Chapter Fourteen #2
“Have you taken leave of your senses?” she demanded, dispensing with preamble. “A public display with a young woman barely introduced to society, a guest under our own roof, witnessed by half the ton?”
Niall met her gaze steadily.
“It was not planned, Mother. The moment simply... occurred.”
“Moments do not simply occur, Niall,” she retorted, moving to stand before the fireplace.
“They are created through choice and action. You chose to lead Miss èibhlin away from the ballroom, chose to pause beneath the mistletoe, chose to kiss her in a manner that transcended any acceptable interpretation of holiday tradition.”
Her assessment was accurate, though it reduced to cold calculation what had been a spontaneous expression of feeling.
Niall found himself unable to deny the charges, yet equally unable to regret the actions that had prompted them.
“I have compromised her,” he acknowledged, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. “That was not my intention.”
“Intent matters little when measured against consequence,” the Duchess replied, her voice softening slightly.
“Miss èibhlin’s reputation has been placed in jeopardy by your actions.
Lord Gregory has already expressed his outrage to the Earl, who in turn has made his displeasure known to me.
Lady Westmoreland is scandalised, and by tomorrow, the story will have spread throughout London. ”
Niall moved to the window, gazing out at the garden where lanterns still glowed among the frosted trees.
“I will make amends,” he said quietly. “Whatever is necessary to protect Miss èibhlin from the consequences of my impulsivity.”
“Amends?” His mother’s laugh held no humour. “What form do you imagine these amends might take, Niall? A public apology? A withdrawal from her company? Or perhaps...” She paused, studying him with suddenly sharpened attention. “Perhaps you entertain a different notion entirely?”
The question hung in the air between them, its implications clear. Niall turned to face his mother directly, unwilling to dissemble on a matter of such importance.
“My feelings for Miss èibhlin are genuine,” he stated simply. “They have developed gradually since her arrival and were confirmed beyond doubt this evening.”
The Duchess closed her eyes briefly, as if pained by this confirmation of her suspicions.
“You cannot be serious. She is the daughter of a minor Scottish peer, with modest fortune and provincial connections. The Duke of Stonemont requires a wife who brings advantages of rank, wealth, and influence to the marriage. These are not merely social considerations, Niall, but practical ones that affect the future of the Dukedom itself.”
“I am well aware of what the Dukedom requires,” Niall replied, a note of steel entering his voice.
“I have shaped every decision, every action according to those requirements since inheriting the title. But in this one matter, I find myself unwilling to subordinate personal happiness to dynastic advantage.”
“Personal happiness,” the Duchess echoed, her tone suggesting that she found the concept both foreign and slightly suspect. “A fleeting emotion, easily confused with infatuation or physical attraction. Hardly a solid foundation for a marriage that must endure decades.”
“It is more than attraction,” Niall insisted, though he knew his mother was unlikely to be persuaded by declarations of feeling.
“èibhlin possesses qualities I have found in no other woman of my acquaintance — intelligence without artifice, dignity without coldness, strength without hardness. She would bring more to the Dukedom than mere fortune or connection.”
The Duchess regarded him with an expression that mingled exasperation and genuine concern.
“You speak like a lovesick boy rather than the Duke of Stonemont. Whatever qualities Miss èibhlin may possess — and I do not deny that she has many admirable attributes — the fact remains that her position in society makes her an unsuitable match for you. The ton would not understand such a choice, and their incomprehension would translate to a loss of influence which would affect not just you, but generations to come.”
Before Niall could respond to this sobering assessment, a discreet knock at the door interrupted their conversation. The Duchess straightened, composing her features into their usual expression of serene control.
“Enter,” she called, her voice betraying none of the emotion which had coloured it moments before.
Hartwell, the butler, appeared in the doorway, his dignified bearing somehow conveying both deference and urgency.
“Forgive the interruption, Your Grace, but Lord Gregory is causing something of a... disturbance... in the refreshment room. I thought that you might wish to be informed.”
“Thank you, Hartwell. We shall attend to it immediately,” the Duchess replied, turning back to Niall with a significant look. “It seems our conversation must be continued later. For now, we have a Ball to salvage.”
Niall nodded, grateful for the reprieve, yet aware that this discussion was far from concluded. As they returned to the ballroom, he found his thoughts turning once more to èibhlin. Where was she now? How was she faring under what must be intense scrutiny and criticism?
The answers to these questions would have to wait.
For now, his duty as host demanded his attention, particularly if Lord Gregory was indeed causing a scene.
But as he moved through the crowd towards the refreshment room, Niall found himself making a silent promise - whatever obstacles arose, he would not abandon the connection he had found with èibhlin.
Some things, once acknowledged, could not be denied or diminished — and the truth revealed beneath the mistletoe was chief among them.