Page 70 of A Scot's Pride

Lord Lovat, newly titled Earl of Aberdeen, Scotland (may his grandfather rest in peace), is hosting a ball for his sister, Miss Lucy. Everyone who is anyone will be there. Make your appointments with the seamstress soon, for fashion is of the utmost importance when attending an event. This event will be the talk of the season.

One year later…

“I thought you hated balls.” Freya leaned against her husband at their house in Edinburgh, filled to the brim with peacocking people.

“I do hate balls.” Bryson grinned down at her.

“Then why are you smiling?”

“Because I’m happy. Care to dance?”

“I thought you hated dancing.”

“It’s the best way for me to get my hands on you in a room full of people,” he whispered into her ear.

“Naughty earl.”

“And my equally wicked countess.” He twirled her into a dance. They were too close for propriety, but she didn’t care. Besides, they were in Scotland, and the rules could be slightly bent here.

“Lucy is dancing with the same man again. I might have to kill him.” Bryson sounded serious.

Freya glanced to where Lucy was on the dance floor. The young woman was laughing and smiling in a way Freya had never seen before. Usually, Lucy was so demure.

“She must really like him.”

“Another reason to kill him.”

Freya laughed. “Let her have some fun. After Campbell forced her under house arrest, she’s probably ecstatic about seeing more faces than yours and your aunts.”

“This is true.”

They danced past Riley and Ashbury, who also had a house in Edinburgh, meaning the sisters took tea together daily. It was a bonus that their husbands were best friends because it meant there was never too much time between when they got to see each other.

Riley was her only family present, as Cousin Arthur and Molly were at home in Sunderland with their new baby boy. Grace made an excellent auntie. Mama had gone off to visit Leila and Campbell, who she stayed with more often than not, because Freya was certain she worried about Leila. The marriage was not happy, which saddened Freya, knowing that her own happiness knew no bounds.

Papa had moved back to London, taking an interest in politics, and Freya suspected the added breathing room of not having to battle Mama constantly. Besides, he’d always been happiest at his club, though he did enjoy a good hunt in Aberdeen with Bryson whenever he got the chance.

The music ended. Bryson, taking her by the hand, suggested they go upstairs to their bedroom and let everyone else have fun at the ball without them. She grinned, rather liking that plan.

However, on their way out of the ballroom, they were stopped by her friends Sarah, Rebecca and Victoria. They had another young woman with them that Freya recognized from London but couldn’t place her name.

“My lady,” Rebecca said with a cheeky grin as the four dipped into a curtsey.

“Oh, do stop,” Freya laughed. “Stand up, stand up.”

“This ball has been so much fun,” Sarah said, then leaned in close. “Who knew the Scots’ eligible bachelors were even more handsome than the ones in London?” Then she glanced at Bryson, her cheeks flaming red.

Knowing how to be a gentleman when it counted, Bryson winked at the ladies and bowed. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe my name has come up on my sister’s dance card.”

He wove his way through the ballroom and stole Lucy away from the horde of men surrounding her.

“Oh, my, he is delightful,” Victoria sighed. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Let me introduce you to Lady Poppy, daughter of the late Lord Featherstone. She’s staying here in Edinburgh.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Poppy, though I believe we’ve met before.”

“Yes, we have in London last season.” Poppy smiled, a little dimple appearing on her cheek.

“Poppy, do tell the countess about the beau you have your eyes set on.”

“Please just call me Freya. We’ve been friends since before we knew how to properly toilet.” Freya rolled her eyes for effect, and all of the ladies laughed. “And yes, Poppy, do tell.”