“I think with time, he will come out of his shell, as will Riley. And I also happen to believe he is one hundred times a better match for Riley than Albert.”
“I agree. My nephew would simply suffocate her. I dearly hope she and Ashbury can hurry things up. If their match were secured, I wouldn’t worry about your mother and sisters. And I could ignore Albert’s letters at least for a little while.” He eyed her. “And Lord Lovat? Are you interested in him?”
Freya laughed. “As interested as a mouse is in a cat.”
“Who are you in that situation?”
She grinned. “I’m the cat, of course. Though I don’t think that’s a particularly good analogy, as Lord Lovat also reminds me of a rabid cat.” She could practically hear him hissing at her at the party.
“Two alley cats fighting for turf,” her dad offered.
“Undeniably.” Though she wasn’t certain what the turf was. She didn’t care about her placement in London society, not as her mother did, or even her sister, Leila, who was the only one with new ribbons this season after throwing a fit that rivaled, well, it rivaled any fit in all of the world. The neighbors could hear her screeches for blocks. And from what Freya could surmise, Lord Lovat didn’t care too much about society either. It seemed they had that in common.
“You’re a good daughter, Freya. And a good sister too.”
She rose from her chair and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Don’t worry, Papa, Riley will soon be engaged to Lord Ashbury. And I will soon be rid of my alley cat and able to pursue my heart in earnest. Which doesn’t include Albert.”
“I should hope not.” He chuckled as she waltzed out of his study.
As Freya was on her way toward the stairs to ready herself for their ride, her mother called to her from the drawing room, her voice high-pitched and grating. One time, Freya had asked her mother to soften her tone, to try and channel a calmer atmosphere, but that only resulted in shrieking that still vibrated her eardrums whenever her mother opened her mouth.
Lady Grysham sat in a chair, working on the same embroidery she’d been picking at since Freya was a toddler. No one had the heart or the guts to tell her that perhaps embroidery wasn’t her thing. There were little dots of dried blood nearly two decades old on the blasted thing, but her mother never faltered in her loyalty to the hoop and its yellowing canvas whose own surface was falling apart from her plucking loose the threads year after year.
“Mama.” Freya kissed her on her proffered cheek.
“What were you and Papa discussing?” Her mother’s eyes were sharp on her as if she would pluck the answer from inside Freya’s brain herself.
Freya glanced where Leila was writing letters to her friends, her head cocked to listen better. No doubt whatever she said would go into the letter as gossip.
“Oh, he was giving me some tips about Scotsmen.” It was probably mean of her to say such to her mother, knowing the result would be—
Her mother dropped her embroidery with a little yelp. “Scotsmen? What on earth would you need to know about a Scot? And why does Baron Grysham think he should be telling you? Oh!” Her hand flew to her forehead, and she closed her eyes as if trying to keep herself conscious.
“I’m going riding with Lord Lovat this morning, with Riley and Lord Ashbury.”
Her mother’s eyes flew open, and the Scot seemed to be the last thing on her mind now as she pivoted subjects. “Lord Ashbury and Riley?”
She leaned forward, her eyes flicking to Leila, who was now fully paying attention to the conversation. A wide smile spread on her mother’s face.
“He’s got five thousand a year,” Lady Grysham gushed. “Quite wealthy. And he owns houses here in London, one in the country, and I believe in Edinburgh. Oh yes, this could be very good indeed.” She sat back now, her eyes blinking up toward the ceiling as she murmured on. “Oh, to think that Riley could be Lady Ashbury. My goodness, what a boon that would be. And all of us taken care of when your poor father…” She didn’t finish that sentence but instead crossed herself as if she’d cursed him by offering up the inevitable truth of life—there was death.
“Mama, I would like to go to the ball tomorrow night.” Leila, ever an opportunist, thought this was the perfect time to catch their mother off guard. Her season didn’t officially start until next year, though she was already eighteen. Mama and Papa had decided two daughters off marriage hunting had been enough.
“Oh, I know you do, child.” Her mother didn’t seem as caught off guard as Leila would have liked.
Still, the young and restless girl pressed. “Then will you allow me to?”
Lady Grysham glanced at her second youngest child with a purse of her lips. “No, but I will allow you to go to something less formal.”
“What?” Now Leila was screeching, and Freya would have liked to back out of the room. When the two of them got going, it would last a while and be loud.
“Oh, do stop pestering me, Leila. I need to think about Riley.”
Seizing the opportunity, Freya interrupted before Leila could respond to their mother, “Speaking of Riley, Mama, I need to get ready for our ride.”
“No, dear, you should remain behind. Let Riley go alone with Lord Ashbury.”
“I cannot let her go alone. I’ve already made a commitment. To Lord Lovat.”
Her mother stood pacing and mumbling things that sounded like a list.
“Well, I’m off to change.” This time Freya didn’t wait for permission. She slipped out of the drawing room while her mother’s back was turned and hurried upstairs before she could be called back.
Inside their shared room, Riley was already putting on her riding habit.
“Do you think he will like me in this color?” Riley’s cheeks were pink with excitement. The skirt and jacket were a dusky blue that matched her eyes.
“You look divine, and he is going to think just that.”
As Freya pulled out her own riding habit in a dark green that only made her own eyes look browner, she couldn’t help but wonder what Lord Lovat was going to think of her.
And then she couldn’t help but be disgusted with herself for wondering.
5
The Ladies’ Marriage Prospects Bulletin
Courtship is about making an impression. An eligible bachelor in want of a wife will look for a lady with poise, good manners and skills benefiting an excellent hostess, such as musical talents, fashion and menu planning.
Bryson was grateful for his hat this morning, shielding his eyes from the odd appearance of the sun. London was bleak on most days, and today was no different. When the sky wasn’t clouded with warnings of rain, it was overwhelmed by belches of smog.
He rode through the London streets—seated on his favorite horse for some comfort in a day which he was already regretting—with Ashbury on horseback beside him. They were dressed as most gentlemen in England were, a wardrobe Bryson was eager to shed.
From the moment that he’d awakened, he’d bemoaned his invitation to Miss Freya for a ride in the park. It had been a request made without thinking after seeing Ashbury return in a state he’d never witnessed in his friend after walking with the older Miss Grysham. A state he wanted to continue, for the lad deserved happiness, didn’t he? He’d decided it was why he’d invited her sister to get the object of Ashbury’s affection to agree. There was no going back now; they were nearly there. Whatever venomous fate awaited him, he would have to accept. And once his good deed was done, he could continue with Aunt Bertie’s list.