Page 44 of A Scot's Pride
The idea of a room full of drooling bachelors and simpering maidens left Freya feeling a little nauseous. Especially considering one of them was her sister, and Leila was often too over the top. For example, at a tea shop in town last week, Leila had pretended to drop her spoon, not once but four times, each for a different gentleman who passed their table. Mama thought it was genius. Freya was embarrassed.
After forcing herself from bed, she dressed and tossed her hair into a quickly formed knot, caring little for her presentation as only her family and their cousin were still in the house. Not that she’d take much more care if Bryson or some other person came. She was tired of putting on a show.
After breakfast, Cousin Arthur tried to speak to her, but she avoided him like the plague. There was only one thing he could want to converse with her over, and it was a proposal her mother had already determined should happen. Well, if he couldn’t ask, she couldn’t accept, right?
Before she could run out of the house and as far away as possible, her father called her into his study for the dreaded tête-à-tête she most certainly didn’t want to have. Cousin Arthur would probably join them, ambushing her into agreeing to spend the rest of her life in misery.
Freya smiled at her father, though it wasn’t one of happiness but instead wariness. She took the seat closest to the door in case the ambush occurred. She didn’t want to be stuck in the chair that would put her between Arthur and the wall with no escape.
“So, you’ve heard Arthur came here originally to marry you,” her father said dryly, his expression giving nothing away.
Arguing had not worked on her mother. But perhaps it was worth the effort with her father. “I don’t want to marry him.” She held her chin up, looking him right in the eyes. “You can’t force me to say I do.”
“No, I can’t.”
“Mother says I must.”
Papa shook his head. “Mother says a lot of things.”
Freya’s heart fluttered. Was it too much to hope that her father was on her side with this? “You won’t make me?”
The baron sighed deeply, leaning back in his chair and crossing his ankle over his knee, the epitome of relaxation and in strict contrast to her tightly wound nerves.
“Of all my daughters, Freya, you are the one I would never force into anything. You have too bright a spirit to be dimmed by someone so…” Here, the baron paused as if trying to determine what was wrong with Arthur.
“Boring?”
Her father chuckled. “Yes. On the other hand, Molly is a suitable candidate in your stead. A lovely girl, but equally prone to…the humdrum of life.”
Freya couldn’t agree more. Her sister was a darling but rather uninspiring. “What does Arthur think of that?”
“To be perfectly frank, my dear, he seemed rather relieved. I think he came to the understanding you might run him ragged.”
Freya made a face that said, “yes, yes, I would.” “So, he won’t be asking me?” She held her breath.
“No.”
Freya breathed a loud sigh of relief that ruffled the papers on her father’s desk. Then she bit her lip, now worried that she would pass this burden down to her sister.
“Does Molly know?”
The baron smiled softly. “Yes, she was pleased with the idea.”
“And what of Leila? She won’t be offended that she wasn’t asked? I know she’s younger than Molly, but for weeks, she’s been saying she would be engaged before Molly. A running wager, I think.”
Papa shook his head and let out a little laugh. “I suspect she’ll be happy she isn’t marrying Arthur.”
Freya laughed. “That might have been worse than if I married him.”
“I cannot even begin to imagine the shouting,” her father said with a shake of his head. “Leila is a spirited young lady and will require a spirited young man to contain her.”
Freya wasn’t sure anyone could contain Leila once she was unleashed onto the world. Even now, she was hard to control in public, and her flirtations were so outrageous they were sure to hit the scandal sheets when she was old enough to be put into society.
“And Mama?” Freya wrung her hands in her lap. After their conversation the night before, if it could be called that, she was afraid to hear what he’d say.
Papa met her eyes, and there was a flash of sympathy. He must have known about her interaction with her mother, and she was glad he’d stepped in to shift away the path of unhappiness she’d been bound for. “She’s happy that the estate will remain in our family and that she can stay on when I’m gone.”
“And you, Papa? How do you feel about all this?”
