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Simon glowered. “You realize I am doing you a favor, Josie.”
“Of course I do. But do you understand the favor I am doing foryou?” she asked, nose wrinkled.
“Whatever do you mean?”
“You stared at Miss Frost most intently last evening after dinner, and you two seemed quite cozy during the meal. Speaking in low voices so the rest of us could not eavesdrop upon your conversation.”
Simon took his sister’s arm and pulled her farther away from the staircase, then whispered with urgency, “What are you talking about? Miss Frost? Surely you do not think I desire more time in her company than—well—than any other guest’s.”
“Your attention was quite pointed,” Josephine said, matching his tone. “And she is quite pretty. One has only to watch her eyes when she speaks to see how intelligent she is. Why are we whispering?”
“Do not play matchmaker, Josie. Please.”
“Matchmaker? Me?” She pulled away from him, placing a hand over her heart. “Simon Dinard, you werestaringall night. If you do not wish for people to get ideas in their heads, then perhaps you ought to do a better job minding your manners. And I did not say you must wed the woman. I merely think you both might amuse yourselves with a harmless flirtation. You are obviously out of practice.”
That took him aback, and he caught one of his great-great-grandmother’s portraits from the corner of his eye, looking rather as though she scowled at him. Even his ancestors thought him lacking that day.
“I am not out of practice. Flirting shouldn’t be something people need to practice.”
“That shows how little you know.” Josie held up a hand to forestall his next aggrieved words. “I am finished discussing the matter. Our guests are waiting for us.” She brushed the skirts of her gown free of imagined dust, then squared her shoulders and spoke like a general giving orders. “Now. We have a tour to give, and you are coming with me, even if you aren’t any good at flirting.”
He followed his sister down the staircase to the marble floor. The baron, his mother, and both his sisters waited. And James was there, too, for a reason Simon couldn’t fathom. The duke’s youngest child wasn’t likely to behave himself on a tour without growing profoundly bored.
Miss Frost stood between her younger sister and James, her expression serene, while the children on either side of her appeared displeased. Miss Frost wore a gown with long sleeves and made of a soft blue material.
The lighter color made her dark, glossy hair stand out. Today, her black curls were sensibly looped about her head in a style likely meant to mimic a Greek statue somewhere or other. A few curls remained loose at the nape of her neck and her cheeks, framing her face.
Fires burned in the hearths of the great entry hall, though they were lower than the day before, and men-at-arms dressed as footmen flanked both fireplaces. Hanging above the mantel on one side was a pair of swords. On the other, the fireplace didn’t appear to have a chimney at all, something Miss Frost had noticed straight away. His grandfather had cleverly designed the piece to move smoke through the floor and out of the castle another way. His mother had always liked that feature and happily puzzled guests with it.
“I am delighted to show you the castle,” Josephine said, her smile bright and tone full of warmth. “It is the dearest place in the world to me, and since you are to be with us until Epiphany, you ought to know all my favorite corners. There is every chance we will not finish before tea, but we can always resume the tour tomorrow if need be.” She continued on, sketching a brief history of the castles that had come before the one their mother had built, the baron and his mother listening with attentiveness.
Simon stood next to his younger brother. Nearly eighteen years separated them in age, but he still got on well with the younger chap. Simon kept his tone low as he asked, “How did you get involved in this?”
James scowled up at his brother. “Mrs. Robinson says my hosting skills need practice.”
For some reason, Simon’s gaze darted from his brother’s up to Miss Frost’s. He caught her watching him from the corner of her eye. “It would seem Fiona and Lord James both have lessons to learn today.”
Miss Fiona crossed her arms over her chest and made a “hmph” sound, as though annoyed by her sister’s words.
Ah. James and their youngest guest had likely had a tiff of some sort. Mrs. Robinson, the governess, had sentenced them to the tour as a form of punishment.
She was a clever woman.
“A good, long walk through the castle is the surest way to make friends of enemies,” he mused aloud. When Miss Frost blinked in confusion, he gave a shrug. “They will be too tired to continue their argument by the time we come to the end.”
Though Simon had never measured the distance himself, he knew well enough that to walk the castle from one end to the other was taxing. Peeping in all the rooms could easily make the tour’s steps equivalent to a mile’s walk. With this in mind, he prepared to offer his arm to the baroness—but she had already accepted her son’s escort.
Josephine still had a job in mind for him. “Farleigh. Will you please see to it we do not lose anyone along the way?” She looked pointedly at their little brother, who continued to pout.
It would be just like James to slip away the moment he thought he could. Likely into one of the family’s secret passages, too, so they couldn’t call him back. The little scoundrel. Simon didn’t bother hiding his grin from the boy. “I am happy to be the rearguard.”
James appeared mutinous but said nothing.
Thus they began the expedition, going through the most public rooms of the house one by one. In each room, Josephine took a moment to point out an item or feature of interest. “This is the portrait gallery, of course. Here you see an original painting of King Henry VIII, by Hans Holbein. His Majesty gifted it to the Earl of Montfort…” Or “This is my father as a child, painted with his father’s favorite dog, named Brick.” “This wallpaper is hand-painted silk.” And “This is the room where the Regent stayed last summer.” And into the room from the evening before. “This is the Long Gallery. You saw it last night, but now you can make out more details. Such as the tapestries, gifted to my mother by Louis XVI of France.”
James groaned from his place several feet behind Miss Frost and Miss Fiona. “This is tedious.”
“I think that is the point, at least in regard to your purpose on the tour,” Simon whispered back.
