Chapter Eight #2
“I shall ensure that they do,” Lord Gregory declared, his gaze moving to èibhlin with unmistakable purpose. “Nothing could induce me to miss such an occasion. Perhaps Miss èibhlin might favour me with a dance, or even two?”
Put on the spot before both her aunt and the Duchess, èibhlin found herself with little choice but to acquiesce.
“If you wish, my Lord,” she replied, hoping that her lack of enthusiasm was not too apparent. “Though I believe that the opening dance is usually led by the host and hostess. I am not certain of the protocols beyond that.”
“The Duke will lead with Lady Westmoreland, as our most distinguished guest,” the Duchess explained, with a dismissive wave. “I see no reason why you should not dance the first with Lord Gregory, if that is your desire.”
The implication was clear — the Duchess not only approved of Lord Gregory’s interest, but was actively facilitating it. èibhlin felt a growing sense of being driven down a path not of her choosing, yet she lacked any graceful means of resistance.
“Then I shall look forward to it, my Lord,” she said, her tone carefully modulated to convey politeness without particular enthusiasm.
Lord Gregory, however, appeared to hear only what he wished to hear.
“Excellent! I shall count the days until then, Miss èibhlin. Though perhaps I might call again before the Ball? I should very much like to continue our... acquaintance.”
“You would be most welcome, Lord Gregory,” the Duchess answered before èibhlin could formulate a response. “Perhaps you might join us for tea one afternoon next week? We shall be engaged with preparations for the Ball, but I’m sure that we can spare an hour for pleasant company.”
“Most generous of you, Your Grace,” he replied, with a bow that managed to convey both gratitude and the assumption that such invitations were his due. “I shall await your convenience.”
After a few more minutes of pleasantries, during which èibhlin maintained her composure through sheer force of will, Lord Gregory finally took his leave. As the door closed behind him, the Duchess turned to èibhlin with an expression of unmistakable satisfaction.
“A most promising development,” she declared, settling herself in the chair which Lord Gregory had vacated. “Lord Gregory’s interest is a significant compliment, Miss èibhlin. His family is one of the oldest in England, and Codhampton Park is said to rival even the royal estates in grandeur.”
“Indeed,” Aunt Muireall agreed, with unusual warmth. “Such attention from the heir to an Earldom is not to be taken lightly, èibhlin. Your father would be most gratified by such a connection.”
èibhlin doubted this assessment.
Her father had always valued character and compatibility over rank or fortune, encouraging her to form her own judgments rather than deferring to society’s expectations. But challenging both her aunt and the Duchess on this point seemed unwise.
“Lord Gregory is certainly... attentive,” she said carefully. “Though our acquaintance is still very brief.”
“All relationships must begin somewhere,” the Duchess observed, with a knowing smile. “And Lord Gregory has made his interest quite clear. The Ball will provide an excellent opportunity for you to become better acquainted in a more... festive... setting.”
“Your Grace is most kind to include him in the invitations,” èibhlin replied, struggling to maintain her diplomatic tone. “Though I would not wish to create expectations that I may be unable to fulfil.”
The Duchess’ expression cooled slightly.
“You would be wise to consider Lord Gregory’s suit with appropriate seriousness, Miss èibhlin. Young ladies in your position are not often favoured with such distinguished attention. Particularly those without... extraordinary advantages... of fortune or connection.”
The gentle reminder of her relatively modest circumstances stung, but èibhlin kept her composure.
“I shall give Lord Gregory’s attention the consideration it deserves, Your Grace. As I would any gentleman who honoured me with his interest.”
“See that you do,” Aunt Muireall added, in uncharacteristic accord with the Duchess. “A young woman’s opportunities are not unlimited, èibhlin. Lord Gregory represents a most advantageous possibility for your future security.”
Trapped between their united expectations, èibhlin could only nod in acknowledgment. As the conversation turned to preparations for the Ball, she retreated into her own thoughts, a sense of confinement growing within her chest.
Lord Gregory’s interest, so clearly encouraged by both her aunt and the Duchess, presented a dilemma she had not anticipated when agreeing to this London visit.
While objectively suitable in terms of rank and fortune, he embodied qualities she found deeply unappealing — condescension thinly veiled as compliments, self-absorption disguised as conversation, a patronising attitude towards her Scottish heritage and her education.
Yet refusing his attentions outright would not only offend the Duchess, whose sponsorship was crucial to her social standing, but would also provoke Aunt Muireall’s displeasure and potentially create awkwardness for the remainder of their stay.
And there was still the matter of the Ball to consider — an event where she would be obliged not only to dance with Lord Gregory but to do so in full view of Niall.
The thought of Niall brought a fresh ache to her heart.
Since their dance at Lady Harrington’s musical evening, they had exchanged few words, their paths rarely crossing within the house.
