Chapter Seven #2
“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.
Niall observed this exchange with growing irritation.
From his position across the table, he could see èibhlin’s increasing discomfort, though she maintained her composure with admirable grace.
Once or twice their eyes met briefly, and he thought that he detected a plea for rescue in her gaze before she returned her attention to Lord Gregory’s monologue.
“And what of your interests, Miss èibhlin?” Sir Thomas asked, during a rare pause in Lord Gregory’s discourse. “I recall that you mentioned a fondness for music at Lady Harrington’s gathering.”
“Yes, I enjoy playing the pianoforte,” èibhlin replied, with evident relief at the change of subject. “And reading, of course. My father’s library at Felldale is quite extensive.”
“Reading?” Lord Gregory’s eyebrows rose slightly. “How... intellectual of you. Though I suppose one must find some occupation during those long Scottish winters. What sort of books do you prefer? Poetry and novels, I imagine, like most young ladies?”
There was a patronising note in his voice that made Niall’s hand tighten around his soup spoon. èibhlin’s expression remained pleasant, though he noted a slight lift of her chin which suggested that she had not missed the condescension.
“I enjoy a variety of literature,” she said evenly. “Poetry and novels, certainly, but also history, philosophy, and classical texts. My father believes in a well-rounded education.”
“How progressive of him,” Lord Gregory remarked, with a smile that did not reach his eyes.
“Though I wonder if such... unconventional... learning might not be somewhat wasted on a young lady. After all, a woman’s natural sphere is the home, is it not?
The management of a household, the raising of children — these are surely her most important duties. ”
“Education enhances rather than detracts from those duties,” èibhlin replied, her voice cool but composed. “A well-informed mind is an asset in any sphere, I believe.”
“Well said, Miss èibhlin,” Lady Westmoreland interjected, with a sharp glance at Lord Gregory. “Though perhaps not a view universally shared in certain circles.”
An uncomfortable silence fell over the table.
Niall found himself torn between admiration for èibhlin’s dignified response and concern that her evident intelligence might be viewed as a liability rather than an asset by potential suitors.
Lord Gregory, in particular, seemed taken aback by her quiet assertion, his expression suggesting that he was unused to being challenged, however politely, by a young lady.
To Niall’s surprise, it was Miss Murchison who broke the tension.
“Lord Gregory, I understand from the Duchess that your family’s estate in Derbyshire includes extensive hunting grounds. My brother – Miss Eibhlin’s father, is quite the sportsman. Perhaps you might elaborate on the game to be found at Codhampton?”
It was a masterful redirection, appealing directly to Lord Gregory’s pride in his family’s property, while steering the conversation away from the potentially contentious topic of female education.
Lord Gregory seized the opportunity with evident relief, launching into a detailed description of Codhampton’s pheasant coverts and trout streams.
As he spoke, Miss Murchison caught èibhlin’s eye and gave a small, approving nod, as if to say, ‘This is a better direction’. The Duchess, too, seemed pleased by the change in topic, her expression softening as she observed Lord Gregory’s renewed animation.
Niall watched this silent exchange with growing disbelief. It seemed that both his own mother and Miss Murchison — who had agreed on virtually nothing since the Murchisons’ arrival — were united in their apparent approval of Lord Gregory as a potential suitor for èibhlin.
The realisation sent a cold weight settling in his stomach, a sensation he was reluctantly forced to identify as jealousy. The emotion was as unwelcome as it was inappropriate. He had no claim on èibhlin, no right to resent another man’s attentions to her.
She was free to form attachments as she chose, and Lord Gregory, despite his self-absorption and condescension, was objectively a suitable match for her.
As Duke of Stonemont, Niall had responsibilities that transcended personal inclination — responsibilities to his title, his estates, and the hundreds of people who depended on him.
Yet as he watched Lord Gregory lean closer to èibhlin, speaking in a lowered voice that suggested intimacy, Niall felt a surge of something dangerously close to anger.
The young Lord’s manner was too familiar, his attention too marked for such a brief acquaintance. And èibhlin, though outwardly composed, had a certain tension in her posture that suggested discomfort rather than pleasure at this proximity.
“Your Grace seems somewhat distracted this evening,” Lady Westmoreland murmured, her voice low enough that only he could hear. “I trust you are not unwell?”
Niall forced his attention back to his dinner companion, schooling his features into a polite smile.
“Not at all, Lady Westmoreland. Merely preoccupied with some estate matters that require my attention tomorrow.”
“I see,” she replied, though her knowing gaze suggested that she saw rather more than he would have wished. “Estate matters can be so demanding, can they not? Particularly when they involve... unexpected developments.”
The pointed comment, coupled with her meaningful glance towards èibhlin and Lord Gregory, left Niall in no doubt that Lady Westmoreland had observed his reaction to their interaction.
He felt a flash of annoyance at his own transparency, followed by a renewed determination to maintain his composure for the rest of the evening.
“All developments require careful management,” he replied neutrally. “But I have found that patience and clear thinking generally prevail in the end.”
“Very wise,” Lady Westmoreland murmured, though the gleam in her eye suggested that she found his response more revealing than he had intended. “Though in my experience, fortune often favours the bold rather than the merely patient.”