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He turned to face his father.
“Good luck with Miss Frost.”
Given the way his father smiled at him, Simon thought it best not to question what the duke meant. His father rarely teased his children, but it was best to leave off speaking about any single young women. Simon kept his response to a mere bow, then went on his way.
Good luck with Miss Frost.He was a duke’s son. He didn’t need to impress anyone. Nor did he need luck. Especially where a temporary houseguest was concerned.
Simon had too much else to worry about. Miss Frost was the least of his concerns.
CHAPTER2
Isleen’s annoyance with the handsome and—Arrogant? Smug? Proud?—irritating Lord Farleigh diminished somewhat as she rested in her well-appointed guest bedroom. By the time she rose to prepare for dinner, the Irish woman had sorted him out.
She, not the lordling, had equated his indifferent tone and treatment with her place of origin. He hadn’t said a word against Ireland. Nor had Teague made it seem as though either the duke or his heir were prejudiced against Dubliners.
She slipped into the gown Darrie, her maid, had pressed for the evening. Admiring the fabric even as she eviscerated a certain nobleman in her thoughts.
Lord Farleigh had stated thatyoung womenwere overwhelmed by his mother’s knowledge of building. He hadn’t actually said anything directly about her Irishness causing an intellectual lack. Though casting dispersions on her sex certainly did him no credit. Men thought themselves so clever when they put women down, and it always disappointed her. A man like Lord Farleigh, with such a clever mother, ought to know better.
Obviously, the man needed work when it came to his view on female intelligence. Since that wasn’t her responsibility—not in the least—Isleen dismissed the earl from her mind and focused on pleasanter things.
Isleen wore a gown of deep blue, the material thick and warm despite her bare arms. The gloves laying on her dressing table would help, at least until dinner. How they kept rooms in a castle warm in winter, she couldn’t guess. The duke likely spent a small fortune on coal and wood.
Arriving at the castle weeks ahead of the Christmas celebration meant that Isleen’s family needed to incorporate themselves into the daily routines of the duke’s household. It meant their personal servants had to do the same.
“Are your quarters comfortable, Darrie?” Isleen asked her maid while the younger woman helped twist her hair upward and back into a cascade of spiraling curls. “If you need anything changed, you have but to tell me.”
“Everythin’ is nice enough, miss. They put me in a room with Lady Dunmore’s maid, and that Lady Wycomb’s maid, too. The three of us will get along fine.” Darrie was only eighteen, but she had quick fingers and a kind disposition that Isleen had always liked. Mrs. Walsh, her mother’s maid, had a stern disposition. Isleen had rejoiced four years ago when her brother had finally deemed it time for her to have her own maid.
“That doesn’t sound too terrible.”
“Tis not.” Darrie tucked a sprig of baby’s breath into the curls. Then changed her mind and took it out in favor of a pin with a pearl on the end. “Your brother’s man settled us in with the servants right quick. There’s so many lords and ladies, and the duke, duchess, and duke’s own mother, all with servants that have their own places at the table. It’s more than I could keep track of.”
Even the servants sat down in an hierarchal order when they took their meals. Something many saw as natural order, she saw as rather useless. They were not hens, to peck each other into line. But she smiled at her maid through the mirror’s reflection.
“I’m glad O’Neal is looking out for all of you.” Darrie was shorter than Isleen, and slight of build, but the girl had the same fight in her that most Irish females possessed. She wouldn’t let anyone mistreat her. “I hope you make new friends while we are here and enjoy whatever you can of the countryside. It isn’t like Dublin, where you can slip out to the pub with ease.”
“It isn’t, miss. I told Mrs. Walsh we’d have done better to bring mountain climbing equipment with us to get down and up to the castle again.” The maid giggled, and Isleen couldn’t help grinning as well.
“Thank you, Darrie.” Isleen rose from the dressing table and picked up her ivory-colored gloves. “Now I’m away to eat with the English. I shouldn’t need any help tonight, so take your evening to do what you please with it.”
Her brother and mother waited in the corridor to walk with Isleen through the castle, led by a liveried footman through twists and turns until they came to a sitting room where members of the duke’s family waited. Sarah, the duke’s mother and dowager duchess, immediately welcomed Isleen’s mother to sit with her and the younger duchess at a set of chairs near the fire.
The duke’s eldest daughter had arrived that afternoon, and Lord Farleigh had already introduced them. Lady Josephine Wycomb, called Lady Josephine because her birth rank was higher than her baronet husband’s, had immediately struck Isleen as an interesting individual.
“Ah, Miss Frost,” Sir Andrew, Lady Josephine’s husband, greeted her first. “Thank goodness you are here. Please, come sit beside my wife and speak to her of books. I cannot discussThe Modern Prometheuswith her to her satisfaction.” He shuddered. “I find it too grim a tale, to be truthful.”
“I preferIvanhoemyself,” Lord Farleigh added from where he stood beside a large window. The sky behind him was dark as though it were midnight, though the clock had yet to strike seven.
Isleen had settled in the seat next to Lady Josephine, as bidden, and so faced the lord as he made this declaration. Teague took an unoccupied chair to her left. When she exchanged a glance with her brother, he was smirking.
Did he mean to encourage her to enter the debate?
“Ivanhoe?” Isleen would not, of course, admit that she also liked that book better than the grimmerFrankenstein. “Are you a romantic, Lord Farleigh? Or merely fond of tales with Robin Hood and tournaments?”
Isleen pressed her lips together over her sharp tongue. No one here knew her well enough for her to exercise her wit. Especially when her tone held an edge for the duke’s eldest son and him alone.
Lady Josephine laughed lightly, and Isleen forced a smile as the lady spoke for her brother. “It cannot be the romance he favors. Simon isn’t the least bit interested in the longing sighs of heroes for their fair maidens. Are you, brother?”
