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Isleen didn’t bother hiding her smile. Lord James had such an interesting way about him. He seemed an intelligent child, happy to have a lark, but he was still so young it made moments like this one amusing. “Maybe that makes them an easier subject to chisel from ice.” She nodded to the little pot. “Take some scissors, Lord James. Help us prepare the chain.”
He did so without complaint. “Will you tell us a story, Miss Frost? Fiona says you have a lot of them.”
“And she tells the best stories,” Fiona added, somewhat smugly.
“Fi, we mustn’t boast.”
“It isn’t a boast if it’s about someone else. And youdotell the best stories. They’re always interesting.”
“Do tell us a story, Miss Frost,” Lady Isabelle put in. “Please. It will make the time pass faster.”
“Oh, very well. Let me think.” She snipped at the paper, once, twice, thrice, and another strip landed in the small pile she had started. “What about the story of Finn McCool accidentally gaining all the world’s knowledge? Long ago, when Finn was still young…” She spun out her story, as it had been spun for centuries among the Irish, while the children listened, and their scissors snipped the colorful paper into strips.
* * *
The bookof poetry Miss Frost had gifted him contained more love poems and satirical pieces about romance than Simon liked. But he’d pick one, as she bid him, memorize it, and give a grand performance. Likely in front of dozens of guests, if she timed his recitation for maximum humiliation.
Not that he thought her unkind, or even the least bit conniving. But she took her role as his challenger seriously. And, though he’d never admit it, he had found her tasks clever, and even enjoyable. Apart from the rhyming scheme.
He put the future worry from his mind and focused on the moment. An afternoon free of the charming Irish woman would clear his head, and his tangle of emotions he hadn’t any intention of sorting out. Spending time with his siblings, especially his brother, would ease both his mind and heart.
He had tucked the apothecary’s sweets into the pocket of his coat, made his way through the family’s corridor, and down the hall to the children’s wing. Their bedrooms, nursery, and schoolroom were along one hall, all on the same side, airy and bright. Sometimes, he wished he’d grown up in the castle rather than entering it for the first time at fifteen years old, when his mother judged the renovations complete. His other siblings had spent more of their childhood within its walls, young as they were.
He stopped at the doorway to the schoolroom and prepared to knock, then he hesitated when a burst of laughtersounded through the door.
Mrs. Robinson had seemingly prepared an amusing lesson for the day. Hopefully, she wouldn’t mind him interrupting. At least for a short period of time.
He opened the door, knocking lightly on it as he stepped into the room. “Good afternoon, Mrs.—Miss Frost?” She sat at the children’s worktable, directly opposite the doorway, a delightful smile turning her full lips upward.
“Lord Farleigh. Welcome.” She rose from the table to curtsy, as did her sister, but his siblings remained where they were, snipping at paper with scissors. “I am afraid Mrs. Robinson isn’t here at the moment.”
“Oh.” He looked from her to the bent heads of his brother and sisters, noting the covert glances of the latter. “I came to visit the children. If you do not mind, Miss Frost? I have no wish to intrude.”
She blinked rapidly and lifted her hands, opening and closing them as she spoke. “Not at all. Shall I go, then?”
“No. No, you can stay.” Why, after he said those words, did he catch a strange expression passing between his sisters? Rosalind even giggled. “You may as well see how I treat my horrid younger siblings.”
His words had the desired effect, summoning James to arms. His brother might look to Simon with hero-worship some days and with competitiveness others. Whatever the case, Simon tried to be ready. Though it had been months since the two of them had spent a proper amount of time together.
James leaped up and charged directly at Simon, releasing a battle cry that would make Wellington himself puff up with pride. Knowing his brotherly duty, Simon dipped his shoulder down and caught James, then stood and hefted his little brother up like a sack of flour.
If sacks of flour squirmed and squealed in delight. “No fair, you’re still much taller than I am!”
“And stronger. And better behaved, too. Have you ever seen such a wild thing, Miss Frost?” He turned in a quick circle and James laughed again. Then Simon stopped and took in the Irish woman’s expression, wondering what he’d see.
Both hands were over her mouth, and her dark eyes had widened to enormous proportions. But she wasn’t horrified. She was laughing. “To be sure, he is a frightening creature, attacking you as he did. Without provocation, too.”
His sisters and hers watched, eyes wide, but said nothing. “Ladies, I am terribly sorry you had to see this ignoble display.”
James struggled, then went limp. “Fine. You win. I give up. Again.”
As soon as the boy’s shoes hit the ground, he grinned up at his brother. “You won’t always be the biggest.”
“We have yet to see the evidence of that. Who knows? You may stop shooting upward tomorrow.” He put his hand on James’s shoulder, pretending to scrutinize the boy’s height. “Perhaps I ought to place a yoke on your shoulders, to keep you from growing upward.”
Miss Fiona snorted, and James stuck his tongue out at the young miss. Simon ignored the behavior. He hadn’t come visiting the nursery to scold. James likely had enough of such things from others.
Instead, he offered an olive branch. “Would anyone here be interested in some sweets?”
