Oh God.
Smiling pleasantly, Thomas settled himself beside Bettina. Evleen sat straight across, her dark, lively beauty contrasting with the pale blonde, washed-out appearance of the Trevlyn sisters. A rose among the thorns as far as he was concerned. At least he could surreptitiously feast his eyes upon her while being led, yet again, on another tedious journey through the land of needle-point. As he watched, Montague sat next to Evleen and engaged her in conversation. A long conversation, and then he led her into dinner where he managed, by a swift exchange of place cards, to sit next to her.
He might have known. Thomas knew the meaning of his brother’s every movement, every nuance of his voice, so no doubt existed. As the evening wore on, it became crystal clear that Montague was becoming increasingly infatuated with Miss Evleen O’Fallon.
* * *
“Not an altogether unpleasant evening,” Montague remarked as he, Thomas, and Penelope journeyed the short distance back to Northfield Hall in their curricle. “Fine dinner... a few hands of Whist... I was not as bored as I thought I would be.”
“Who cares if you were bored or not?” snapped Penelope. “Besides, I know you weren’t bored because you spent the evening ogling down the bodice of Miss O’Fallon’s gown. Don’t deny it, I saw you.”
“So what if I was? Besides being quite beautiful, the girl posses a magnificent bosom. So white, so soft, so full... umm, whah!” Montague brought a hand to his lips and made a kissing sound that so infuriated Thomas he balled his fists. But before he could act, Penelope swiftly rapped their brother’s knuckles with her fan. “Stop that this instant! How could you be so crass? Miss O’Fallon doesn’t need the likes of you drooling over her. She has enough problems of her own.”
“What do you mean?” Thomas asked.
“Isn’t it obvious? Charlotte and Bettina were green with envy. And did you not notice their mother? I swear, her claws came out when our dear brother here arranged to sit next to Miss O’Fallon at dinner.”
“Granted, they’re a bit jealous,” Montague remarked, “but isn’t that natural, given the circumstances? Miss O’Fallon is indeed a remarkable young woman. Bright, lively, full of charm. Surely they’ll like her once they get to know her.”
“Montague, lusting after women does not mean you know them very well.” Penelope thought a moment. “I hate to think what might happen when they go to London for the Season.”
“Why do you say that?” Thomas asked. Silently he had agreed with all that Penelope said.
“Evleen is all the things Montague just described, and I like her very much,” replied Penelope. “She’s obviously well-educated and possesses infinite amounts of charm. Still, I fear she’ll have a difficult time in London.”
“What do you mean?” asked both Thomas and Montague.
“First, there’s a rawness about her. Granted, her station in life is far above that of some dairy maid. Her manners are good enough, but she’s a country girl, not accustomed to the ton. She’s simply not as polished as she should be. I fear she’ll be like a lamb led to the slaughter. When she’s tossed into the middle of that cut-throat society of ours, every little gesture, every little thing she says will be measured, weighed, scrutinized, and discussed. Mark my words, at the very least, they’ll laugh at her.”
“And at most?”
“I fear she might be cut.”
“And the second reason?” Thomas asked grimly. He had not wanted to hear this, yet somehow he had known.
“She’s Irish. Personally, I adore that Irish brogue of hers. When she talks, it’s like a poem set to music.”
“True of all the Irish,” granted Thomas.
“But you know how the English look down their noses at the Irish. How can Evleen possibly escape the derision and snubs that are bound to be heaped upon her?”
“But she’s strong,” protested Thomas. “She’ll overcome whatever criticism might come her way. Besides, Lord Trevlyn will be of great support.”
“It does not bode well,” said Penelope sadly shaking her head. “I know women. The Trevlyn sisters and their mother will not only not help, God only knows what they might do to undermine Evleen’s position.”
Thomas heartily declared, “They would not dare, especially when they know she has Lord Trevlyn’s support one hundred percent and is under his protection.”
Penelope broke into unexpected laughter. “My dear brother, don’t you know that so-called protection will make Miss O’Fallon’s problem even worse?”
Montague said musingly, “Perhaps I should take her under my wing.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Thomas remarked, his voice icy.
Montague snickered. “Whatever is the matter? Not jealous of the little Irish chit, are we?”
In the moonlight, Thomas made out Montague’s thin, aristocratic face and wanted very much to plant his fist full in the middle of it. Bad idea. He did love his brother, despite everything. Besides, Thomas recognized his own ridiculous and uncalled-for jealousies. He must set his brother straight about Evleen, though. “I believe I mentioned Miss O’Fallon is betrothed.”
“So?”
