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“Oh, yes please.” Rosalind rose from her chair. “Did you bring enough for our guests?”
“Of course. What kind of man would I be if I left them out? Not a gentleman, surely.” He reached into his coat pocket for the small parcel and tossed it to Isabelle, who caught it with a gasp.
“Simon, you mustn’t throw things at ladies.” She appeared most indignant.
He winked at her. “You caught it, didn’t you?”
She stuck her lower lip out at him, then sighed and unwrapped the paper and twine to reveal pastilles in various hues and sizes. James left Simon’s side to look down at the sugar-glazed treats, and Miss Fiona leaned closer to get a look at them, too.
Miss Frost came around the table to his side of the room and stopped when she stood beside him. Her eyes held a measure of curiosity, so he was not entirely surprised when she tipped her head to the side and asked, “Do you visit the schoolroom frequently?”
“When I am at home, I try to make a habit of it.” He crossed his arms and leaned toward her. “Though it hasn’t been as often as I like of late. I cannot let them forget they have an older brother looking after them.”
Her dark brows drew together. “I suppose I should have guessed as much after our tour of the castle. You and Lord James seemed thick as thieves.”
He shrugged, but didn’t hide his grin. She’d been paying attention to him even then? The thought gave him far too much pleasure. He tucked his hands behind his back. “What of you? Have you spent much time in the nursery?”
Isleen tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “I have come to see my sister every day. I make certain she isn’t driving your family’s governess to distraction.”
Ah, yes. The missing governess. “Where is Mrs. Robinson? Is everything all right?” Not that he minded her absence. Because Miss Frost was present.
Why had he wanted to avoid her? He couldn’t remember in that moment.
“Mrs. Robinson is a touch under the weather. I encouraged her to take tea and a nap. I am certain she will feel well again after a little rest.” Isleen rocked forward and back on her heels, looking over her shoulder at the children.
“And you are keeping the rapscallions in line in the meantime?”
“As you see.” She motioned to the table, where paper had been properly slashed for chain-making.
“They can do this any time.” Simon nodded to the table. “Especially if Mrs. Robinson needs them to keep still.”
“Have you a better idea for keeping them occupied?” she asked, chin up. “I would love to hear it. Or perhaps you could entertain us.”
“Simon can’t tell stories like you do,” Lord James said, appearing in front of them with a large, cherry-flavored sweet. He popped it into his mouth. “You should hear her stories, Simon. Magic fish, children who turn into swans, swords that talk.”
Miss Frost’s cheeks pinked; she looked a great deal more innocent and young when she blushed. He liked it. Nearly as much as he liked the more stubborn, confident tilt of her chin when she argued with him.
“They are all old stories from Ireland. Every child knows them where I’m from.”
“You tell them the best, though,” her sister piped from the table. “You always have.”
Simon pressed his hand to his temple. “Let me think on this. Obviously, I don’t dare tell stories, knowing I have a master of the art present.” He paced away, then back again. “A most complicated difficulty. How does one entertain children—”
“And young ladies,” Isabelle said, her fifteen-year-old indignation obvious in her tone. Another year and she’d likely be let out of the school room for their parents’ parties, even if she wasn’t out in society yet.
“And young ladies,” he agreed with an apologetic bow. A game from years ago came to mind. One he had not played since Josephine, Emma, and he had played. Would Isleen take part? When he glanced at her, raising an eyebrow in challenge, she tilted her nose in the air and smirked at him.
Nothing daunted the woman.
He made his declaration with a grin. “We will go on an expedition.”
“An expedition?” Miss Fiona sounded incredulous. Her little nose wrinkled in an expression he’d seen her sister wear. “How? We’re stuck inside this castle.”
“Fi,” her sister warned. “That’s incredibly ungrateful to speak so to our hosts.” She looked up at Simon with a wince. “I beg your pardon—”
“No, she’s right.” He folded his arms and looked pointedly down at Miss Fiona. “You haven’t been nearly anywhere else in a week, with most of your time spent in this room. Even the nicest of places can grow dull.” He grinned and gestured to the door. “So we escape.”
“How does one play at an expedition?” Isabelle asked, her nose in the air. At fifteen, she likely thought most games beneath her. He certainly had, at her age.
