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When the woman at his side spoke again, it was with a lowered voice. “I am sorry for that, my lord. I didn’t laugh at you, merely at my own suppositions. I genuinely thought you considered yourself my superior in more than birth. I am rather on the defensive here on English shores, as most Irish folk would be.”
“Oh.” Really, what could he say to that? “I am…relieved.”
“I assure you, Lord Farleigh, I have no plans—matrimonial or otherwise—for you during my stay at Castle Clairvoir.”
Nothing had ever mortified him quite like Miss Frost’s calm assurance. How he must have sounded to her—the arrogance and presumption. Before he could offer up a defense for his earlier statement and assure her he didn’t think every woman he met had designs on him—even though most did, he felt certain—Andrew took Miss Frost’s attention in a conversation about horses.
As Simon listened, he realized she knew just enough on that subject to converse as intelligently as she had on the other topics they had spoken about. The woman slid easily from one topic to the next, well-versed to a degree that made her conversation flow easily and her questions intelligent.
The chatter continued around him, along with the clinking of crystal and cutlery as people enjoyed the meal, none of them guessing the sudden shock that had befallen the heir to the castle in which they sat.
Simon used his fork to push a purple carrot from one side of his plate to the other, though his appetite had fled. Then he hid behind his wine glass for a moment before pretending an interest in his mother and sister’s conversation.
Despite what Miss Frost had claimed before, she had all the makings of a perfect politician. She reminded him a bit of his father’s ward, Emma. Emma took an active interest in politics, theater, and literature. She was the perfect wife for her ambassador husband, and he’d heard many accounts of how well she had acted as hostess at the embassy where she and her husband resided.
Lord Dunmore was lucky to have a sister such as Ileen on his side.
Simon had stumbled today in his hosting duties, and that stung his pride. His father never made such a fool of himself; Simon had thought his days of blundering over words in conversation long behind him.
At nearly seven and twenty, awkward social moments ought to be squarely in his past. And yet, here he was. How had one misinterpreted conversation with a woman demoralized him so?
When the women rose from the table a short time later, he still hadn’t found a satisfying explanation.
With Miss Frost gone, Simon had a direct line up the table to see Sir Andrew and the Duke both staring at him, somewhat expectantly. He cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon, Father. I haven’t been attentive to the conversation. Did you ask me something?”
Lord Dunmore glanced between Simon and his father, seeming more confused than expectant.
The duke’s mouth twitched briefly, as though he wanted to smile but fought the urge. “I asked what you thought of Miss Frost. She and Josephine seemed to get along well.”
Andrew chuckled. “They allied against Simon within moments of coming together this evening.”
Folding his arms, Simon cut a glance at his best friend. “You didn’t come to my defense, I noticed.”
“I have plenty of my own debates to win with my wife, Simon. I don’t need to take part in yours.” His grin was far cockier than usual. Marriage hadn’t changed Andrew’s playful nature or his high opinion of himself. Though it had made him a great deal happier, for which Simon was grateful.
“Wise words for a new husband.” The duke poured brandy into a glass and offered it to Andrew. “If Josephine is fond of Miss Frost, she will do all she can to make her feel at home. I hope that puts you at ease, Dunmore.”
“It does, Your Grace.” He relaxed into an easier posture. “I looked in on Fiona before dinner. She seemed pleased with her welcome by your younger children.”
The duke’s smile warmed. “Good. I hope we give her a holiday she will fondly remember.” He had a soft spot for children, Simon well knew. His father had always made a point of treating children, his own and any others he came upon, with respect and as though their words and feelings had value.
Though the conversation moved through other topics that Simon ought to have paid attention to, especially given his place as heir, his mind stayed snagged on Miss Frost’s words. Rather like a wool scarf might stick on a protruding door handle, causing distress even if it did not cause damage.
Why had the idea of setting her cap for him caused such mirth? And why did it bother him? People took him seriously. They always had. Even his own family treated him with respect when he stood as the heir to his father’s title. His grandmother rarely even called him by his Christian name, insisting it was more appropriate to use his title.
Somehow, and without looking like an even greater clod, he wanted to understand what had made his way of thinking so very absurd to the pretty Irish woman.
CHAPTER3
At eleven o’clock the next morning, Josephine dragged Simon out of the library and down to the main floor. “I will not give this tour with Andrew,” she said as she pulled him along. “You know how he likes to make up stories about our ancestors, and I cannot listen to his joke about Great-Grandfather Charles and the beagle again.”
“I thought you and Andrew couldn’t get enough of one another’s company,” Simon said, by way of complaint that he had been pulled away from a book.
“Oh, I adore him. Do not mistake me on that matter. I merely do not wish our poor guests to bear witness to his ridiculous antics. If Emma had arrived already, I would ask her to join us. But as she is not here, and Mother has the headache, so I am left with you.”
“You flatter me,” he said, the words dry of all sincerity.
They had arrived at the divided stair, and he could hear the voices of their guests in the guardroom where they had met the day before. Josephine pulled him to a stop, pretended to wipe his shoulders free of dust, then nodded once. “Yes, I suppose you will have to do.”
