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“When I am not biting off the heads of Englishmen who think they’re better than I am.” She grinned at him, and Simon laughed. Her levity broke the somber spell that had befallen them, and they continued their journey up the hill again.
“I suppose I measure myself against my father in a similar way,” he admitted, the words no longer weighty. “I wonder how he would speak in a situation, what he would do in another. If he would approve of my words and actions. He was already duke by my age, you know.”
“I didn’t. I had heard he came into his title quite young, and unexpectedly.” She guided her horse carefully around another downed branch, though this one barely protruded into their path. “Do you fear inheriting early?”
“I pray for the opposite almost daily,” he admitted. “I don’t feel ready. Not to be duke. Not to lose him.”
“I doubt he was ready for it, either. No one is ready to lose a parent. Especially when they are good, loving parents.” Isleen took in a deep breath. “Oh, I know this place. Past the next bend, we will see the castle.”
“We will,” he confirmed. They were nearly there. Despite the slow pace, they had arrived quicker than he wished. When would he next have the chance to speak to Isleen like this? Alone and open-hearted?
“I think you should speak to your father.”
He blinked and looked over at her. “What do you mean?”
“I think you should tell him how you feel,” she stated firmly, then nodded to herself. “I don’t think anyone else could possibly ease your mind or heart the way he could. If you tell him your fears, he may know how best to help you move past them. Or perhaps how to accept them. Only he has ever been in your position.”
Simon, admit to his father that he didn’t think he measured up? It was, in that moment, a horrifying thought. To tell the man he most admired that he feared he fell short of the mark—wouldn’t that disappoint the duke? Wouldn’t he feel that Simon ought to have more confidence and courage?
He had to gulp back the fear that rose when he wondered, for the briefest moment, if his father might agree with him. Even though the duke had never even hinted at such a thing. What if Simon’s doubts gave his father anewreason to doubt his ability to fill his future role?
“Perhaps I should. Someday.” That was the most he could say.
Isleen did not press him for more. “For what it is worth, Simon Dinard, Lord Farleigh,” she said, a gentle curl to her lips. “I think you are a fine man. For more than a few reasons, I might add.”
He nearly asked her what those reasons were—but the castle came into sight, along with several servants scuttling about the estate preparing a sleigh. Likely forming the very rescue party Andrew had predicted.
And their conversation came to an end.
CHAPTER16
Isleen hadn’t spoken of Sean to a stranger in a long time. Of course, she couldn’t really count Simon as a stranger anymore. He had become a friend and a confidant. In the days since the snow storm, they hadn’t spoken alone again. But they’d sat together in the evenings, surrounded by his family and friends, sometimes neighbors, while everyone chatted.
She’d caught him reading from the poetry book she had given him twice and asked teasingly if he’d picked a piece for recitation yet. Simon had raised one dark eyebrow at her and refused to answer both times.
They’d laughed together with the children in the nursery, playing games with them while Mrs. Robinson rested. The poor governess had developed a slight cold that made her tired every afternoon. Doubtless, another servant could’ve looked after the four youngsters. But Isleen had volunteered, and Simon had wound up in the nursery every afternoon with her.
Today, it had started to snow again. Isleen sat in a window seat in the empty ballroom. Most of what had fallen during the storm had melted in the sunshine, but it seemed winter had decided to come a few days earlier than the traditional change in seasons.
The longest night of the year approached, as did the Christmas festivities, and Isleen didn’t miss Ireland as much as she thought she would.
Darrie sat on the other side of the window seat, mending a torn scrap of lace on one of Isleen’s shawls. “I cannot help but wonder, miss, how their graces will have a big party with snow falling.”
“The rest of their house guests will arrive tomorrow. I’m certain the road will be safe enough for them.” Isleen leaned her forehead against the glass. Some of the diamond-shaped pains were red and blue, others clear. It made for a pretty place to sit and look, even if she looked out over the small courtyard in the center of the castle. “And then if it keeps snowing, everyone will be cozy together.”
“The servants will miss going down to the village,” Darrie remarked with a grin. “The maids go every chance they can, so as to flirt with the farmers and merchant’s sons.”
Isleen laughed. “I don’t blame them. Flirting is a grand way to pass the time.” She gave her maid a knowing grin. “Do you do your share of flirting?”
“Sometimes,” Darrie admitted. “That gardener we met the day you were painting, he likes to talk to me well enough. And I don’t mind the attention.”
No, Isleen wouldn’t mind that sort of attention either. If she had any. There were moments when she thought Simon flirted with her, but then—no. The man knew how to act the part of a kind host. A good friend. That was all he was. All he could be.
Simon would one day be a duke. And she would always be an Irish nobody, in comparison. Best to just let things be.
A soft, certain female voice called to her. “Miss Frost. Here you are.”
The maid leaped to her feet, and Isleen stood quickly, too. They both curtsied, Darrie sinking nearly to the floor, as Cecilia, Her Grace the Duchess of Montfort, glided across the ballroom floor toward them.