She missed the brief moments of connection that they had shared, the occasional glimpses of the boy she had known, beneath the formal exterior of the Duke.
Had he noticed Lord Gregory’s attentions at dinner? Had he observed her discomfort, her polite but reserved responses? Or was he too engaged with his own concerns, his own social obligations, to note such details?
These questions remained with her throughout the day, resurfacing that evening as Lucy helped her prepare for bed. The lady’s maid, perceptive as always, noted her preoccupation as she brushed out èibhlin’s hair with gentle strokes.
“You seem troubled, Miss,” she observed, her voice low enough not to carry beyond the bedchamber. “Was Lord Gregory’s visit not to your liking?”
èibhlin met Lucy’s concerned gaze in the mirror, startled by the maid’s directness.
“Is it so obvious?”
“Only to someone who’s watching,” Lucy replied, with a small smile. “And I couldn’t help but notice that you haven’t had much to say to me about dinner tonight. Usually, you tell me a little of your conversation with the Duchess.”
èibhlin sighed, the weight of the day’s events settling more heavily on her shoulders.
“Lord Gregory is... not what I would wish for in a companion, Lucy. Yet the Duchess and my aunt seem determined to encourage his interest.”
“That’s often the way, isn’t it?” Lucy’s tone held a note of sympathy. “The ones who look suitable in all of the supposedly important ways aren’t always the ones who suit our hearts.”
The simple observation, delivered without judgment, brought unexpected tears to èibhlin’s eyes. She blinked them away, unwilling to give in to the emotions which threatened to overwhelm her carefully maintained composure.
“It matters little what my heart might prefer,” she said quietly. “The practical realities of my position cannot be ignored. Lord Gregory represents a connection that most young women in my circumstances would welcome without hesitation.”
“Perhaps,” Lucy acknowledged, setting the brush aside and beginning to plait èibhlin’s hair for the night. “But if you’ll pardon my saying so, Miss, you don’t strike me as the sort of young lady who makes decisions based solely on practical considerations.”
èibhlin couldn’t help but smile at this assessment.
“My mother always said that I had an inconvenient tendency to follow my own judgment rather than convention. It caused her no end of worry.”
“She must have been very proud of you, all the same,” Lucy said softly. “A daughter with a mind of her own is a rare blessing, even if it does make life more complicated.”
The mention of her mother brought the familiar ache of loss, tempered now by time, but never truly absent.
“She would have wanted me to be happy,” èibhlin murmured, almost to herself. “But she would also have understood the importance of making prudent choices.”
As Lucy completed her plait and helped her into her nightrail, èibhlin found herself wondering what her mother would have made of the current situation.
Would she have encouraged Lord Gregory’s suit, as Aunt Muireall did?
Or would she have perceived the mismatch between his values and èibhlin’s, the subtle condescension that underlaid his attentions?
And what would she have thought of Niall — of the man he had become, so different from the boy èibhlin had known, yet with glimpses of that same character still visible beneath the weight of his responsibilities?
Would she have seen, as èibhlin increasingly feared she did herself, the impossible attraction growing in her daughter’s heart?
These questions remained unanswered as èibhlin bid Lucy goodnight and slipped beneath the covers.
Outside, a light snow had begun to fall, dusting the windowsill with delicate crystals that caught the moonlight.
She watched them accumulate, each unique flake adding to the growing blanket of white, and thought of Felldale Castle, of the wild beauty of the Scottish winter, of her father sitting by the fire in his library, perhaps reading one of the letters she had dutifully sent each week.
How simple life had seemed there, how uncomplicated.
Yet she could not pretend, even to herself, that she wished to return — not yet, not before.
.. before what? Before seeing whether the tenuous connection she felt with Niall might grow into something more substantial?
Before discovering whether the impossible might, somehow, become possible?
Such thoughts were dangerous, leading only to disappointment and heartache. The Duke of Stonemont moved in a world far removed from her own, his future determined by considerations of dynasty and alliance rather than personal inclination.
Whatever moments of connection they might share were transient, ephemeral as the snowflakes melting against the windowpane.
Lord Gregory, for all his faults, offered a path that was at least possible — a future that society would approve of, that her aunt and the Duchess actively encouraged.
Yet the thought of accepting such a future, of binding herself to a man whose every word and gesture set her teeth on edge, filled her with a quiet desperation.
As sleep finally claimed her, èibhlin’s last conscious thought was of the approaching Ball — of the extra evergreens, drapes and candles that would adorn the grand rooms of Stonemont House, of the music and dancing that would fill the night with festive warmth, of Lord Gregory claiming her hand for the first dance.
And, though she tried to suppress it, of Niall watching from across the room, his stormy blue eyes revealing nothing of his thoughts as she danced in another man’s arms.