Page 24 of Miss Murchison’s Mistletoe Memories

“Your Grace,” he drawled, offering a bow that managed to be both correct and slightly dismissive. “Delightful to see you again. And Lady Westmoreland, Sir Thomas, Lady Blackwood — what a select gathering.”

“Lord Gregory,” Niall acknowledged, maintaining his composure with effort. There was something about the younger man’s manner that set his teeth on edge — a combination of entitlement and condescension that reminded him unpleasantly of certain senior military officers he had encountered. “Welcome to Stonemont House.”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” Lord Gregory replied, his gaze already moving past Niall to survey the entrance hall with its elegant furnishings and seasonal decorations. “I see you’ve embraced the Christmas spirit. All these evergreens and ribbons — quite festive, if a touch provincial.”

The casual criticism, delivered with a smile that suggested it was meant as a compliment, sparked a flare of irritation in Niall’s chest. Before he could respond, however, his mother appeared at the top of the stairs, Èibhlin and Miss Murchison behind her.

“Ah, our guests have arrived,” the Duchess said, descending with regal grace. “How delightful to see you all.”

Niall’s irritation was momentarily forgotten as his gaze fixed on Èibhlin. She wore a gown of pale green silk that complemented her colouring perfectly, her rich auburn hair arranged in an elegant style that framed her face. She looked, he thought with a sudden ache in his chest, like spring itself — fresh and lovely and full of quiet promise.

Lord Gregory clearly shared this opinion, for he stepped forward immediately, bowing over Èibhlin’s hand with exaggerated gallantry.

“Miss Èibhlin, you are a vision this evening. That shade of green — most becoming.”

“Thank you, Lord Gregory,” Èibhlin replied, her voice composed, though Niall thought that he detected a hint of wariness in her expression. “You are too kind.”

“Not at all,” Lord Gregory insisted, retaining her hand a moment longer than strictly necessary. “Merely honest. A rare quality in London society, as I’m sure you’ve discovered.”

As the company moved towards the drawing room for pre-dinner drinks, Niall found himself watching the interaction with growing unease. Lord Gregory had positioned himself at Èibhlin’s side, effectively monopolising her attention with a stream of what appeared to be compliments and observations. Though her responses were polite, Niall thought that he detected a certain tension in her posture, a careful distance in her smile.

Or perhaps he was simply seeing what he wished to see. After all, Lord Gregory was exactly the sort of suitor that a young lady in Èibhlin’s position might welcome — wealthy, well-connected, and heir to a title that, while not as elevated as a Dukedom, was nonetheless prestigious.

If his manner was somewhat affected, his conversation rather self-absorbed, these were hardly disqualifications in the marriage market of the ton.

“Your mother seems pleased with the developing acquaintance,” Lady Westmoreland murmured, appearing at Niall’s side with the stealth of a lifelong social tactician. “Lord Gregory is considered quite a catch, despite his... idiosyncrasies.”

Niall maintained his neutral expression with effort.

“My mother is naturally gratified to see Miss Èibhlin making connections in society. That is, after all, the purpose of her stay with us.”

“Indeed?” Lady Westmoreland’s tone suggested that she found this explanation not all that she had expected. “How very... altruistic of you both. Though I confess I was surprised when Amelia announced her intention to sponsor a young lady this Season. She has never shown particular interest in such endeavours before.”

“Miss Èibhlin’s father is an old friend,” Niall replied, the explanation sounding hollow even to his own ears. “When he expressed his wish for his daughter to experience London society, we could hardly refuse.”

“Of course not,” Lady Westmoreland agreed, though her eyes held a knowing gleam that Niall found distinctly uncomfortable. “And how fortunate that the connection has proved so... mutually beneficial.”

Before Niall could decipher this cryptic remark, the butler announced that dinner was served. As host, it fell to Niall to escort Lady Westmoreland, while Lord Gregory, with obvious satisfaction, offered his arm to Èibhlin. The Duchess took Sir Thomas’ arm, leaving Miss Murchison to the company of the Countess of Blackwood, and her daughter to follow behind.

The dining room gleamed with candlelight, the long table set with the Stonemont silver and finest crystal. Evergreen boughs adorned the sideboard, their fresh scent mingling with the aromas of the first course as it was brought in. The Duchess had seated Lord Gregory beside Èibhlin, with Sir Thomas on her other side — an arrangement that placed her directly opposite Niall, who found himself flanked by Lady Westmoreland and Lady Anne.

As the first course was served — a delicate soup of winter vegetables — Lord Gregory immediately engaged Èibhlin in conversation, his manner suggesting a degree of intimacy that their brief acquaintance hardly warranted.

“I was just telling Miss Èibhlin about my father’s estate in Derbyshire,” he announced to the table at large, though his gaze remained fixed on Èibhlin. “Codhampton Park has been in our family for six generations. The house itself dates from the early sixteen hundreds, though my grandfather made substantial improvements to the east wing.”

“How fascinating,” the Duchess murmured, with a meaningful glance at Èibhlin. “I believe that Miss Èibhlin’s family seat is of similar antiquity, though Scottish castles tend to be rather more... defensive... in their construction.”

“Felldale Castle has parts dating from the thirteen hundreds,” Aunt Muireall said, with unexpected pride. “Though it has been extensively modernised over the years. My brother maintains it to the highest standards.”

“Castles can be so... draughty,” Lord Gregory remarked, with a slight smile which suggested that he found the concept quaint rather than impressive. “Though I suppose there’s a certain romantic appeal to all those towers and battlements. Like something from a Gothic novel.”

“Felldale is perfectly comfortable,” Èibhlin replied, a hint of steel beneath her polite tone. “Though it does retain many historical features which we value for their connection to our heritage.”

“Of course, of course,” Lord Gregory said, waving a dismissive hand. “Heritage is important, I quite agree. Though progress must also be embraced, must it not? My father has introduced the latest agricultural improvements at Codhampton. Our yields have increased dramatically as a result.”

The conversation continued in this vein throughout the first course, with Lord Gregory expounding on the virtues of Codhampton Park and his father’s various improvements and innovations.

Occasionally he would pause to ask Èibhlin a question, only to interrupt her response with further observations of his own.