Page 43 of Miss Murchison’s Mistletoe Memories

“Yes, please.”

Left momentarily alone, Èibhlin returned to the window, gazing out at the garden where the lanterns now glowed among the trees, their light reflecting off the frost-rimed hedges. Carriages had begun to arrive, depositing elegantly dressed guests at the front entrance.

Soon the house would be filled with music and laughter, with the rustle of silk and the murmur of conversation. And somewhere amid that glittering throng would be Niall — the Duke of Stonemont to everyone else, but in her heart, still the boy who had taught her to skip stones across the loch, who had caught her when she stumbled, whose rare smile transformed his serious features and sent a warmth through her that made the fires burning in every grate pale by comparison.

Aunt Muireall was right about one thing - to dream of impossibilities was to court heartache. Yet as Èibhlin turned from the window, smoothing her hands over the silk of her mother’s final gift, she could not entirely suppress the hope that tonight, for one dance at least, the impossible might momentarily feel within reach.

*****

“The white waistcoat, I think, Parker,” Niall said, studying his reflection in the cheval mirror. “And the sapphire studs rather than the pearl.”

“Very good, Your Grace,” his valet replied, moving to the wardrobe to retrieve the items in question. “A most elegant choice for the occasion.”

Niall adjusted his cravat, careful not to disrupt its folds, frowning slightly at the intricate arrangement. Though he had learned to tolerate the formalities of Ducal dress, he had never developed the passionate interest in fashion that characterised many of his peers. Tonight, however, he found himself unusually concerned with his appearance.

The Ball represented more than just the Stonemont Christmas celebration. It marked Èibhlin’s formal introduction to London society — and perhaps, though he hardly dared acknowledge it even to himself, a turning point in their relationship. Since their expedition to Wildwood Manor, something had changed between them, some barrier had lowered. The memory of her in his arms, of the warmth in her eyes as they had shared reminiscences of Scotland, had remained with him through the busy days of preparation, surfacing in quiet moments like a treasure brought to light.

Yet they had exchanged few words in the intervening time, their paths crossing only briefly amid the household’s bustling preparations. His mother had kept Èibhlin occupied with decorations and arrangements, while duties related to the estate had claimed much of his own attention. He suspected that his mother had been making certain that they were kept apart.

Tonight, however, nothing would prevent him from seeking Èibhlin’s company — from claiming the waltz that he had promised himself, regardless of his mother’s disapproval or Lord Gregory’s evident intentions.

“You seem preoccupied this evening, Your Grace,” Parker observed, helping Niall into the white waistcoat. “Concerned about the Ball, perhaps?”

“Not concerned, precisely,” Niall replied, allowing his valet to fasten the sapphire studs into his shirt. “Merely... anticipatory.”

Parker’s expression remained neutral, though a slight quirk of his eyebrow suggested that he understood more than Niall had explicitly stated.

“The Duchess has outdone herself with the preparations,” he remarked, brushing an invisible speck from Niall’s shoulder. “Mrs Graves tells me that the decorations are particularly fine this year.”

“Indeed.” Niall thought of the elegant draperies, the mistletoe balls hanging in strategic locations throughout the house, of the evergreen boughs and holly that adorned every mantelpiece and archway. “The greenery from Wildwood Manor proved most effective.”

“So I understand, sir.” Parker handed Niall his signet ring, his manner as composed as ever despite the subtle undercurrent in their conversation. “Miss Èibhlin’s assistance was apparently most valuable in the arrangements.”

The mention of her name sent a now-familiar warmth through Niall’s chest.

“She has a natural eye for beauty,” he said, slipping the ring onto his finger. “A quality not sufficiently appreciated by some, I fear.”

“Beauty takes many forms, Your Grace,” Parker replied, with the philosophical air that occasionally emerged in their private conversations. “And is perceived differently according to the observer’s perspective.”

Niall glanced at his valet, suspecting a deeper meaning in the seemingly casual observation.

“A profound point, Parker. Though society often imposes a rather narrow definition of what constitutes appropriate admiration.”

“Society’s definitions are not always aligned with more essential truths,” Parker said, adjusting the fall of Niall’s coat with practiced hands. “History suggests that those who recognise this discrepancy sometimes find a more enduring satisfaction than those who merely follow convention.”

It was as close to direct advice as Parker would ever come, and Niall found himself oddly touched by the subtle encouragement.

Whatever his valet might have observed or suspected about his feelings for Èibhlin, it seemed that he did not judge them as inappropriate or unwise.

“A perspective worth considering,” Niall acknowledged, meeting Parker’s gaze in the mirror. “Though the practical application may prove... challenging.”

“Challenges often reveal character, sir,” Parker replied, stepping back to assess the overall effect of Niall’s appearance. “Both in those who face them and in those who observe the effort.”

The cryptic response gave Niall pause. Was Parker suggesting that Èibhlin might value the attempt to overcome obstacles, regardless of the outcome? Or merely offering a general platitude about adversity and growth?

Before he could pursue the thought further, a distant clock chimed the half hour, reminding him that the first guests would be arriving shortly. As Duke, he would have to stand beside his mother in the entrance hall, greeting each arrival with the proper degree of warmth and dignity. Tedious formality. But necessary.

“I believe that you are ready, Your Grace,” Parker announced, his professional manner returning as their private conversation concluded. “You will do the Stonemont name proud this evening.”