Page 7 of Miss Murchison’s Mistletoe Memories

“My mother believed in a thorough education,” Èibhlin replied, careful not to appear either boastful or false in her modesty. “Though I fear that my accomplishments pale in comparison to what is expected in London society.”

“Nonsense,” Aunt Muireall said sharply. “My niece plays the pianoforte beautifully, and speaks French and Italian with perfect accent. She also reads Latin, and has a fair hand with watercolours.”

The Duke’s eyebrows rose.

“Latin? That is unusual for a young lady.”

Èibhlin felt her cheeks warm under his gaze.

“My father believed it essential for understanding classical literature. Though I confess I found Virgil rather tedious.”

“While Homer was more to your taste,” the Duke said, surprising her. At her startled look, he added, “You mentioned it once, during a particularly heavy downpour that kept us confined to the library at Greenfell Holt. You said that you preferred the Iliad to the Aeneid because the heroes seemed more human in their flaws.”

The fact that he remembered such a detail from their childhood conversations left her momentarily speechless.

“I... yes, that is precisely what I believed.”

“And do you still?”

“I do,” she replied, finding her voice again. “Though perhaps with a better understanding now of why Aeneas made the choices that he did. Duty can be a powerful motivator.”

Something flickered in the Duke’s eyes — a recognition, perhaps, of the weight of his own duties.

“Indeed it can.”

“I was not aware that Scottish education was so... comprehensive,” the Duchess remarked, her tone suggesting that she found the matter curious rather than impressive.

“Scotland has a long tradition of valuing education, Your Grace,” Aunt Muireall said with unmistakable pride. “Our universities are among the oldest and most respected in Europe.”

“How fascinating,” the Duchess murmured, in a way that suggested it was quite the opposite. “And what of your social education, Miss Èibhlin? I gather that you have had limited exposure to formal society.”

Èibhlin took a small sip of wine, gathering her thoughts.

“That is true, Your Grace. Since my mother’s passing, we have lived quite quietly at Felldale. But she ensured that I was well-versed in proper etiquette and deportment before her death.”

“Lady Felldale was always the epitome of grace,” the Duke said unexpectedly. “I remember how kind she was during my visits. She had a gift for making everyone feel welcome, regardless of their station.”

The simple tribute to her mother brought a lump to Èibhlin’s throat.

“Thank you, Your Grace. She would have been touched by your remembrance.”

The Duchess’ lips thinned slightly.

“Yes, Lady Felldale was indeed a gracious hostess. It is fortunate that Miss Èibhlin had such guidance in her formative years. London society can be most unforgiving to those who are not properly prepared.”

“I’m sure that my niece will acquit herself admirably,” Aunt Muireall said, her tone defensive. “She may not have been presented at Court, but she is hardly an untutored savage.”

An uncomfortable silence fell over the table. Èibhlin fixed her gaze on her plate, mortified by her aunt’s tactless response. The Duke cleared his throat.

“I have no doubt that Miss Èibhlin will charm everyone she meets,” he said smoothly. “Intelligence and genuine warmth are always more appealing than mere adherence to social convention.”

Èibhlin glanced up, startled by his support. Their eyes met briefly across the table, and she felt again that strange connection, as if some invisible thread linked them across time and circumstance.

“How kind of you to say so, Niall,” the Duchess replied, her voice carrying just the faintest edge. “Though of course, proper manners are essential for navigating the complexities of the ton. I am quite looking forward to introducing Miss Èibhlin to some of our circle. Lord Gregory Armistead, in particular, expressed interest when I mentioned that we would be sponsoring a young lady this Season.”

The Duke’s expression hardened almost imperceptibly.

“Did he indeed? How surprising, given Armistead’s usual indifference to any young lady who lacks either extraordinary beauty or extraordinary fortune.”