Page 6 of A Scot's Pride
Riley sighed heavily beside her. Her sister had had eyes on Lord Ashbury since last season and been too shy to press onward in her suit. Not that she would be able to do much more than flirt or make eye contact, but when he approached her to fill out his name on her dance card, Riley was always turning away out of nervousness. And he approached her a lot. Freya had tried to coax her sister to be more outgoing with him. It was clear he was interested.
“It is,” Riley said, her whole demeanor softening.
The three of their friends leaned in to get a closer look. “Perhaps we should shift ourselves near them to overhear their conversation,” Rachel suggested with a wiggle of her brows.
“I think a walkabout would be much more suited and less conspicuous,” Freya said, always up for a bit of spying. At least it would make the garden party more interesting. Besides, she wanted to know what Lord Ashbury had said that was making Lord Lovat enjoy himself so much.
The five of them linked arms and started to take a turn about the garden, the heels of their slippers crunching on the gravel. And though she wished she hadn’t looked, Freya couldn’t help it when her eyes met the steel of his as he glanced their way.
While Lord Lovat was scowling once more, Lord Ashbury smiled in their direction and beckoned for Lord Lovat to follow him as he approached. There was reluctance in every inch of the Scot’s demeanor as he kept pace with his friend.
My goodness, but never in her life had Freya thought a walkabout as terrible an idea as she did now.
3
The Ladies’ Marriage Prospects Bulletin
Garden Party Tips: Engage the eligible bachelors in interesting conversation but gear it toward them. No one wants to be bored by a lady’s sewing chatter.
The few sips of the sickeningly sweet party punch that Bryson had taken were stuck somewhere in his throat, as were the words he wished to say to his dear friend. Ashbury, who’d been talking amicably with him moments ago, appeared to have gone mad within a few seconds.
Awestruck or dumbstruck, Bryson wasn’t sure, but all intelligible syllables had left the man’s tongue as he fought to regain his metaphorical consciousness while he slapped Bryson in the belly and told him to look.
Being a dutiful mate, Bryson observed what had caught Grey so off guard as to make his brain fatigued. With his gaze in the same direction, Bryson had the opposite reaction.
As if their first encounter wasn’t bad enough, now if he hazarded a guess at her forward momentum, the lass was returning, and this time with reinforcements. Four other young ladies. All beautiful, all looking their way. Bryson checked his mate to be sure this was indeed the direction he’d wanted him to look, and this time he let out a little groan. To make matters worse than they already were, it seemed that his best mate from childhood, Ashbury, was watching the ladies with quite a lot of interest.
Nay, not seemed. The man, without a doubt, was very interested.
“My goodness,” Ashbury murmured under his breath, straightening and fidgeting with his cravat.
Bryson glanced at him sideways, utterly confused by his friend’s behavior. Preening right there in the damned garden. What in blazes?
“You see the one with the blonde hair and blue ribbon?” Ashbury said, jabbing him in the ribs with his elbow. “I’ve been in love with her since she first came out a few years ago. But she won’t give me the time of day. Every time I ask her to dance, she turns around as if she hasn’t heard me. When I try to present her with punch, she runs off as if I’ve offered an octopus in a cup. But still, I can’t seem to get her out of my mind.”
Ouch. But honestly, Bryson wasn’t surprised. If she were keeping company with the other chit his aunt had introduced him to, it made sense she would give Ashbury the cut direct. He wondered if the ladies headed their way were about to do it as a group. Bryson scanned from left to right, figuring out if they had a chance to escape before they were pounced upon.
“Well, Ashbury, I had occasion to meet the one to her right, and she seemed to be… How should I put it politely? A bit of a snob. Dashed off without excusing herself properly to Aunt Bertie. Looked downright offended to have made my acquaintance at all.”
“To the right, you say?” Ashbury’s tone had taken on a bit of a humorous lilt. “That’s Miss Grysham’s sister. Perhaps their unease runs in the family.”
Unease? Is that what his friend thought it was? A bit of unease? Bryson tried not to laugh. He considered himself a fairly good judge of character, and there was no confusing disgust with unease. Poor Ashbury. It would seem he was in for a broken heart as the man appeared utterly besotted.
“Ah, that makes sense,” Bryson lied as he cleared his throat. None of it made any damn sense to him at all. The space between him and the sprites was drawing smaller and smaller. He could not allow himself to speak to Miss Freya Grysham again, at least not today. Not if he wanted to have any respect for himself. There wasn’t enough whisky to go around for that. And besides, he was afraid that her temperamental glances might cause him to say something he’d regret, and then Aunt Bertie would box his ears for certain. And he desperately needed his older relation’s help to navigate this world he felt so uncomfortable in. Best to desert his friend here and hope Ashbury forgave him for it later. Self-preservation and all that. “Well, I shall leave you to the ladies. I must get back to my aunt.”
But Ashbury only laughed at that as if Bryson saying he was leaving was some great joke. Ashbury nudged him forward and into the path of the women until there was no escape, and once more, he found himself staring into the haughty eyes of the woman he’d been glad to be rid of less than an hour ago.
“Miss Grysham,” Ashbury said, with a little bit of a crack in his voice as if he was an adolescent all over again, gaze on the sister of Miss Freya, the hellion.
The woman in question ducked her head without answering, giving a shy curtsey and reluctantly offering her hand to Ashbury. The only reason she wasn’t running, Bryson suspected, was because she was anchored on either side by her companions. And because Ashbury now held her hand, which Bryson feared the man would never let go of for he lingered so long on his grip. But then he saw it as the blonde glanced up for the briefest moments at Ashbury—a heady desire. Interesting.
Movement caught Bryson’s gaze, and he glanced at the one person he’d been trying to avoid. The chit he’d met earlier squinted up at him with a coldness to her stare, and her lips set in a grim line.
My, it seemed she was as un-enamored with him as he was her. Interesting again. At least he wasn’t surprised by her behavior. And because he wasn’t surprised and because she wasn’t even trying to hide her feelings, he decided to play along.
Most women fell head over heels for him in Scotland. Perhaps in London it was going to be harder than he’d thought to make this marriage thing happen.
Damn.
