Page 44 of Miss Murchison’s Mistletoe Memories

“Thank you, Parker,” Niall replied, adjusting his cuffs one final time. “For your assistance and your... perspective.”

The valet inclined his head in acknowledgment, then withdrew to prepare Niall’s night clothes for later. Left alone, Niall walked through the house to his study, and looked out of the window there, where it overlooked the street at the front of the house. Carriages were now arriving in steady procession. Lanterns illuminated the street, casting pools of golden light on the frost-rimed cobbles. He should hurry downstairs, before the first guests were admitted.

In just a short while, he would see Èibhlin again — not across a breakfast table or a busy room, but properly, fully, as she joined in the evening’s festivities. He would watch her dance, perhaps catch her eye across the crowded ballroom, and eventually, when the orchestra played the opening notes of the waltz, he would approach her with his hand outstretched.

His mother would disapprove, of course. She had made her preference for Lord Gregory as Èibhlin’s partner abundantly clear, and had suggested more than once that Niall should focus his attentions on Lady Anne Wilmott or one of the other eligible young ladies of suitable rank and fortune. Yet tonight, for once, he would disobey her wishes, would set aside the weight of Ducal responsibility and expectation. For one dance at least, he would follow not the dictates of position or prudence, but the inclination of his own heart.

The realisation sent a jolt through him — a recognition that could no longer be denied or diminished. His interest in Èibhlin had progressed far beyond nostalgic friendship or hospitable concern. Somewhere between their reunion and this moment, standing at this window as twilight deepened into night, he had developed feelings for her that were neither appropriate to his position nor likely to lead to happiness.

For what could come of such an attachment?

She was the daughter of a Scottish Viscount, a young woman whose modest background and provincial connections made her, by the ton’s exacting standards, entirely unsuitable as a Duchess. His mother would oppose any serious intent he might express in that direction with all of the considerable influence at her disposal, and society would view such a match as a bewildering decline from what his position demanded.

Yet as Niall turned from the window, these practical considerations seemed suddenly hollow — empty conventions that paled beside the simple truth of his growing affection for Èibhlin. Her intelligence, her quiet dignity, her authentic warmth — these qualities had come to mean more to him than all the advantages of rank or fortune that other young ladies might offer.

Whether this realisation would lead to joy or sorrow remained to be seen. But tonight, for the space of one dance at least, he would allow himself to hope — to imagine possibilities beyond the narrow confines of his position, to dream of a future shaped by choice rather than obligation.

With that resolution firmly in mind, Niall left his study and descended towards the entrance hall, where candles blazed in every sconce and evergreen boughs filled the air with the fresh scent of Christmas. Beneath the mistletoe that hung in strategic locations throughout the house, guests would exchange glances, perhaps share brief moments of connection as tradition permitted.

And somewhere among them would be Èibhlin, in whose company he had found a sense of belonging that had eluded him amid all the privileges and responsibilities of his position. Tonight, he would seek that connection once more — would claim one perfect waltz beneath the Christmas greenery, regardless of consequence or convention.

His mother waited in the entrance hall, resplendent in a gown of deep blue silk, her expression betraying nothing of their previous disagreements.

As he took his place beside her, ready to greet the arriving guests, Niall felt an unexpected sense of calm certainty.

The events of tonight would alter the course of his relationship with Èibhlin — would confirm either the possibility or the impossibility of the connection that seemed to exist between them. The thought really should have filled him with anxiety, yet as the first guests were announced, he felt only a heady anticipation.

For better or worse, the evening would change things. He was not entirely sure what he hoped the result of that change would be, but he knew that he could not go on as he had been, that he could no longer deny his feelings for Èibhlin. And most of all, he could not go on without knowing the truth of her feelings about him.