Page 58 of Miss Murchison’s Mistletoe Memories

Chapter Seventeen

For days, Èibhlin had been effectively secluded within Stonemont House. Days in which her birthday had passed, making her now twenty-one and officially at her majority – not that anyone seemed to regard that as significant at all. Though not formally confined to her chambers, she found herself subtly isolated — meals arranged at times when Niall was absent, invitations declined on her behalf due to ‘fatigue’ or ‘slight indisposition’, her movements discreetly but constantly monitored by either Aunt Muireall or the Duchess.

The strategy was as effective as it was transparent. Since the night of the Ball, she had caught only fleeting glimpses of Niall — across the entrance hall as he departed for a morning ride, through the library window as he conferred with his steward in the garden. Never close enough for conversation, barely near enough for the acknowledgment of a nod.

On the third morning, Èibhlin sat in her bedchamber, a book open but unread in her lap, as she gazed out at the garden where fresh snow had fallen overnight. The day had arrived with a pristine white blanket that transformed the dormant landscape into something magical — icicles hanging from bare branches, the paths disappearing beneath unblemished drifts, everything silent and expectant beneath the pale winter sun.

A knock at her door roused her from contemplation. Lucy entered, her expression unusually animated as she curtsied.

“Miss, His Grace requests your company for a carriage ride, if you’re feeling well enough to venture out. He says the fresh snow in Hyde Park is particularly fine this morning.”

Èibhlin’s heart leapt, though she tried to maintain a composed expression.

“His Grace? But I understood the Duchess had engagements for me this afternoon—”

“His Grace mentioned nothing about the Duchess, Miss,” Lucy replied, a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Only that his phaeton is already waiting, and that the snow won’t last forever.”

Understanding dawned — Niall was creating an opportunity, one that might evaporate if not seized immediately. Èibhlin rose, setting aside her book with decisive motion.

“Please fetch my warmest pelisse and fur muff, Lucy. And my boots — the ones lined with rabbit fur.”

“Already laid out in your dressing room, Miss,” Lucy said with a grin. “And if I might suggest, there’s a path through the east corridor that bypasses the morning room where the Duchess and your aunt are currently discussing household matters.”

Èibhlin looked at her lady’s maid with new appreciation.

“You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”

“Just doing my part to ensure that you don’t miss the lovely snow, Miss,” Lucy replied, helping Èibhlin into the heavy blue pelisse with swift efficiency. “Though you might want to hurry. His Grace seemed rather... eager... for your company.”

Ten minutes later, wrapped warmly against the winter chill, Èibhlin descended the servants’ staircase at the east end of the house, emerging into a small side courtyard where Niall waited beside his phaeton. The sleek, high-perch carriage was drawn by a pair of perfectly matched grey horses whose breath formed small clouds in the frosty air. His face lit at the sight of her, a smile transforming his usually solemn features.

“You came,” he said simply, as if her appearance was both expected and miraculous.

“Did you doubt I would?” she asked, returning his smile as he stepped forward to take her gloved hands in his.

“After days of seeing doors close just as I approach and meals rearranged to prevent our meeting? Perhaps a little.” His tone was light, but she could hear the frustration beneath it. “My mother has been remarkably thorough in her efforts.”

“As has my aunt,” Èibhlin agreed. “They seem to have formed an unlikely alliance in their determination to keep us apart.”

“Then we must be equally determined to thwart them,” Niall replied, helping her up onto the phaeton with a gallantry that somehow managed to convey both proper respect and intimate affection. “At least for the next hour or two.”

As he took his place beside her and gathered the reins, Èibhlin cast a quick glance towards the house. Through an upper window, she caught sight of the Duchess watching their departure, her expression unreadable at this distance. Beside her stood Aunt Muireall, her thin frame rigid with obvious disapproval.

“I believe we’ve been spotted,” she murmured, as Niall guided the horses towards the gate.

“Inevitably,” he replied, seemingly unconcerned. “But short of physically restraining us, there’s little they can do about it now. And an open carriage in a public park is beyond reproach, even by the ton’s exacting standards.”

The phaeton moved swiftly through the London streets, its high wheels and excellent springs making light work of the snow-covered cobblestones.

Despite the cold, Èibhlin felt warmed by Niall’s presence beside her, by the sheer joy of being in his company after days of enforced separation.

“I heard that Lord Gregory called on you,” she said, breaking a comfortable silence as they approached Hyde Park. “Aunt Muireall mentioned it with significant emphasis, as if his visit represented some great concession on his part.”

Niall’s mouth quirked in a wry smile.

“Lord Gregory did indeed call, though not for the purpose your aunt might imagine. He came to determine whether my actions at the Ball reflected serious intentions or were merely a momentary impulse.”

Èibhlin’s heart quickened.