Page 20 of Miss Murchison’s Mistletoe Memories

Yet even as he formed the thought, he knew it for the lie that it was.

*****

Èibhlin sat perfectly still, her hands folded in her lap, her expression one of polite interest as Miss Harrington performed a complex piece on the pianoforte. Around her, the assembled guests maintained a similar facade of attention, though she noted several stifled yawns and whispered conversations despite the performer’s technical skill.

Her own thoughts were far from the music. Since their eyes had met across the room earlier, she had been acutely aware of Niall’s presence, though she had carefully refrained from looking in his direction again. The Duchess, seated beside her, seemed unusually alert, her gaze moving frequently between Èibhlin and her son.

It was as if she sensed some undercurrent between them — a notion that filled Èibhlin with both alarm and a strange, secret pleasure.

“Stonemont appears to be in good spirits this evening,” the Duchess remarked softly, as Miss Harrington concluded her piece to polite applause. “He is not typically fond of such gatherings.”

Èibhlin kept her expression neutral.

“His Grace is most considerate to attend, then.”

“Indeed,” the Duchess murmured, her eyes sharp with speculation. “Though I suspect that his attendance has less to do with consideration than with... curiosity.”

Before Èibhlin could respond to this cryptic comment, Lady Harrington approached, accompanied by a tall, fair-haired young man with a languid air and a most fashionably arranged cravat.

“My dear Duchess, Miss Èibhlin, Miss Murchison — may I present Lord Gregory Armistead? He has expressed particular interest in making your acquaintance, Miss Èibhlin.”

Èibhlin curtsied as Lord Gregory bowed with practiced elegance.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, my Lord.”

“The pleasure is entirely mine, Miss Èibhlin,” he replied, his voice carrying a note of affected boredom that seemed at odds with his words. “I understand that you are from Scotland? How... refreshing to have new blood in our little circle.”

There was something in his tone — a subtle condescension — that reminded Èibhlin of Mrs Chamberlain. She maintained her smile with effort.

“London society has been most welcoming thus far, my Lord.”

“Has it indeed?” Lord Gregory’s eyebrows rose slightly. “How gracious of you to say so. We can be rather particular about newcomers, especially those from the... provinces.”

“Scotland is hardly a province, Lord Gregory,” Aunt Muireall interjected sharply. “It is a proud nation with its own ancient traditions and nobility.”

“Of course, of course,” he said, waving a dismissive hand. “No offence intended, I assure you. I merely meant that London society has its own particular customs and expectations. But I’m sure Miss Èibhlin will adapt admirably.”

The Duchess intervened smoothly.

“Miss Èibhlin has already demonstrated a natural grace that many young ladies might envy, Lord Gregory. I have every confidence in her success.”

“As do I,” he replied, his gaze lingering on Èibhlin in a way that made her slightly uncomfortable. “Perhaps you might honour me with the first dance later this evening, Miss Èibhlin? I understand that Lady Harrington intends to clear the floor after the performances.”

Before Èibhlin could respond, the Duchess spoke.

“I believe that Miss Èibhlin’s first dance is already promised to my son, Lord Gregory. But perhaps the second?”

Èibhlin felt a jolt of surprise — and pleasure — at this unexpected declaration. She had exchanged no such agreement with Niall, yet she could hardly contradict the Duchess in public. Lord Gregory’s expression flickered briefly before settling back into its usual languid hauteur.

“The second dance would be most acceptable. Until then, Miss Èibhlin.”

With a bow that encompassed them all, he moved away, rejoining a group of fashionably dressed young men near the windows. The Duchess turned to Èibhlin with a smile that did not quite reach her eyes.

“You must forgive my presumption, my dear. But I thought that you might appreciate a moment to collect yourself before engaging with Lord Gregory. He can be somewhat... overwhelming... for those not accustomed to his manner.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Èibhlin replied, uncertain whether to feel grateful or manipulated. “Though I would not wish to impose upon the Duke if he has other plans.”

“Nonsense,” the Duchess said firmly. “Niall understands his duties as your host. And a dance with him will establish your standing in this gathering most effectively.”