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“As most would, I imagine.” She seemed unruffled, and perhaps unaware of the fact that he was on to her. As she continued to speak in a self-assured tone, his pace slowed. “Ladies are not trained to recognize the differences in limestone and granite, or whether the columns of their garden follies are Ionic or Corinthian. I, myself, have only found a recent interest in the subject when I discovered how closely art, fashion, and buildings follow such things as religious transformation or the transference of political power.”
Simon took a moment to sort through her words, then stopped completely in his tracks. No one noticed that he and Miss Frost had ceased moving. His parents were several steps farther down the corridor of the guest wing, in the middle of their own conversations.
His younger siblings had already turned a corner to take Miss Fiona to the nursery rooms, where most children stayed until they were old enough to sit with the adults at dinner. Isabelle had only just claimed that right, but she’d still take any nursery guests in hand until she was presented at court.
He opened his mouth to respond to her, then closed it again. And couldn’t help frowning. He’d never heard a woman of her age speak of “the transference of political power.”
No one saw the way Miss Frost stared up at him, her eyebrows raised in challenge. Her eyes themselves, a shade of brown so dark it reminded him of rich earth and black coffee, sparked with indignation. As though he had offered her some sort of insult.
“The Irish are capable of producing well-educated women, my lord,” she said, her voice soft so it would not carry past the two of them. “You needn’t worry that I’ll falter in conversation with anyone. Even a duchess.” Her directness startled his next words out of him.
“That isn’t what I meant.” And then he wanted to kick himself. Because her head canted to one side, and she narrowed her eyes at him.
He’d thought her only interested in impressing his mother, or him, but she seemed to hold no interest in gaining anyone’s regard at that moment.
“Then what did you mean?”
He jerked his chin upward, resetting his posture. Women didn’t talk to him like that. At least, most of them didn’t. He supposed his sisters did, and Emma, who might as well have been a fourth sister to him. Must he admit to Miss Frost he’d been certain she meant to set her sights on his mother for her own gain?
That wouldn’t be polite or acceptable coming from a gentleman, let alone a duke’s son.
“Lord Farleigh?” she repeated, expression unchanged. Her determination to catch him out on his poor manners rankled, but with good reason. She was in the right. “Will you not clarify what you meant?”
“It was nothing of importance,” he said, then added before she could question him again, “We have fallen behind the others. I am sorry for delaying your rest, Miss Frost.”
Her expression clearly shared that she knew his excuse for what it was—a diversionary tactic.
“I am perfectly content with our pace, my lord.” Then she turned away, letting her eyes wander the walls as he walked with her down the corridor past portraits of ancestors and thin tables covered in candlesticks, flowers from the hothouse, and small treasures from his parents’ travels.
Her genuine interest in her surroundings made Simon wonder if he’d miscalculated in his assumptions. Miss Frost might not have any interest in him or climbing higher up the social ladder. Considering what Simon knew of Lord Dunmore, it wasn’t so difficult to imagine his sister sharing a similar disposition.
“Are you not eager to see your quarters?” Simon asked, keeping his gaze ahead. “My mother chose your room herself.”
“How kind of her.” Miss Frost sounded not in the least impressed.
Had he offended her? In the first quarter hour of their acquaintance? He couldn’t recall ever managing such a feat before. “Your rooms overlook the gardens, I believe.”
The woman nodded once, and when she responded her tone remained cool. “That sounds lovely.”
Yes. He’d offended her.Though not with his actual unvoiced thoughts. She had taken exception to his challenge of her knowledge. And bristled up like a hedgehog.
They arrived at the guest wing as his parents turned and walked toward them, having seen their other guests settled in comfortably. His mother’s eyebrows were raised, but his father appeared his usual steady self. The duke rarely gave away his thoughts by his expression.
“Ah, here you are, Farleigh. Miss Frost. We worried you’d gone astray,” the duchess said with a teasing smile.
“Miss Frost expressed her curiosity in the castle’s construction.” Simon forced a smile. The woman at his side might be daring enough to speak to him so coldly, but surely she wouldn’t offer even a sliver of insult to his parents.
“Oh? Have you an interest in building design, Miss Frost?” the duke asked, and Simon tried to detect whether his father harbored the same suspicions about Miss Frost that Simon had.
“Only in so far as it relates to culture and history,” she answered with a prim little smile. “I could never design such a construct myself. I was a woeful student in mathematics, which I know plays an important role in architecture. I enjoy studying the history behind such works.”
Simon had the rare surprise of watching his father’s most genuine smile appear in front of a complete stranger. When the duke lifted his eyebrow at Simon, he remained uncertain of what had impressed his father.
“I find the influence of culture on a building’s creation quite interesting, too,” the duchess confided. “We must make time to converse about such things while you are our guest, Miss Frost.”
“I would enjoy that, Your Grace.”
“Simon, let us leave your mother to show Miss Frost her room. I have need of you elsewhere.” The duke bowed to the women, and Miss Frost curtsied low as Simon and his father took their leave.
