly there. Whatever venomous fate awaited him, he would have to accept. And once his good deed was done, he could continue with Aunt Bertie’s list.
Sometimes, friends needed a mate to push them and get them going. Ashbury had always been that way. Even when they were lads at Eton. He’d wanted to play rugby but hadn’t the nerve to voice it aloud until Bryson pushed him onto the field.
And he supposed courting a woman he loved was a little like rugby, wasn’t it? He hoped Ashbury didn’t get pummeled by the lass in the end.
Fortunately for Ashbury, he’d fallen for the sister who appeared to suffer from his same affliction of shyness and not at all from the sense of pride the younger sister possessed.
He did feel marginally good about helping Ashbury, as seen in how much his friend was smiling, that was a plus. For goodness’ sake, but Ashbury’s lips were split ear to ear, and even if someone came up and dumped their foul chamber pot in his path, he would smile right on through it. He was positively besotted. Feelings Bryson was certain never to have. Especially not now that his fate was tied to one of the eligible British maidens in London.
“We’re nearly there,” Ashbury said eagerly, nodding toward the line of London townhouses but not specifying which one until they were standing in front of it. Not overlarge, but not too small. The house was whitewashed, though it hadn’t seen white in years—he guessed that the green coating on the stone was made from mold or pollen, but he wasn’t sure which. At least all the shutters were in place, and the windows did not appear to hold any cracks.
The gates to the Grysham household were open, and the men rode in, a groomsman waiting to take their horses. The household was adequately staffed, it would seem, at least on the outside.
After a single knock on the front door, the butler opened it, staring at them for a brief second. He didn’t appear to have been notified of their coming, and Bryson wondered if Miss Freya had done that on purpose. Another little jab to get under his skin. Well, he wasn’t going to allow her pettiness to get in the way of Ashbury’s good time.
“Lord Lovat and Lord Ashbury to see Miss Grysham and Miss Freya,” Bryson said, knowing Ashbury wasn’t going to utter a single syllable.
“Right this way, my lords.” The butler opened the door wider, allowing them entry into the foyer.
The two of them removed their hats upon entry. A grandfather clock that had seen better days ticked in the corner, and a dog barked from somewhere, but other than that, there was no other sound in the house. Not what he would have expected from a house full of five women, their parents and servants. My god, had they already stepped out?
Bryson glanced at Ashbury to see if he had any similar worries, but the man stood there like a simpleton, clutching his hat and smiling.
The household was modest, much plainer than Bryson would have expected, though he wasn’t certain why. In his encounter with them the day before, the ladies hadn’t appeared overly lavish, so he supposed it wasn’t fair to assume they lived that way. Even if he harbored suspicions that they wanted to.
They were escorted into the drawing room, where the ladies were sipping tea demurely with their mother. Quiet as church mice. Bryson narrowed his eyes, feeling as though yesterday he’d met the real Miss Freya, and today he was being introduced to her shadow.
Both of the men bowed to the ladies as they stood to greet them.
