The Austen Playbook (London Celebrities #4)(88)
It was still infuriating, but as the day had progressed, it had been hard to maintain the level of mad.
Unfortunately, she loved the acerbic, patronising dickhead to bits.
An assistant stuck her head into the room. “Fifteen minutes,” she said, looking harassed, “and the interviews go live. Freddy, Maya, Sadie, we need you out there in ten.”
Freddy looked around Leo’s wide torso and met Sadie’s eyes across the room. She was sitting cross-legged on a high stool, looking pretty and ringleted and impossibly sweet. Except for that scheming little tilt at the corner of her rosebud mouth.
Mockingly, Sadie lifted two fingers to her temple and saluted Freddy.
She disliked the other woman too much to ever be afraid of her—she wouldn’t give her the satisfaction—but an ominous, uneasy feeling settled low in her stomach.
Her gaze shifted towards Maya, in another chair. She was in full costume already, and her fingers were in knots in her lap.
“You’re creasing my base,” Leo murmured, and dabbed at Freddy with a sponge. “Cheer up. It’ll all be over before you know it.”
She looked at Sadie and Maya again. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
When the transformation into Lydia was fully complete, she stowed her water bottle in her bag and checked her phone screen out of habit. A frown flickered between her brows. There was a text from Akiko, and every word just about hummed with guilt. Sabrina had pounced on her and extracted the full story about Henrietta and The Velvet Room. Apparently Sabs didn’t anticipate being on secret-sharing terms with Freddy any time soon.
Out in the hallway, she ran into Charlie. He surveyed her and gave a token wolf-whistle, but his eyes searched hers. “How are you doing, sweet pea?”
“I have a horrible, sinking feeling that this is going to be a total disaster.”
“Jesus. You really are sounding more like Griff every day.”
She bit her lip again, then rubbed at her teeth in case the faint tint of colour had rubbed off. “Where is Griff?”
“Over at the main house, schmoozing Fiona Gallagher for you,” Charlie said, and she blinked.
“Excuse me?”
“This downpour has turned the west road into a muddy mire, and her car got stuck for almost half an hour. The lady was not in a mood to be impressed when she finally made it here, so Griff’s plying her with brandy that’s been in the basement since the days of Napoleon. That stuff warms you up from the gut upwards. One good gulp and all is right with the world. By the time the curtain rises, she’ll be ready to put you to work for the next decade.”
A little smile broke through Freddy’s roiling apprehension. “Griff is schmoozing?”
“I know. The mind boggles. If Lady Influence is pacified, I think we can thank the cognac rather than my brother’s dubious charm.” Charlie’s expression suddenly turned serious. “I don’t think there’s much he wouldn’t do for you, Freddy. And it’s keeping him from striding over here and forcibly demanding forgiveness, which would probably land him in the doghouse for weeks.” He tucked his hands into his pockets in a way that was very reminiscent of Griff, and that ache in Freddy deepened.
Griff might be lacking in the charm department, but she wanted his matter-of-fact, reassuring, grouchy presence.
“He’s trying,” Charlie said, and she lifted her head. “He’s had a lifetime of having to take charge and act alone. He’s not used to having someone else to turn to for advice and support.” He gave her a significant look. “And he’s sure as hell not used to...caring about someone the way he does about you. I’m sorry, but you’ve endeared yourself to a bloke who’s overprotective and overbearing by nature, and you’ll have to deal with the consequences. But he is trying. With all of us.”
“I know,” Freddy said, quietly.
Charlie cleared his throat. “He wouldn’t thank me for interfering, but Griff didn’t ask your father down here to do some sort of ‘all boys together’ plotting behind your back.”
She stopped fiddling with the lace at her cuff. “What do you mean?”
“I agree that he should have just told you upfront. I mean, mate.” Charlie shook his head. “My longest relationship was nine days, and even I know that you don’t keep shit from your bird. But he ordered Rupert down here and basically threatened to tie him to Ma and Pa’s miniature train tracks in the garden if he didn’t come clean to you right away. He didn’t want you tormenting yourself worrying how to break the news.”
Freddy stared at him in silence, then made a frustrated sound and put her hands to her bonnet. “He’s a prat.”
“Yep,” Charlie agreed. “But a well-intentioned prat.” He hesitated. “Look, if he knew I was telling you this, I’d be train fodder as well, but when Griff gave me a heads-up about the situation, he brought up the possibility that we just keep our mouths shut. Find another way to save Highbrook and let Henrietta keep her writing laurels forevermore. Because he didn’t want to do anything that would hurt you.”
A rush of unexpected tears stung the backs of Freddy’s eyes, and she had to blink rapidly, fanning her lashes uselessly with her hands. She had a live interview in about four minutes’ time. But God—
“We can’t just let it lie,” she said. “I thought for a second that maybe I could. Should. But it’s morally wrong, what happened, and it needs to be put right. And I’m not going to be responsible for you all losing your home when there’s a chance to save it.”