Page 23 of A Scot's Pride
Lady Daven, however, was having none of it. She pulled gently on Freya’s arm until she couldn’t resist her older friend and took the card herself, penciling in Lord Lovat’s name for two dances. Still, he avoided eye contact with Freya.
What in the world had gotten into him? Had she offended him somehow on their ride? This was beyond his typical rude behavior. The man acted as though she repulsed him, and try as she might, she could not fathom what she might have done to incite this reaction.
“Can I get you some punch?” Ashbury asked Riley, and she smiled, walking off with him, leaving Freya to stand between Lady Daven and her sour nephew.
Her skin felt like needles were pricking it, and the only way to escape the sensations was to escape.
“If you will excuse me,” Freya said, spying Rachel by the punch bowl. “I, too, am going to get some punch.”
She marched off, not even waiting for them to acknowledge her exit, her stomach twisting into knots in her belly. Already knowing that this would be the second time she’d walked away from him in a social setting and that it would likely be noticed, but how could she respect herself if she didn’t? The man clearly abhorred her presence.
That had been mortifying. And she would be grateful never to see Lord Lovat again. She took her tiny pencil and scratched his name off her card in both places where his aunt had written it.
“Oh, that silver ribbon in your hair is lovely,” Rachel said as Freya reached her side.
Freya was grateful for the distraction from her thoughts. “Thank you. Our maid really does a marvelous job with hair. I’m absolutely rubbish at it.”
Rachel laughed. “I tried using the hot tongs myself one time and burned my neck. My skin was marred for weeks. I’m so glad it was in the off-season, or else I would have been the talk of all the rags.”
Freya shook her head and sighed. “The rags are ruthless. To think a burn from tongs is something wholly sinful.” She remembered last summer when Rachel, who’d heard it from her brother, explained what the mark might have been mistaken for. To imagine someone sucking and licking her neck. How feral.
“They really are.” Rachel licked her lips, peering over Freya’s shoulder toward the crowd and, more precisely, toward Lord Lovat. “Did you know he was worth twenty thousand pounds per annum?”
“No,” Freya lied because she didn’t want to seem as if she cared. And truly, what he was worth mattered little to her. Money was irrelevant when the personality was poor.
“Do tell me how it was on your outing to Hyde Park?” Rachel grinned conspiratorially and leaned in. “Was he a gentleman?”
Freya shrugged, even though it wasn’t ladylike to do so. He had been a gentleman on the ride in the park, but tonight was another story. “Boring.”
Rachel looked scandalized. “That is exactly the opposite of what I would have expected you to say.” She sipped her punch, watching Freya’s face intently over the rim.
“I suppose I had hoped for more riveting conversation than talk of horses and the weather.” She kept to herself that he enjoyed reading and that they had a few favorites in common. Why rub salt on the wound she hadn’t realized she had until he’d given her the cut direct moments ago?
“What a shame,” Rachel mused. “But I suppose if one is handsome and rich, one doesn’t need to be entertaining as well. Leave that to the others.”
“What’s a shame?” Victoria asked, approaching with Sarah. “Who is boring?”
“Well, it seems that Lord Lovat is a terrible bore,” Rachel said in a loud whisper. “It sounds as if Freya was practically falling asleep on her horse in Hyde Park.”
“Oh, that is a shame,” Sarah said with a frown. “We passed him on our way in. He was heading toward the billiards room. So, I suppose you’re right. If he’s searching for a wife, he isn’t going to find her in there.”
“But he doesn’t have to. There are more ladies looking for husbands than men who need wives. He’ll have six women to choose from,” Rachel said.
Five, really, if Freya were taken out of the mix. And was Rachel planning to be one of them? Yes, if her interest in his income and her willingness to dismiss his lack of personality—which Freya had lied about—were any indication.
That fact turned Freya’s stomach, especially after the conversation she’d had with her father. Now that Riley was making headway with Lord Ashbury, it seemed inevitable that Cousin Arthur was going to be foisted on her, as much as she abhorred the idea.
Maybe she could convince Papa to suggest Molly instead. The third daughter in line was less likely to find a suitable beau, and Freya meant that in the least offensive way possible. It was only that Molly didn’t possess the social skills or interest in what a season and marriage market would hold. She only got her feelings hurt by the other husband hunters. A simple man would do her best.
The music started then, and Freya’s friends were approached by their dance partners while Freya, who’d kept her card close, slunk to the wall to take up her post with the other wallflowers. How utterly not like her.
Even though she’d scratched him out, she wondered if Lord Lovat would find her at the fourth and fifth dances, the ones his aunt had penciled him in for.
Worse than asking that was the realization she might not say no if he did.
9
The Ladies’ Marriage Prospects Bulletin
