“And my sisters, Miss Isleen Frost and Miss Fiona Frost.”
Isleen curtsied in tandem with her sister, eyes lowered appropriately. They rose again, and her eyes flicked from the duke’s to the duchess’s kind blue gaze, then of their own accord slid farther to the duke’s right—meeting a pair of dark blue eyes that sent a small thrill of surprise down her spine.
A man she hadn’t bothered to notice before, except as a form standing in the duke’s reception line, stared at her with an intensity she’d call audacious in another man. This had to be the duke’s eldest son and heir, the man who had sought out her brother and befriended him during the last parliamentary season.
Lord Farleigh, Earl of Farleigh, future Duke of Montfort. What was his name again? She had thought it odd, since all Englishmen seemed to be called John or William.
“My wife, Her Grace the Duchess of Montfort. My son, Lord Farleigh. My daughters, Lady Isabelle Dinard and Lady Rosalind Dinard, and my son Lord James Dinard. My eldest daughter will arrive this afternoon with her husband, and we will have other guests to introduce you to soon enough.”
The duchess offered a warm smile. “It is wonderful to have your family here for the Christmas celebrations. I hope you enjoy your time in our home. I know it can be difficult to leave your own when there are beloved traditions to honor.”
“It is a delight to be here, Your Grace,” Máthair said with sincerity. “Thank you for thinking to invite us.”
Fiona shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and Isleen quite suddenly recalled her sister’s carriage conversation regarding water closets. She tried to subtly take her sister’s hand to offer a squeeze, the only reminder she could give to exercise patience when a duke and his family stood on such ceremony to welcome them.
Her gaze wandered as those bearing titles continued to make the usual sort of conversation people would upon introductions and welcomes. Suits of armor stood between pillars above the staircase that led up and into the castle. Banners hung from the ceiling above, along with a large stag’s head and old shields bearing crests she’d never seen before. Flanking the large fireplaces were men dressed as servants, but in less eye-catching clothing than the livery the footmen wore, and she wondered briefly at their purpose.
The ceiling stretched high above her.
Quite suddenly, someone cleared his throat at her elbow.
Isleen had grown inattentive again in her admiration of the architecture, which meant she had no warning that the duke’s family meant to escort hers to the guest wing where they would stay. Wasn’t that something far beneath the duke’s status? Surely, a servant leading the way would be perfectly acceptable.
But the duke’s son, with those deep blue eyes he inherited from his mother, tilted his head forward. No smile touched his lips as he held his arm out to her. “Miss Frost. May I escort you upstairs?”
Isleen saw in an instant that the duke himself already led her mother to the first step of the elegant staircase, with her brother escorting the duchess, which left her to be on the arm of the heir, while their younger siblings followed behind.
“Of course.” She laid her hand upon his forearm. “Thank you.” Belatedly, she forced a tight-lipped smile. He must think her backward and strange, to catch her gawking at his family’s entryway as though it were the king’s own palace. She’d been in grand places before, but had apparently hidden her awe much better.
Already she had failed. She hadn’t wanted to give anyone in the duke’s family reason to think less of her own. Isleen ground her teeth together and plotted her way out of the poor first impression she’d given the heir to the duke.
* * *
Simon hadn’t meantto startle Miss Frost, but she’d not been paying any attention to the flow of conversation around her. Which amused him, somewhat. Most young ladies, when introduced to his family and to him, pretended that every word flowing from a member of the duke’s kin was as intoxicating as it was fascinating.
And here, Miss Frost had practically ignored them all.
Perhaps she had another game in mind. Most single women he met had one plan or another to gain his attention or—in less honorable circumstances—his father’s.
“Do you like the castle?” he asked, his tone flat and eyes forward rather than upon her as he spoke.
Simon Dinard, Earl of Farleigh, knew his duty when his parents invited guests into their home. Especially with these particular guests. His father had wanted to meet Lord Dunmore ever since the man’s appointment to the House of Lords.
Simon had a duty to his parents’ guests, to see to their comfort. And to escort Miss Frost from one room to the next until a lady of higher rank arrived at the castle. Or until his brother-in-law and best friend, Sir Andrew, arrived to take over that duty.
Miss Frost must have heard something of his suspicions in his tone. She tilted her chin up and offered him a smile with a lot of teeth.
“I find I do. It won’t be difficult to enjoy our stay, given the beauty of the castle. I understand your mother had her hand in its design. I hope she will not mind sharing how such things came to her mind as a fireplace without a chimney.”
He blinked and glanced down at her. “Not everyone notices that. You have keen eyes, Miss Frost.” Was it his mother she wished to impress for social gain? It was a lesser-used tactic, but he’d seen it before.
She gave a tight nod. “Have you been to Dublin, Lord Farleigh?”
“Yes. I spent the better part of a year at our family’s holdings in Ireland. Dublin is where I first met your brother.” The abrupt change of topic didn’t put him off the scent. He’d know soon enough if she meant to be more than a well-behaved guest.
“Then you know how grand the cathedrals, castles, and estates are where I come from.” She raised her chin a notch. “I can admire the work that goes into creating fine buildings, both ancient and modern.”
“So it would seem.” He couldn’t keep the amusement out of his voice this time. She would speak to his mother, then, and hope to win the duchess’s favor. That would be amusing, if he happened to be there when his mother decided to put the girl through her paces. But he could offer her a fair warning. “It will delight my mother that you have an interest in architecture. She never tires of the subject. Though many young ladies who attempt to speak to her about it soon find themselves overwhelmed.”