Chapter Two #2
“Oh, it was nothing of significance,” Aunt Muireall interjected. “Merely the usual country pursuits. Children will amuse themselves however they can in such isolated places.”
“Indeed,” the Duke said, his brief moment of warmth fading as quickly as it had appeared. He took a sip of sherry, his expression once more unreadable. “Though I did find Scotland’s wilder aspects rather refreshing after the constraints of London.”
èibhlin sensed a deeper meaning behind his words, a longing perhaps, for the freedom he had once known. But before she could pursue the thought, Hartwell returned to announce that dinner was served.
“Excellent,” the Duchess said, rising. “Niall, will you escort Miss èibhlin? I shall accompany Miss Murchison.”
The Duke offered his arm, and èibhlin placed her gloved hand lightly upon it, acutely aware of his solid presence beside her. As they followed the Duchess and Aunt Muireall from the room, she could not help but marvel at the strange twist of fate that had brought them together again.
“I must confess,” he said, his voice low enough that only she could hear, “I was surprised to learn of your visit. Your father rarely ventures to London, as I recall.”
“He still avoids it whenever possible,” she replied. “But he feels that I should experience a Season, and your mother was kind enough to offer her sponsorship.”
“I see.” His tone revealed nothing of his thoughts. “And how do you find London thus far?”
“I have seen very little of it yet, Your Grace. Though Stonemont House is certainly impressive.”
He glanced down at her, a flicker of something — amusement? curiosity? — passing across his features.
“There is no need for such formality between old acquaintances, Miss èibhlin. At least not when we are not in company.”
The intimacy of his suggestion sent a flutter through her chest.
“Then what should I call you? Surely not Niall, as I did when we were children.”
“And why not?” A shadow of his former smile appeared briefly. “Though perhaps not in my mother’s hearing. She has very definite ideas about proper address.”
èibhlin glanced ahead to where the Duchess walked with her aunt, their postures stiff, their conversation clearly forced.
“Yes, I had rather gathered that impression.”
They entered the dining room, a magnificent space dominated by a long mahogany table set with gleaming silver and crystal.
Candles burned in ornate silver candelabra, casting a warm glow over the rich crimson wallpaper.
A footman moved forward to pull out èibhlin’s chair, and she reluctantly released the Duke’s arm.
As they settled into their places — the Duke at the head of the table, the Duchess at the foot, with èibhlin and Aunt Muireall on either side — èibhlin felt the weight of the Duchess’ scrutiny. There was something calculating in the older woman’s gaze, as if she were assessing a potential threat.
“I understand from your father’s letter that you are quite accomplished, Miss èibhlin,” the Duchess said as the first course was served. “He mentioned your proficiency in music and languages.”
“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.”
“Niall,” the Duchess chided, though her eyes glinted with something like satisfaction. “Lord Gregory is the son of the Earl of Codhampton. His interest is a compliment to Miss èibhlin.”
“Is it?” the Duke murmured, his gaze returning to èibhlin with an intensity that made her breath catch. “I suppose that depends on the nature of his interest.”
The undercurrent of tension between mother and son was palpable. èibhlin took another sip of wine, uncertain how to respond to the discussion of a man she had never met.
“I am grateful for any introductions Her Grace sees fit to make,” she said finally, choosing her words with care. “Though I have come to London primarily to learn and observe, not to seek particular attention.”
“A modest ambition,” the Duke said, “though I suspect that you will receive attention regardless of whether you seek it.”
Was that a compliment? èibhlin felt heat rise to her cheeks again. The Duke’s expression revealed nothing, but she thought that she detected a certain warmth in his eyes which belied his neutral tone.
The rest of the dinner passed in more general conversation.
The Duchess spoke of the upcoming Christmas festivities, including events which she planned to host. Aunt Muireall offered stilted observations about the weather and the journey from Scotland.
The Duke said little, though èibhlin was acutely aware of his gaze returning to her throughout the meal.
When the final course had been cleared, the Duchess rose.
“Shall we withdraw, ladies? Niall, I trust that you will not linger too long over your port.”
“Of course not, Mother,” he replied, standing as the women prepared to leave. “Miss Murchison, Miss èibhlin — it has been a pleasure dining with you.”
As èibhlin followed the Duchess and her aunt from the room, she felt the Duke’s eyes upon her. She glanced back, just once, and found him watching her with an expression she could not quite decipher — something between curiosity and constraint, as if he were holding himself deliberately in check.
The drawing room seemed colder without his presence, despite the fire burning in the grate.
*****
Niall Smythe, Duke of Stonemont, watched as the ladies walked from the room, his eyes lingering on Miss èibhlin’s slim figure.
She was beautiful, without a doubt, and everything proper, but the bright cheerful girl he had known years before seemed still to be there, just beneath that polished surface.
Which pleased him, far more than he supposed it should.