“So she is taken, Montague.” Thomas’s anger was rising. “An honorable man does not dally with a married woman or one betrothed.”
“Oh, grow up, Thomas, you’re living in a dream world. Above all, an honorable man is discreet, not some sort of chaste idiot. If I should tell you of my dalliances, some with married women of the highest rank, you would be amazed.”
Thomas grit his teeth. “I would not be amazed, I would be sickened. Actually, I don’t care what you do, Montague, except for two things.”
And what might those be, Thomas?” Montague asked with a snicker.
“First, never let Papa know about your dalliances. What he does know is bad enough and hurts him considerably. Don’t make it worse.”
“And second?”
“Stay away from Evleen O’Fallon.”
“Your jealousy is showing, Thomas. You were alone six days with her. What happened on that journey from Ireland? Did you—?”
“That is none of your affair,” Thomas snapped, losing his cool facade despite himself. He regained his composure quickly and continued, “For God’s sake, Montague, did you not see the looks on the faces of Charlotte and her Mama tonight? They were livid when you so much as bowed to Miss O’Fallon. They think they possess you, and with good reason since we know how desirous Papa and Lord Trevlyn are of uniting their estates. You are putting Evleen to a great disadvantage when you show an interest in her.” Thomas glowered at his brother, even though he knew full well Montague could not see him in the dark. “In words you can understand, those feral females will tear the girl apart if you continue with your attentions.”
“But perhaps I find myself already growing fond of her,” Montague playfully protested. “What if I fall in love with her?”
“You will never love anyone but yourself.”
“She’s accompanying them to London, you know. For the Season. I sensed the others weren’t too keen on it.”
“Of course they weren’t. Montague, please—” Thomas stopped himself because damned if he would beg. Besides, what was the use? His brother would do what he pleased, no matter the consequences.
“Just go tend to your horses, Thomas,” Montague remarked.
“I plan to do just that,” Thomas answered, hard-put to quell his anger. But Montague was Montague, and he was right on one score: Thomas should indeed tend to his horses and forget Miss Evleen O’Fallon. Even so, Tanglewood Hall was not so very far from London. After all, he would have need to attend Tattersoll’s occasionally, and in so doing, would it not be the courteous thing to drop in on Trevlyn’s London townhouse from time to time?
Thomas smiled with satisfaction. You’ve not seen the last of me yet, my sweet Evleen. Of course, his interest was only that of a concerned friend. Anything else would be ungentlemanly and quite without honor.
And you are nothing if no
t a gentleman, Thomas told himself grimly, knowing he would be kept awake tonight by visions of Evleen O’Fallon and how delectable she looked in that low-cut gown. How she would deal with the Trevlyns, he wasn’t sure. There was bound to be trouble, but perhaps Evleen, being the feisty Irish girl she was, could handle all the petty jealousies that were bound to arise. He could not help but feel concern, though. Personally, he would rather face a pack of lions than Mrs. Walter Trevlyn, now forever bereft of a title, and her unmarried daughters.
* * *
The next morning, Evleen awoke feeling both tired and discouraged. The strangeness of a new place—the Trevlyn’s hostility—the unsettling presence of Lord Thomas—all contributed to her restless tossing and turning most of the night, and in the process not getting much sleep. She wished she could avoid going downstairs to breakfast, even though when she’d arrived, she had looked forward to getting better acquainted with the family. She had even envisioned the sisters, and perhaps the mother, showing her and Patrick around the estate, a gay, friendly little group exploring the house and grounds. How deluded she had been! Now she wondered if she might just stay in her bedchamber and have the maid bring her breakfast on a tray.
That wouldn’t do, of course. Never had she been a coward and she wouldn’t be one now. For Patrick’s sake, she must make the effort. It was just... last night had been such a disaster. It hadn’t taken long for the true feelings of Mrs. Trevlyn and her two elder daughters to emerge. Amanda, she wasn’t sure. And then there was Montague. What an odious man! How could Lord Thomas, who was everything wonderful and kind, possibly be the brother of that egotistical fop who actually had the nerve to assume she liked him?
Evleen dragged herself from bed and had just finished dressing in her old calico gown when Celeste came bustling in, took one looked, and exclaimed, “Miss Evleen, you cannot wear zat.”
“Whyever not?” Evleen perversely asked, knowing the reason full well.
“Because... because...” Evleen could see Celeste was trying to control herself, but she finally burst forth with “Zat is the ugliest gown I have ever seen.”
“I know that, Celeste.” Evleen feigned the utmost indifference. “But I chose to wear it anyway.”
