Good company was good company, plain and simple, and neither age nor gender played a part.
But, as Freya stared at the hulking Scot before her, she had to wonder if she’d spent too much time with Lady Daven, and perhaps she’d given her the wrong impression. That was—that she was interested in marriage. Or worse, interested in marriage with the stuffy Scottish lord looking down his nose at everyone within his periphery. It was obvious he was on this errand for his elderly family member.
Besides, her older sister Riley had yet to find a match, and society rules stated it would be bad form for her to accept an offer until Riley had been betrothed. Ha! She practically laughed aloud at the trajectory of her thoughts. As if she had already determined that Lord Lovat, sweet Lady Daven’s nephew, would ask her. Freya was fairly confident in herself but not that confident.
“My lady.” The Scot bowed, not breaking eye contact with her nor smiling, which made her feel a little like… Oh, she wasn’t certain, but she felt as if he were judging her and finding her lacking. His gaze scanned her from the top of her head to the tips of her shoes.
She suppressed a shudder at being so closely examined. He raised a brow at her when he caught her eye, and Freya stared at him, unable to make her face work into either a frown or a smile.
All the while, her mind tunneled curiously. What was his conclusion from his careful examination? Oh, she was ridiculous even to want to know. She was accomplished in all the things a lady should be. And while she wasn’t the most beautiful woman in attendance, she didn’t have snot coming out of her nose either. And yes, her dress wasn’t from Paris, but it wasn’t threadbare.
“My lord,” she answered coolly with a curtsey much quicker than her mother would have liked if she’d been watching.
“My nephew arrived in London today,” Lady Daven was saying, touching the Scot’s arm briefly in a show of affection, warranting a gentle smile from the man, which Freya tried not to let warm her heart. “Miss Freya enjoys riding in the park—as do you, Lord Lovat.”
Freya stared at him, watching his expression shift from boredom to understanding and a flicker of confusion as he looked back at her. Did he not think she would know how to ride? What exactly was going on in his brain?
She pursed her lips, trying not to be offended. Most of the ladies she knew could ride a horse; it wasn’t unheard of. Did the women in Scotland not? Now it was her turn to look at him in confusion. She cocked her head, her eyes slightly squinting as she stared at him.
Lady Daven cleared her throat after a beat.
“Would ye like me to get ye some punch?” Lord Lovat stood straighter now, glancing at his aunt, his entire body practically rippling with the need to run away from Freya.
My goodness, but he was rude. And yet he was so caring toward his aunt.
“No,” his aunt said, and there seemed to be some underlying command in it as Lord Lovat stared at the older woman.
Slowly, he turned back to Freya. Was that a flash of panic in his eyes?
“Would ye like me to get ye some punch, Miss…”
Oh, dear lord, he’d already forgotten her name. So bored was he with her he hadn’t even bothered to pay attention. Freya’s stomach tightened, and she was glad she had followed her mother’s rules about nibbling only and not eating in social gatherings; else, she was certain to feel that food rising now.
Freya drew in a breath through her nose and straightened her spine. She smiled stiffly at Lord Lovat. “No, thank you, my lord. I shall be fine in getting it myself.” Then she glanced at his aunt, her smile softening. “Lady Daven, if you would excuse me, I see my mother waving to me.”
Of course, her mother was not anywhere nearby. She couldn’t see her at all, but that didn’t stop the lie from falling from Freya’s lips. She’d beg forgiveness later, but right now, she simply wanted to get away from the lord making her feel worse than she ever had at any social gathering, including when her sister Molly started to sing to the crowd. Of the five of them, sweet Molly had not been blessed with musical ability, nor did she possess the ear to understand that fact. Poor dear.
Without waiting for an answer and knowing her behavior would be seen as quite rude, Freya hurried away from the gigantic Scot with the sour disposition. With every foot of distance between them, some of the weight of that hefty interaction fell away.
Rather than find her mother as she’d led Lady Daven to believe she would, she sought out her sister, Riley, also her best friend and confidant.
Riley stood with a few of the other young ladies and beamed when she saw Freya. She was the most beautiful of the five sisters, older than Freya by a year. Golden where Freya was dark, and with eyes as blue as the sky. She possessed an equal beauty on the inside, and a sweetness that Freya hoped would never dull.
“My goodness, do tell us about the handsome stranger,” Riley said, glancing toward where Freya had left Lord Lovat and Lady Daven.
The other ladies tittered as they nodded their agreement, eager smiles on their curious faces.
“Handsome?” Freya frowned and turned to see where the man’s head was ducked in conversation with his aunt.
“Did you not notice?” Riley laughed. “He’s positively an Adonis.”
Freya wrinkled her nose. She supposed he was rather beautiful to look at from afar, but the sour expression on his face had ruined it up close. Though admittedly, before his aunt had issued an introduction, there had been a flicker in her belly as he’d looked at her with a mixture of curiosity and interest. That had quickly evaporated with the ensuing interaction.
His dark hair was longer than was fashionable, and he’d secured it with a thin leather strap at the base of his neck. Gray eyes, fringed with dark lashes, had met hers, and his full mouth had been of particular note, given the thinness of most of the bachelors’ mouths this season. But of course, why should she be thinking about kissing a stranger, especially one as rude as he was?
Oh, why did he have to ruin today for her? It was truly unfair that a mere few minutes had put a damper on her otherwise good mood.
“Well?” Riley urged, and the other ladies nodded, leaning in, practically on tiptoes to hear better.
“He is Scottish.” She said it as if it were a fault. And unbidden, her mind finished her thoughts. With excellent bone structure. A strong jaw and a defined brow. Cheekbones that arched in a way that made me think exactly of Adonis, as you mentioned Riley. Too bad he spoiled it all with his open-book expressions that made me feel like a pile of horse shi—
“I do love their brogues,” Lady Sarah Wimbledon said, with a little hand flapping to her forehead as if she would faint, pulling Freya from her head.
“I suppose if you like a brogue dripping with condescension.” Freya feigned indifference, even if it still smarted.
The ladies’ mouths fell open in shock, and they glanced from each other back to Freya.
“My goodness, but how could anyone so handsome be so unkind?” Lady Victoria Strachan said, a small pout on her lips.
Freya shrugged, then looked for her mother, who was certain to be wagging a disapproving finger at such an unladylike gesture. “It was peculiar, I admit.”
“Well, I heard Lady Daven’s nephew sent his sister away to live in Canada. Can you imagine him putting her on a ship right after their parents died doing the same thing as if he wanted her to suffer a similar fate?” This came from Lady Rebecca Smithton, who looked as if she’d witnessed the supposed sinking of the ship right in the center of the ballroom only moments ago.