Page 22 of A Scot's Pride
Alas, here they were. She had to support Riley. But as soon as Ashbury asked Riley to marry him, Freya was going to take to her room for at least a week.
“He’s not here.” Riley sounded disappointed and smiled demurely as one of the gentlemen came forward and asked to put his name on her dance card.
A sour look from Freya guaranteed she didn’t get asked.
Maybe she was getting what she wanted tonight, after all.
“Miss Freya.” Lady Daven approached with a wide smile. The older woman still had a youthful turn to her mouth and the brightness of her eyes. Her silver hair was curled and twisted atop her head, and she wore an exquisite sapphire gown.
Freya couldn’t help but automatically glance behind the older woman for her great-nephew, Lord Lovat, which was entirely annoying.
She’d promised herself she wouldn’t look for him tonight. But that was a promise that she was breaking. For she’d been subtlety searching for him since they arrived, while she searched out Lord Ashbury for her sister.
Freya and Riley curtsied to the older woman.
“Lovely to see you girls here,” Lady Daven said, squeezing both of their hands in hers. “And your gowns are so pretty.”
“Thank you,” they said in unison.
“Is your mother here?” Lady Daven asked, glancing around to find Lady Grysham.
“She’s got a headache,” Freya offered. “But Papa was kind enough to escort us.”
Lady Daven nodded. “Ah, yes, I did see Baron Grysham in the billiards room when I arrived.”
Freya nodded, smiling with her lips closed so she wouldn’t spill that her father hated balls and would probably be in the billiards room all night. That, if it were appropriate, she, too, would be in the billiards room.
Hmm. What if that was where Lord Lovat was, hiding out with the other men? Smoking cigars and drinking brandy. A flash of him in the library, reading a book as he stretched out comfortably on a large, overstuffed leather wing-backed chair went through her mind. And though the company was less than to be desired, that was another place she’d rather be than the ballroom. He had been uncomfortable at the garden party that it wouldn’t surprise her to find out he hated balls too.
“Well, I do hope your mother feels better soon. I was going to ask her to tea, but I’ll do the formal thing and send her a card.” Lady Daven winked.
Freya laughed softly. “I’m certain she would love to attend your tea.” More than love. Once her mother received the invitation, she would float around the house, talking about it nonstop.
“And you girls, as well.”
At that, Freya stiffened slightly. Tea with Lady Daven in her drawing room meant tea with Lord Lovat, as he was staying with his aunt.
“Nephew,” Lady Daven said at that moment, and Freya couldn’t help but whirl around to see where the lady was looking behind her and addressing the very man in question.
There he was, standing beside Lord Ashbury. Unbidden, a flutter in her chest moved to the center of her body. She pinched the skirt of her gown to keep her hand from pressing it flat to her belly to calm the swirling there. What was that about? She didn’t normally feel nervous, and the sensations were overwhelming and unfamiliar.
Lord Lovat flashed his aunt a boyish smile before his face resumed its usual stoic expression, and to her surprise, his eyes skimmed right over her as if she didn’t exist. Indeed, as if she weren’t even in the room. She almost waved her hand in his face to let him know she was not a ghost but a living, breathing person. A person he’d spoken to on more than one occasion. Oh, heavens, why was she so offended? She should be used to his rudeness by now.
“Miss Grysham.” Lord Ashbury rushed forward to kiss Riley’s hand and then to Freya’s hand, too, before asking to put his name on both their cards.
Freya agreed, noting that Lord Ashbury had taken two spots on Riley’s. She tried to keep her face neutral at that good sign, but she could see that Riley had stopped breathing. She brushed her pinky on her sister’s forearm, hoping it would remind her to take a breath.
When Ashbury finished filling out their cards, he begged a dance from Lady Daven, who giggled as she declined.
And still Lord Lovat didn’t move from his spot, as if he’d been struck by some spell that momentarily turned him into a marble statue. Adonis—she remembered what the ladies had called him from the garden party. They weren’t that far off the mark.
Was Adonis as rude as Lord Lovat?
“Come and offer the ladies a dance, my lord,” Lady Daven encouraged, nudging her nephew, who flinched at the suggestion.
By some miracle, Lord Lovat peeled himself away from where he stood and approached. And still, he wouldn’t look at her, though he did smile at Riley as he took her dance card to write his name.
She decided not to offer her card, moving her hands behind her as if to shield the card from his view and reach. And he didn’t take it.
