Page 54 of A Scot's Pride
The Ladies’ Marriage Prospects Bulletin
Captain Malcolm Alexander Gordon, Earl of Dunlyon, Viscount Wyndridge: 15,000 per annum. Castles, estates and houses in Scotland and England. Titles in both Scotland and England.
By the time Freya was settled—if you could call it that—in her father’s carriage with Lady Daven, her entire family was in an uproar. As if the house had been struck by lightning, everything was on fire, the well was dry and people were tossing oil and spirits onto the agitated flames.
Mama had nearly fallen down the stairs in a faint and, as a result, was carried to bed by two footmen. Her wails could be heard clearly out in the road.
Molly was trying to mollify Grace, who was certain that rogue pirates had abducted Leila, and they’d never see her again, for she’d be sacrificed to the sea. Freya noted that perhaps it was a bad idea to have told her sister about Blackbeard last week.
Riley, two shades paler with worry, had retreated into a corner with Ashbury after confessing her worries to Freya that since there now was a family scandal, Ashbury might wish to recuse his offer of marriage. Freya had tried to assure her sister that would never happen and that Ashbury loved her for better or worse, but Riley was giving him looks as if he might dart away. She’d sunk so far inside herself that it was as if their romance, which had finally pulled her from her shell, had never happened. Ashbury, for his part, was doing everything he could to comfort Riley and even offered to search for Leila himself.
Molly sat on the settee in the center of the drawing room, reading from the Bible as her fiancé, Cousin Arthur, had instructed.
But worst of all the family’s reactions was Papa running away from Cousin Arthur, who kept lamenting about the wicked child, and that Papa should cut Leila off without a single shilling of her dowry. Papa, in turn, was trying to meet with his solicitors to ensure that if he died of heart failure in the next twenty-four hours, his daughter would be given her dowry and that Cousin Arthur couldn’t ruin that for her.
It was more a relief than anything else to be ensconced in the carriage with Bryson’s Aunt Bertie. Freya had quickly packed a small valise and hoped she hadn’t forgotten anything she might need. Cook had provided them with a basket for lunch, and now they were headed to Lady Heaton’s house, where Lady Daven said she’d already packed a valise for herself in hopes she could entice Freya on the journey.
As they pulled up in front of the austere Palladian house, Freya’s heart started to pound with memories of the last time she’d been here. Lady Heaton’s rudeness. Bryson’s flirtation. At least she knew he wasn’t here. Though the reason why cut deep still.
Thankfully, Lady Daven told her she didn’t have to get out of the carriage, which Freya was grateful for. Another round with Lady Heaton might put her over the edge. Once today was already enough.
Lady Daven’s things were loaded into the carriage, along with another picnic basket. And to Freya’s relief, Lady Heaton didn’t so much as poke her head out a window.
“We won’t be wanting for anything to eat along the way,” Lady Daven said with a chuckle, patting the basket.
Freya agreed, though the way her belly was all twisted up, it would be hard for her to stomach anything at all, no matter how delicious the food was.
Gretna Green was only about eighty miles from Sunderland, and Freya guessed that the newlyweds wouldn’t be in as much of a rush as she and Lady Daven were to arrive. So, though it was several hours since the elopers had alighted in the predawn hours, there was still a chance they’d catch up to them.
Of course, she could be wrong, and Campbell could have tossed her sister over his shoulder and taken off at breakneck speed. But Freya was betting, with her sister’s propensity for overconfidence, that Leila would assume they’d never know what happened and that no one would come after them. Leila would likely also assume that no one would be upset by her eloping since she thought it was a great plan, and her sister tended to think everyone always agreed with her.
They rode at a moderate pace through the country. Grand houses were propped up along the rolling hills. As they passed through the woods, shadows darkened the interior of the carriage.
Lady Daven attempted several times to make conversation, but Freya was proving to be poor company, her replies minimal if not monosyllabic. At last, the rocking of the carriage lulled her into sleep, and being that she’d not slept a wink the night before and her heart had been working on overdrive with the day’s events, she dozed hard for several hours until the carriage made its first stop to rest the horses and for the ladies to refresh themselves.
Freya woke with a jolt as Lady Daven nudged her gently on the knee and then alighted from the carriage, allowing a blast of fresh air to wash over Freya’s face. She glanced out the window at the small village they’d stopped in and could have sworn she had seen Bryson. Tall and muscular, impeccably dressed. Sauntering with the confidence of a man who knew exactly who he was. Scrambling to get outside, Freya looked in the direction she’d seen the man going, but he’d vanished like the petals of a mallow in the wind.
Was it her mind playing tricks on her? Making her see Bryson where he wasn’t? There could be no other answer for it. She was imagining things, and thank goodness she’d not voiced it, for she was embarrassed enough with herself.
“Are you all right, dear?” Lady Daven asked, coming around the carriage to see where she’d gone.
Freya leapt a little, pressing her hand to her heart. “Oh, quite right. I’m sorry to worry you. I thought I saw a friend, but I must have imagined things.” She waved away her words, rolling her eyes and hoping Lady Daven wouldn’t ask which friend.
Lady Daven smiled softly. “Happens to us all. Shall we venture inside this inn to refresh ourselves?”
Once they returned to the carriage, they peeked inside their respective baskets. Freya pulled out a baguette to share, some cheese, apples and berry tarts. Lady Daven had a shrimp cocktail, steak pie and pudding in her basket.
Lady Daven stared longingly at Freya’s simple meal, then back at her own with a little frown.
“I’ve plenty here if you’d like,” Freya offered.
Lady Daven grinned as though she were a child who’d convinced the cook to give her a second cookie without her mama knowing. “That’s a great idea. I’ll give the driver my basket. I’m sure he would love this, and I could quite honestly do with a lighter, simpler fare.”
With the decision settled and the basket passed to the driver, the two women settled in to eat their lunch. The apples were crisp; the bread crunchy on the outside, soft on the inside; the cheese was a delicious Camembert that Mama had likely splurged on and would be irritated that it had been given to Freya. It only made her enjoy it more.
Lady Daven poured them each a small cup of cider. Freya took a sip, puzzling out what they might do when they finally did locate her sister. “Do you think we will find Leila before she and Campbell…marry?”
“I hope so.” Lady Daven bit into her apple, chewing as she eyed Freya. Then she said, “Though I can’t say whether we’ll find her before he attempts to…” Lady Daven trailed off, her face as red as the fruit in her hand.
