Page 13 of A Scot's Pride
“Miss Grysham,” Ashbury stuttered, pressing his hat to his belly as he stepped closer to the eldest sister. “I trust you are well this morning?”
Bryson stared at him, a little shocked that his friend had taken the reins. He’d fully expected to be the first one to speak.
“I am, my lord,” Miss Grysham replied in a pleasant tone, a small smile on her lips, equally surprising both Bryson and her sister, Freya.
“Baroness,” Bryson said, bowing to their mother. “I dinna believe we had occasion to meet yesterday.”
“Oh.” She fluttered her hand toward him, blushing. “We did not. A pleasure.”
He kissed the air above her hand and then caught a flurry of activity from Miss Freya, who abruptly came to stand beside her mother as if she wanted to say something or maybe shove him out of her house until she thought better of it and stood perfectly still and straight.
“Shall we, then?” she asked briskly as if she couldn’t wait to get this chore over with.
The feeling was mutual. “Indeed, we shall.” He offered her his arm, fully anticipating her to breeze past him but then annoyed by how delicate her hand felt against his elbow as she took it.
If her skin had been rough, he’d have been prepared, but her touch was pleasant, as much as he didn’t want it to be. His dealings thus far with the woman had been a story of contradictions. His mind didn’t seem in accordance with the rest of him.
Lady Grysham fussed after them, mouthing one order after another to both girls.
“Do make sure you have your gloves. Do take your parasol. Don’t let it drop. A true lady holds a parasol in one hand and the reins in the other. Nobody likes a woman with spots on her face, and do make sure you…” The ridiculous, and unrealistic, list went on and on with murmured agreements from her daughters.
As Bryson turned to bow one last time to the baroness, three pretty heads appeared from the top of the stairs. The other little misses of the house.
Bryson couldn’t help but smile, reminded of his sister Lucy. He waved, and they gasped and jumped back out of view.
“My sisters,” Miss Freya said as if he’d asked aloud. She glanced up the stairs fondly, showing Bryson a softer side of her he hadn’t expected to see. “Mother forbade them from being in the drawing room, but perhaps upon our return, you won’t be so lucky as not to make their acquaintance.”
Bryson chuckled. “Spoken like a true older sister.”
“Have you an older sister?”
He hadn’t meant to let it slip. No one ever talked about Virginia anymore, though they had plenty to say about Lucy, his younger sister.
“I did,” he said as they descended the steps and headed toward the men’s horses, where two additional mounts had been saddled for the ladies.
As he saw Ashbury assisting Miss Grysham, Bryson prepared to help Miss Freya onto her mount, but the lass took hold of the pummel and hoisted herself up effortlessly. She glanced down at him with a raise of her brow and a little smile curling her lip.
He couldn’t help but smile back. She’d proven him wrong. And she deserved to gloat about it. For the briefest second, he thought he would like to get to know her better. Because the expression she’d flashed him spoke of layers and secrets begging to be discovered.
Freya arranged her skirts, and when her mother rushed out with the parasol she’d deliberately left behind, she looped the reins around her wrist, and then popped open the parasol, giving him a look that was telling. He also noticed—she had quite a lot of freckles over the bridge of her nose and cheeks. The odds of her tossing the parasol when her mother was out of eyesight were high.
“What did you mean by you did have an older sister?” she asked, pulling him from his thoughts and sending him in a direction he didn’t want to go.
Och, but he’d hoped that topic had been dropped where he’d left it, but alas, she was staring at him in a way that said she wouldn’t let it go even if he wanted her to. Besides, if he didn’t answer, she’d go looking and find about it anyway. Better to tell her himself.
“She passed away many years ago.” His throat was dry as he said it.
The lass stared at him, eyes squinting as if she could determine some underlying message from what he’d said.
He decided to ignore her. They’d only just met, and some things were too private to share. Not to mention that speaking about Virginia always brought an ache in his heart that was hard to soothe. And for Ashbury, Bryson needed to remain in good spirits—well, decent spirits. Good was a bit too much.
Freya seemed to understand his need because she didn’t ask anything else and looked sad as she nodded in acknowledgement, showing yet again that there was a deeper side to her that he’d not envisioned.
Ashbury and Miss Grysham led, heading down the street toward Hyde Park.
Freya’s sister might have been shy in personality, but she didn’t appear shy on horseback. She rode well, as did Freya beside him. He felt rather foolish for what he’d said at the garden party, seeing that they both had skill. Perhaps there was something to the idea of coming into a situation with preconceived notions. Freya was certainly bashing all of the ideas he’d had.
But at the same time, she was irritating.
