Page 19 of A Scot's Pride
“Am I what?” Bryson scowled, not liking the insinuation in his friend’s question.
“Are ye courting other ladies besides Miss Freya?”
At that, Bryson nearly tipped his chair backward as he sat back so hard. “Courting Miss Freya?”
Ashbury wrinkled his brow and scratched his chin. “Are you not?”
Bryson sat forward, staring his friend hard in the eyes. “What on earth gave ye that idea?”
“Escorting her in Hyde Park?”
“Och, nay. I did that for ye.” Was that what his actions had expressed to Freya? To her sister, mother? To everyone they’d passed in the park? Suddenly, he felt the need to loosen his cravat.
Ashbury regarded him, puzzled. “But ye asked her before ye asked me.”
His friend had him there. But it had never been his intention to court Miss Freya. Indeed, he’d been doing it for his friend. Hadn’t he? Of course, he had. He’d simply been thinking steps ahead.
“A misunderstanding,” Bryson hedged, not admitting to himself that it was he who needed the convincing and not Ashbury. “I purely thought to assist ye with Miss Grysham and thought if her sister were to go, she’d be more amenable.”
“You don’t think she would have gone with me if I’d asked?” Ashbury sat back, crossing his arms over his chest, clearly offended.
“Nay, nay.” Lord, he was mucking this up. “I merely wasna certain ye’d ask her.”
Ashbury was frowning quite a lot now, and he looked quite angry. Angrier than Bryson had ever seen him, even on the rugby fields.
“I am perfectly capable of courting a woman on my own.” Ashbury’s voice was raised an octave, getting the attention of a few other men at their tables.
“Of course, ye are.” Bryson kept his voice low, hoping to ease his friend’s ire.
Ashbury’s hands came down a little too hard on the table, upsetting a bit of chocolate over the rim of his cup. “I do not need your help.”
Bryson raised his hands in surrender. “I meant no harm. I’ll no’ interfere again. Ye have my word.”
“And if you are not intending to court Miss Freya, then as your friend, I advise you not to do the things that men do when they are courting a woman. It isn’t fair to lead her on. Especially,” his eyes flicked toward where Baron Grysham was in a deep conversation with his solicitor still, “in light of what we’ve just learned.”
Bryson was about to ask if Ashbury thought Miss Grysham was interested in marrying him for who he was or for his pocketbook. But given he’d been close to being slugged by his friend a moment ago, that was probably a bad idea. Everyone knew there was no sense in tempting a bear when it started to retreat.
“Ye are quite right, my friend. Besides, Miss Freya is no’ on my list.” He lifted his cocoa, taking a sip and was pleased at the bite in the back of his throat from the strong whisky. “If ye need anything from me, ye have only to ask. We’ve known each other for a long time, and I’ve always got your back.”
“I appreciate that.” Ashbury, too, sipped his cocoa, grinning with pleasure. “Now, what’s this about a list?”
“Aye. My darling aunt made me a list.” Their eggs and toast were served, and to Bryson’s surprise, it appeared they were nearly perfect. Wasn’t that a pleasant surprise?
“What kind of list?” Ashbury asked, spreading butter on his toast.
“A bride list.” Bryson chuckled, scooping a dollop of butter for his toast. “Using my grandfather’s stipulation. And one of mine.”
“Why wasn’t Miss Freya on the list? She matches your grandfather’s stipulations. Unless she doesn’t match yours?”
Bryson shrugged. “A bit of Scots in the blood to spite him is all I ask for.” Bryson spread jam on his toast. And then speared a slice of sausage. If only the full English breakfast were as full as the Scottish way. Yet another thing he missed about being home.
“I’m fairly certain the lasses have Scots blood.” Ashbury took a hearty bite of his toast, crumbs dusting down onto his plate.
Bryson grunted, chewing on a mouthful of sausage. “I think she did mention something about a great-grandmother or something.”
Ashbury nodded, dipping his toast into the orange-yellow yoke of his soft egg.
“I need to add one more stipulation,” Bryson said thoughtfully, tasting his eggs. “I want a lass with less… How should I put it? Less sass. Miss Freya is quite open in her opinions. And she doesna seem to be able to hide them. Entertaining and infuriating at the same time, but definitely not what I’d expect from a wife of mine.”
