Page 17 of Miss Murchison’s Mistletoe Memories

“Amelia is known for her... selective kindness,” Lady Westmoreland remarked, with a pointed glance at the Duchess. “I understand that she is again planning a Ball before Christmas? Quite an honour for a young lady’s first introduction to society.”

“The Christmas season provides an ideal opportunity for more intimate gatherings,” the Duchess said, her voice carrying a note of defensiveness that Èibhlin had not heard before. “Miss Èibhlin has already made a favourable impression on Sir Thomas Thornfield, among others.”

“Sir Thomas?” The Countess’ interest visibly sharpened. “How interesting. He has been widowed for some time now, has he not? And is actively seeking a new wife, if the gossip is to be believed.”

The implication — that Èibhlin was being positioned as a potential bride for Sir Thomas — hung uncomfortably in the air. Èibhlin kept her expression carefully neutral, though inwardly she recoiled at the idea of being discussed as if she were merchandise to be bartered.

“Sir Thomas has no doubt shown interest in many young ladies,” Aunt Muireall said sharply. “My niece has no particular attachment to the gentleman.”

Lady Westmoreland’s gaze moved to Aunt Muireall with new interest.

“Indeed? Perhaps her affections lie elsewhere? Or has she developed that modern notion of independence that seems so fashionable among certain young women today?”

“My niece understands her duty,” Aunt Muireall replied stiffly. “But she will not be rushed into an unsuitable match merely for the sake of convenience.”

The atmosphere in the room grew noticeably cooler. The Duchess shot a warning glance at Aunt Muireall before turning to Lady Westmoreland with a forced smile.

“Miss Èibhlin is simply taking time to acquaint herself with London society before considering any particular attachment. As is entirely proper for a young woman of her station.”

“Quite right,” Lady Westmoreland agreed, though her expression suggested that she found the situation curious. “One must know the field before choosing where to plant one’s flag, mustn’t one?”

The conversation moved to more general topics — the weather, the upcoming Christmas festivities, the latest on-dit from Lady Jersey’s salon. Èibhlin contributed only when directly addressed, keenly aware of the undercurrents flowing beneath the surface of polite conversation. Lady Westmoreland’s questions, though cordial enough, often carried subtle barbs — references to Èibhlin’s provincial upbringing, her Scottish heritage, her father’s relative obscurity in London circles.

When at last they took their leave, Èibhlin felt drained, as if she had been engaged in some complex form of combat rather than a simple morning call. In the carriage, travelling towards their next destination, Aunt Muireall wasted no time in expressing her displeasure.

“Such condescension! Did you hear how she spoke of Scotland? As if we were some barbarous outpost beyond the reaches of civilisation! And the way that she looked at Èibhlin — like a curiosity to be examined, rather than a young lady of good family.”

“Lady Westmoreland is influential in society,” the Duchess replied coldly. “Her approval is essential if Miss Èibhlin is to be accepted in the better circles. You would do well to remember that, Miss Murchison, before speaking so... freely... in her presence.”

“I will not sit silently while my niece is insulted,” Aunt Muireall retorted. “If that is what is required for acceptance in your ‘better circles’, then perhaps we would be better served returning to Scotland.”

Èibhlin intervened, as was becoming necessary increasingly often, before the argument could escalate further.

“I am sure that Lady Westmoreland meant no offence, Aunt Muireall. And I am grateful to the Duchess for making the introduction.”

Her aunt subsided with a sniff, while the Duchess regarded her with something that might have been approval.

“You presented yourself well, Miss Èibhlin. Lady Westmoreland can be... testing... with new acquaintances. But she is fundamentally fair-minded. If you continue to comport yourself with such dignity, you will win her over in time.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Èibhlin replied, though inwardly she wondered if such ‘testing’ was worth the effort it required.

If Lady Westmoreland, a friend of the Duchess, could be so subtly cutting, what reception awaited her from those who had no reason to show her favour? The thought of the upcoming Ball filled her with a new anxiety. If a simple morning call could contain so many pitfalls, how would she navigate an entire evening surrounded by strangers, all watching for any misstep, any indication that she did not belong among them?

And Niall — would he stand by her then, or maintain the careful distance he had established since their reunion? The memory of his eyes meeting hers from the window that morning lingered, a tantalising hint of connection that left her both comforted and confused. It was, she supposed, unreasonable of her to expect his support and attention – she had arrived in London as his mother’s guest, and was, no doubt, a disruption to the normal flow of his life.

Their second call, to Mrs Chamberlain’s elegant townhouse in Berkeley Square, proved even more challenging than the first. Mrs Chamberlain was a small, sharp-featured woman with a deceptively sweet voice and a talent for delivering insults disguised as compliments.

“Miss Èibhlin,” she said, after the introductions had been made, “what an unusual name. Is it common in Scotland?”

“It is a traditional Gaelic name, ma’am,” Èibhlin replied, keeping her tone even. “Though I believe it is not particularly common anywhere. The English equivalent is Evelyn.”

“How charming. And do you speak that... language? Gaelic, is it? So quaint that such ancient tongues survive in the more... remote regions.”

“I have some knowledge of it,” Èibhlin acknowledged, choosing to ignore the implied slight. “My father believes in preserving our cultural heritage.”

“How very... patriotic of him.” Mrs Chamberlain’s smile was as sharp as a blade. “Though I imagine such skills have limited utility in London society. Here, we value more practical accomplishments. Music, drawing, the art of conversation.”

“Miss Èibhlin is quite accomplished in those areas as well,” the Duchess interjected smoothly. “She plays the pianoforte beautifully and has a natural gift for conversation, as you can see.”