KEIR POV
Journal Entry
The day your father chose me was the happiest of my life, surpassed only by the day I learned I was carrying you.
It was a storybook romance—
—until it was not.
I stood there—
—a reluctant spectacle, the fabric of my suit stiff against my skin, feeling the weight of a hundred eyes pressing down on me.
Judging.
Assessing.
Aye, they were all watching, their eyes drilling into me, trying to piece me together like I was some puzzle they thought they could solve with a few glances.
I could almost feel their whispers crawling across my skin like cold fingers, each word a prickling sensation on the back of my neck.
It delighted me how they whispered and guessed, each thinking they had me figured out.
But they didn't know a damned thing.
Lord Gareth was beside me, yammering away, his voice just a blur—like the drone of a fly that refused to leave ye in peace.
There was something almost entertaining about his naivety.
His eagerness to please made it seem like this whole charade wasn't just as tiresome to him as it was to me.
One moment, he was beside me, and the next, he had drifted away, his attention drawn to another corner of the room.
Aye, the English were a strange breed.
So rigid, their backs as straight as the oaks lining their manicured estates.
I could smell their arrogance, a sharp, metallic tang.
And those suits—Christ, who designed those bloody things?
With every breath, the stiff collar dug into my neck, and the fabric scratched against my skin like nettles. It was like they were trying to strangle themselves before the night was even out.
There was so much to remember and learn, and it never bloody ended. My English—aye, that was what saved me. Eoghan did well in teaching me, bless his runaway soul, but there was more to it than just the words.
Aye, Aunt Evie had done her best, groomin' me to fit into this world that was as cold and unforgiving as the Scottish winter. Every step, every smile, it had all been drilled into me. Omega this, omega that.
Well, they were in for a surprise.
My mother's words—they haunted me, drove me, pushed me to—
"Are you ready, Keir?" Aunt Evie's hand clamped down on my arm, firmer than it needed to be.
I forced a smile for her sake and nodded.
"Perfect." Her gaze flitted from one guest to another, sharp and calculating. "Remember, we need to make a good impression. Smile, be charming. Don't embarrass me."
It wasn't as if I cared about impressing any of these people.
But I played along.
I straightened my back, lifted my chin, and plastered on the serene smile she demanded.
Conversations halted as we approached, all eyes shifting to us.
Aunt Evie's smile was as practiced as any I had ever seen, all teeth and no warmth. The picture of English propriety, every inch the lady.
"Lord and Lady Chumley, may I present my nephew, Lord Keir."
I bowed slightly, muttering the expected pleasantries. Lord Chumley, a stout man with a face as red as a beet, looked me over, and the way his eyes ran over me made my skin crawl, but I held firm.
"A pleasure to meet you, Lord Keir," Lady Chumley cooed, her words dripping with sweetness. "We've heard so much about you."
"All good things, I hope."
"Of course, all good things," she replied with a smile that seemed to stretch too wide. "Everyone is eager to know more about you."
"There's not much to tell."
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement—a figure pushin' through the crowd, tall and sure, his gaze fixed on me like a hawk zeroing in on its prey. His confidence was unnerving, the way he moved through the sea of judgmental eyes without a care in the world.
He wasn't like the rest of them, not this one. He was watchin' me with a different sort of interest, and I couldn't decide if that was better or worse.
Aunt Evie turned toward him, the faintest hint of annoyance in her voice as she made the introduction. "Lord Eamon, may I present my nephew, Lord Keir," she said, almost as if she were resigned to it. "Keir, this is the Earl of Eane, Lord Eamon."
"Lord and Lady Chumley, Lady Iverson," he greeted, his voice smooth and rich. "Lord Keir. It's a pleasure to meet you finally. I've heard so much about you."
Lady Chumley's eyes flicked to a group of frowning mothers hovering in the corner beckoning to her. "Come Evie, there is someone I need you to meet."
Aunt Evie hesitated, her eyes flicking back to me with a look that seemed to say, "Behave yourself," before she let Lady Chumley pull her away.
"It truly is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Keir." the newcomer said again—Eamon, was it? His voice dipped lower. A quiet murmur meant only for my ears as his eyes caressed me, a slow, deliberate sweep that felt like a touch. "You're even more captivating than I'd heard."
Captivating, am I?
It truly amused me how he reckoned a few sweet words and a bonnie smile would be enough to sway me.
But I had seen men like him before, all swagger and ease, thinking the world would fall at their feet. Thinking all omegas would preen at the attention of an alpha like him.
"Thank you, Lord Eamon."
"So, how are you finding London?"
"It's been an adjustment," I said, letting the words hang in the air, giving him nothing more than the barest hint of a smile.
What could I say?
That I hated every second of it?
That the city, with all its pretenses and games, was suffocatin' me?
No, that would be saying too much.
Eamon chuckled softly. "I can imagine. Must be quite different from where you are from."
"Indeed."
He raised an eyebrow. "You're not much of a conversationalist, are you?"
"Oh, I can be."
Before I could say another word, Aunt Evie appeared at my side. "Keir, darling, you're needed." she chimed, her tone sweet, too sweet.
Her fingers latched onto my arm, the pressure unmistakable—unyielding, leaving no space for refusal.
"Lord Eamon." I dipped my head in a bow.
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