Page 37 of A Scot's Pride
She glanced down at the invitation in her hands, then up at the speck of Bryson riding away. Wouldn’t life be so much easier if she could ask him outright?
Freya’s head was buzzing by the time they arrived at the grand manse north of Sunderland. The ride had taken about an hour. She needed fresh air after her mother, along with Leila, sucked all the breathing room out of the carriage.
Their carriage was already on the smaller side, and when six women were added, it made the quarters more than tight. When the footman had opened the door, they’d practically spilled out, and Leila even groaned and put a hand to her forehead as if she might faint. Her middle sister’s theatrics were enough to get her a job in Covent Gardens if marriage didn’t work out for her.
The Palladian manse was colossal, built of white stone. Freya’s gaze scanned the Corinthian columns, carved angels and dozens of sparkling glass windows. To the right and left of the stone steps that led up the main door were dozens of rose bushes with towering topiaries between each one.
The doors to the grand home opened, and a liveried butler ushered them inside before guiding them into a grand drawing room. Chintz and gilt and flowers were everywhere, adding opulence to opulence. But Freya’s gaze centered where Bryson sat with Lady Daven, another older woman Freya assumed to be Lady Heaton and a young woman she didn’t recognize. On the other side of the young woman was Lord Ashbury, who fairly leapt from his chair in his haste to receive them.
Bryson stood along with the others and welcomed them in such a reserved manner she thought she’d imagined him personally coming to find her this morning to deliver the invitation. “May I introduce ye to my aunt, Lady Heaton? You know my aunt, Lady Daven. And this is my sister, Miss Lucy.”
Leila let out a not-too-quiet gasp in surprise to see his sister standing before them when all had presumed her perished or banished. But Freya and Riley didn’t flinch, greeting Lucy as manners besuited and hoping Leila’s gasp wasn’t as loud as it sounded in their ears. Of course, Freya had told Riley about her previous conversation with Bryson about his older sister passing away and that she assumed he had a younger sister hidden somewhere.
There she was in the flesh. Tiny and pretty. Dark hair, like her brother’s, was neatly swept up into a bun, and curls framed her face. Her eyes were the same gray as Bryson’s too. But where he was rugged angles, she was soft.
Lucy, who was closer in age to Leila, took her by the hands and smiled with all the enthusiasm of a young lady who’d not seen someone her age in years. “Do you play the piano?”
Freya was surprised at the lack of a Scottish burr in Lucy’s voice. She had clearly been raised in England, which made sense. And given her age, she would not yet have come out to the ton, which explained why they hadn’t made her acquaintance yet and why the rumors continued to fly.
“Oh, yes.” Leila flashed Molly a look that said, “Don’t you dare try.”
Molly and Grace settled for being slightly off-key backup singers to those who would play the right keys.
The two of them went over to the piano and started to play as the older ladies indicated they should sit. A servant appeared with tea and scones and tiny sandwiches, and the look Mama gave Freya said that she should not dare touch a morsel. But Freya was hungry. She blinked at her mother and considered listening to what the baroness indicated and what The Ladies’ Marriage Prospect Bulletin put into print. But she’d been unable to eat her breakfast that morning, and missing out on luncheon, she was more than ready to eat several of the goodies present. Besides, it would go to waste if she didn’t eat some of this delicious smorgasbord.
Ignoring her mother, she put three sandwiches, a scone, a dollop of jam and a healthy serving of clotted cream on her plate and grinned at the delicacies.
“How divine that we should find ourselves neighbors once more,” Lady Daven said as Freya avoided eye contact with her mother and bit into a cucumber sandwich, the cucumber the right crispness and the bread not yet soggy.
“Divine is not exactly what I’d call it,” Lady Heaton said with a slight twinge of derision. Funny that in previous years they’d all lived in Sunderland, no one had complained. It was only with the addition of courtships that Lady Heaton suddenly found fault in their proximity. “But perhaps more fortuitous.”
The insult caused Freya’s mother to go silent and sip her tea, unable to reply to a lady well above her station in any way other than demure acceptance.
“Sister, don’t tease,” Lady Daven admonished as if the words Lady Heaton had uttered could be considered a jest.
Freya caught Lady Heaton staring at her hard as if she were trying to peel away any layers from Freya that might confirm whatever nefarious ideas the older woman had about the Grysham family, for she certainly seemed to harbor some. Freya stared back for a few blinks. Long enough for the woman to understand she wasn’t afraid of her but short enough not to be seen as impertinent by anyone else present.
“Your sister is a lovely player,” Freya said instead to Bryson.
“She is quite talented.”
“She will make someone a good wife,” Lady Heaton interrupted. “Though Bryson has forbidden her from a season just yet.”
“She’s no’ quite the right age,” he said, without any hint of regret.
Lady Heaton seemed set to argue with her nephew, but Lady Daven cut her off. “We’re so glad to have such good company here in the country.”
Lady Heaton huffed as she dropped another sugar cube into her cup. “How did you two ladies enjoy your short season?”
Freya could tell Lady Heaton’s question was meant to be an insult.
“Very much,” Riley said with a glance toward Lord Ashbury.
Freya chose not to answer. The season had been too fleeting to appreciate it. But she was glad it had been fruitful for her sister.
She took a bite of a sandwich so she wouldn’t have to answer and caught Bryson watching her with an amused grin. She held up a sandwich as if toasting him with a drink, and he did the same.
Though it was a small gesture, it still felt like a victory.
