Page 28 of Miss Murchison’s Mistletoe Memories

“Ah, but that is precisely what makes your conversation so refreshing,” he countered, with a wave of one elegantly gloved hand. “You have not yet been... shall we say... polished into conformity by the expectations of the ton. There is a certain... provincial authenticity... to your observations that I find quite charming.”

Each compliment contained a subtle barb, a reminder of what Lord Gregory clearly perceived as her inferior status and limited social education.

Èibhlin felt her cheeks warm with a mixture of embarrassment and indignation, though she kept her expression carefully pleasant.

“How very gracious of you to find charm in my rustic manners, my Lord,” she replied, unable to entirely suppress the edge in her voice. “Though I fear the novelty may soon wear thin.”

“Èibhlin!” Aunt Muireall’s tone held a note of sharp warning. “Lord Gregory pays you a compliment. There is no need for such... spirited... responses.”

Lord Gregory’s smile widened, as if her momentary flash of temper amused rather than offended him.

“Not at all, Miss Murchison. I find Miss Èibhlin’s spirit quite delightful. So different from the insipid agreeability one encounters in most drawing rooms.” His gaze returned to Èibhlin, a speculative gleam in his eyes that made her distinctly uncomfortable. “Tell me, Miss Èibhlin, do you ride? The Park offers excellent paths, even in winter, and I would be honoured to escort you, should the weather permit.”

The invitation was both unexpected and unwelcome.

Riding with Lord Gregory, with none but a groom in attendance, would suggest a level of intimacy and encouragement that Èibhlin had no wish to convey.

“You are most kind, my Lord, but I fear that I did not pack my riding habit. We had limited luggage space, and I did not expect to ride. Perhaps another form of entertainment might be more appropriate?”

“As you wish,” he conceded, though his expression suggested that he found her refusal curious rather than disappointing. “Though I must say, the image of you galloping across the Scottish moors is quite captivating. I imagine that you ride with considerable spirit.”

“My niece was taught to ride like a lady, not a hoyden,” Aunt Muireall interjected, with a meaningful glance at Èibhlin. “Though she does enjoy the exercise when circumstances permit.”

“Of course, of course,” Lord Gregory murmured, his tone indulgent. “I would expect nothing less of a young lady raised in your care, Miss Murchison.”

The conversation continued in this vein for some minutes — Lord Gregory offering compliments that contained subtle critiques, Aunt Muireall responding with increasingly obvious approval, and Èibhlin maintaining a careful balance between politeness and reserve. Throughout the exchange, she was acutely conscious of her aunt’s expectations and Lord Gregory’s growing confidence, as if her resistance only added to the challenge he perceived.

When Hartwell entered to announce that the Duchess had returned from her morning calls and wished to join them, Èibhlin felt a momentary relief, quickly followed by renewed apprehension. The Duchess’ approval of Lord Gregory had been evident at dinner; her presence now would only add another voice to those encouraging his attentions.

And indeed, she was proved correct in that assumption, for when the Duchess swept into the morning room moments later, her expression brightened visibly at the sight of their visitor.

“Lord Gregory, how delightful to find you here. I trust Miss Èibhlin and Miss Murchison have been entertaining you adequately?”

“Most adequately, Your Grace,” he replied, rising to bow over her offered hand. “Miss Èibhlin’s conversation is as engaging as her appearance is charming.”

“How gallant of you to say so,” the Duchess responded, with a pleased glance at Èibhlin. “Though I must agree that my young guest possesses many admirable qualities. She has made a most favourable impression during her short time in London.”

“So I have observed,” Lord Gregory said, his tone suggesting that he considered his own good opinion particularly significant. “Miss Èibhlin brings a fresh perspective to our rather jaded circles. I find it most... invigorating.”

The Duchess’ smile deepened.

“Then you must certainly attend our Christmas Ball, Lord Gregory. I am planning quite an elaborate affair, to properly introduce Miss Èibhlin to society before the Season begins.”

“A Ball?” His interest visibly sharpened. “How delightful. I would be honoured to receive an invitation, Your Grace.”

“You will most definitely receive one,” the Duchess replied, with a gracious nod. “It will be held on the twentieth of December — just over a fortnight from now. I trust that your engagements will permit your attendance?”

“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.