Page 2 of A Scot's Pride
“Thank ye,” he said, sipping from the delicate cup. So many memories in the taste of that sweet tea. Most of them were happy.
“It is so good to see you,” she said. “My brother told me about your…predicament.”
Bryson settled his cup back in the saucer. “Then he’s saved me the trouble.”
“Indeed.” She added another lump of sugar to his cup. “He is a stubborn old goat, but I think he knew you’d prefer a Scottish bride.”
Bryson’s mother had been Scottish, his father English, and hence it was his mother’s father who wished to keep the blood thinned, he supposed. Likely out of spite. And with no sons of his own, his grandfather was putting those stipulations on his grandson.
“That is almost exactly what he told me.” He winced at the overly sweet taste of his tea. It had to be half sugar by now.
“Well, perhaps you’ll find a bride here who is English and Scottish and then you’ll both get what you want.” Aunt Bertie grinned conspiratorially and tried to add another lump of sugar to his tea, but he was able to cover it in time.
“You’ll have me in a sweets coma, darling aunt.” Bryson chuckled. “But ye make a good point. I could look for a wife of Scottish and English descent.”
Her eyes widened in delight. “Oh, goodie. I’ve compiled a list.”
“A list?” He should have known. Bryson suppressed his smile.
Aunt Bertie nodded and stood, moving toward her writing desk, where she pulled a piece of parchment from a drawer. Bryson took the list, reading at least a dozen names scrawled in her familiar pen.
“I’ve also procured you invitations to all of the social activities these lovely young ladies will attend. Balls, soirees, dances, luncheons, musicales, operas, etc. …” She waved her fingers as if scrolling through an invisible list.
“Is that so?”
“It is. And before you say that I’m a meddling aunt who needs to mind her own business, I will have you know that me doing this work before your arrival ensures you’ll be back in Scotland sooner than you’d thought.”
Bryson shook his head, unable to keep himself from laughing. “Ye know me verra well, Auntie.”
“Of course, I do. Now, have a jam biscuit. Raspberry, your favorite.”
He did as he was told, staring at the long list of names, having no idea who any of the ladies were, and trusting in his aunt’s research, which was easy enough.
“They are all quite accomplished and beautiful,” she said. “I think you could do well with any of them.”
To think that one of these names on the list would soon be attached to his. A wife. His wife.
“There is one thing,” she said.
Bryson raised an eyebrow.
“Your reputation.” Aunt Bertie winced, though it was more of an exaggerated gesture than serious.
Still, Bryson grimaced. “I do wish people would mind their own business.”
“People don’t know how to do that. Anyway, your past, the rumors, they have circulated before, but I assure you if you be yourself, no one will believe any of those foul rumors.”
The rumors of his ruthless and callous personality were, of course, false and entirely due to one stupid bastard who had spread them. And that stupid bastard was believed. What did that make the believers?
Bryson sighed heavily. This might present a bit of a challenge.
“But,” his aunt leaned closer, one eyebrow raised, “more than one lady has been persuaded to look the other way when she saw money and titles. And I have it on good authority your name has been added to The Ladies’ Marriage Prospects Bulletin.”
“Verra true.” Bryson frowned. “But Auntie, what the hell is The Ladies’ Marriage Prospects Bulletin?”
Aunt Bertie’s mouth flashed an “oops” expression as if she shouldn’t have let that part slip. “Oh, never you mind about that. It’s just a little list for the ladies to know who is looking for a bride so they don’t waste their time.”
Bryson grunted. Not unlike the list in his lap.
