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Lady Josephine rose from her place beside her grandmother to flank Isleen’s other side, bringing with her the scent of jasmine and oranges. That put the three younger ladies on the opposite side of the rug from the others, giving them the ability to converse without their elders hearing. None of them had objects to keep their hands busy, though Isleen had been offered several little projects should she wish for them.
The younger girls had accepted an invitation to join the adults, too. Mrs. Robinson, the governess, had her two female charges and Fiona with her on the rug opposite the duchesses. They were all working at embroidery.
Fiona had a mutinous look about her, but at a warning look from Isleen, concentrated her efforts on her needle and thread.
Conversation was the order of the day for Isleen’s set.
The two ladies on either side of her spoke with easy familiarity, soliciting Isleen’s comment often enough that she didn’t feel out of place. They were both excellent hostesses, a trait she would expect in a duke’s daughter and ambassador’s wife.
The subject turned to plans for the Christmas Eve ball, still weeks away.
“I wish there was a way to gather and preserve the greenery prior to Christmas week.” Lady Josephine plumped a cushion and settled it between her and the stiff arm of the couch. “It always takes ages to wrap it up in ribbons or balls to hang in all the corners.”
“Children and servants do the most work, as you well know.” Lady Atella’s hands stayed settled calmly in her lap, folded atop one another. “And your mother plans on bringing a tree indoors again.”
“A live tree?” Isleen couldn’t help repeating the odd notion. “Are sprigs of holly and pine boughs not enough in this part of the country?”
Lady Josephine giggled. “Not when you’re a duke in a castle, Miss Frost. My mother and father were at the palace in 1800, the year Queen Charlotte brought in a tree as tall as my father. There were gifts tucked in its branches for all the children. My parents didn’t start the tradition here until one prince came for Christmas a few years ago, but we’ve had progressively larger trees in the ballroom ever since.”
“Bless me, why would anyone want a tree indoors?” Isleen tucked a stray lock of black hair behind her ear. “Does it not cause a right fine mess?”
“A very fine mess,” Josephine agreed. “But it makes up for it in fun. We string ribbons from branch to branch and hang sweets and toys in the branches. Then we put the tree back outside and the gardener plants it in the ground the moment he can.”
“It is rather like the tree attends a party before going out to join its family.”
From several feet away, Fiona chimed in. “I would rather have a party out with the trees than bring trees inside to one of our boring parties.”
Máthair calmly gave a more powerfullooktoward Fiona than her older sister could manage. “You best mind your manners, dove, or you will stay in the nursery for the best of the festivities.”
That made the little girl duck her head. “I apologize, Máthair.”
“I cannot say I blame Miss Fiona for her feelings.” The duchess tucked her pencil behind her ear in a very un-duchess-like way before passing her sketchbook to her mother-in-law for her opinion. “I promise we will do our best to amuse all the children, Miss Fiona. Isabelle and Rosalind help us plan the children’s parties every year. I am certain they will include your ideas. Will you, dears?”
“Yes, Mama,” both young ladies said, smiles upon their faces.
Lady Rosalind, the younger of the two, bounced a little in her chair. “It will be ever so much fun, Fi. You will see.”
At last the little Irish colleen responded as she should to her betters. “Thank you, Your Grace. Lady Rosalind. I would like that.” Her cheeks blazed scarlet, but she smiled as she lowered her gaze to her work.
Lady Rosalind patted Fiona’s hand and started talking with cheer about the games they had played the year before, kindly distracting Fiona from embarrassment.
In a lowered voice, Lady Josephine murmured to Isleen, “Your sister is a force, Miss Frost. I quite like her.”
“As do we, when she minds her manners.”
At this remark, Lady Atella grinned brightly. “We were all her age once. And you haven’t heard anything until you are at an event with James. Last year, after a recitation for guests, he had a frog in his pocket that took up a performance of its own. His Grace had to fight to keep from laughing.”
“A frog?” Isleen couldn’t imagine the stoic duke responding with humor to such an event. Then again, she did not know him very well. “What did your elder brother think of that?” She put the question to Lady Josephine, tipping her head to one side. “I cannot imagine someone as serious as he is being best pleased with his brother’s games.”
“Simon?” Lady Josephine blinked, then frowned. “I cannot recall him acting put out by it. He used to be as mischievous as James. He and Sir Andrew were always running about the castle, playing jokes on people and performing the oddest pranks.”
“They have done little of that in years.” Lady Atella picked up a biscuit from the table before them, laden with treats of various sizes and sweetness.
“Simon hasn’t,” Lady Josephine corrected. “Andrew is still determined to act the part of a jester whenever the opportunity presents itself.” She spoke with affection rather than disapproval, which made Isleen wonder at the nature of her relationship and history with her baronet husband.
Lady Atella tapped her finger on the arm of the couch. “I suppose that is true enough. The last thing I remember Simon having his hand in was that time he moved all the mistletoe in the castle in the middle of the night.” She shared an exasperated smile with Isleen. “We had spent hours the previous day finding the right spot for each kissing ball, large and small. All our plans for handsome gentlemen hinged upon that mistletoe being precisely where we put it.”
“He laughed for hours,” Lady Josephine added, her own smile at war with the furrow of her brow. “I suppose we can laugh about it now, too.”