“Never. I shall borrow another gown from—”
“No you won’t,” answered Evleen in a voice that brooked no argument. “Lord Trevlyn says he’s already sent for a seamstress. Meanwhile, I shall wear what I brought.”
Despite that last, Celeste’s eyes lit. “Marvelous. I am so glad, Miss. If you are going to London you will need gowns for morning, afternoon, dinner, walking, riding. You must have several ball gowns, as well as the shoes—hats—jewels—”
“Don’t overwhelm me, Celeste,” interrupted Evleen, laughing. “Where I come from we put one gown on in the morning and take it off at night. No one has the time to be constantly changing clothes.”
“But you are not in County Clare now, Miss,” answered Celeste with a sly smile. “And you do want to look your best, for many reasons.”
“Heed what I say, Celeste. From now on, I shall not borrow so much as a handkerchief from anyone. Have I made myself clear?”
Impressed by Evleen’s obvious determination, the lady’s maid said not another word on the subject, but asked, “And Master Patrick?”
“Patrick, too. And furthermore...” Evleen was about to voice a subject she’d been thinking about and just now had made her decision. “I am not going to London.”
“But you must! You cannot miss the Season. It is all that counts in the ton.”
“Well, I’m not a member of the ton, am I now?” Better I stay here.”
Her brother chose that moment to burst in, dressed in his old clothes. “I’m hungry, Evleen. Let’s go down and eat and then we can explore.”
Celeste took one look and rolled her eyes. “He should not go downstairs now, Miss Evleen. Here it’s customary for the children to take all meals in the classroom with their tutors, or in their rooms.”
“Not this child.” Evleen took Patrick’s hand. If ever she was going to assert herself, it must be now. “Come Patrick, we shall go downstairs and eat. If Lord Trevlyn disapproves, he’ll have us both to deal with.”
When they walked into the dining room, Evleen discovered the family already there, including Lord Trevlyn. “Patrick is going to eat with us,” she announced boldly. “I don’t believe in children being isolated in their rooms.” Ready for an argument, she stood waiting for Lord Trevlyn’s answer, noting the startled expressions of the sisters and their mother.
“But of course,” came Lord Trevlyn’s reply. “I shall enjoy having the boy share my eggs and sausage.” Amidst audible shocked intakes of breath from nieces and sister-in-law, he continued, “I have a lovely surprise for you, Evleen.”
“What is that?”
“I am arranging to open my London townhouse early.” He looked fondly at Patrick. “I cannot wait to show my grandson the sights of London. In a few days we shall leave for London. How does that sound?”
But I do not want to go, a little voice within Evleen screamed, but the words would not come out. Patrick was in his grandfather’s custody now, so she had no authority to forbid him anything. Besides, how could she stand in the boy’s way when he had expressed a great desire to see London? And so do I, she thought miserably. Despite the problems she knew she’d find there, she very much wanted to see all the sights of the huge city. That settled it, then. There was only one answer she could give.
“How lovely, Lord Trevlyn. Sounds fine to me. I can hardly wait to get there.”
Chapter 11
“Hst! Evleen, get up.”
“Patrick?” Evleen rolled over in her bed, still half-sleep.
“Time to get up, Evleen.”
“But it’s hardly dawn.” Evleen half opened her eyes. “Where am I?”
“London, silly.”
“Well, how am I supposed to know? I’ve awakened in so many strange beds lately it’s hard to tell.” Evleen propped herself on one elbow and regarded her clear-eyed brother, who was already dressed. “Why are you waking me so early?”
“Because at last we’re here in London and I want to go explore.” Patrick tugged at her bed covers. “Please, I cannot wait.”
Evleen sighed, wishing she could think of some fine excuse for putting Patrick off. She was tired. Lord Trevlyn’s creaking oak coach had arrived from Hatfield long after dark last night. It had been an uncomfortable ride, what with the coach being of an ancient vintage and not well-sprung. Then, too, she’d had the Trevlyn ladies to contend with. Curbed by the presence of Lord Trevlyn, they had been polite, but underneath, she could sense the seething resentment, with the exception of Amanda, of course, who pretty much sat silent in her corner. At least Patrick had kept her distracted, asking at least a million questions about the post road they were traveling on, and the coaches that occasionally thundered by. Exhausted, the whole family turned in not long after arriving at the earl’s large townhouse in what appeared to be the heart of London. “Can’t you wait a little while?” she asked, eyeing her pillow.
“Come on, sleepyhead, don’t you want to see London?”
She thought a moment. “As a matter of fact, I do.”
Minutes later, Patrick and Evleen, who had hastily dressed in the old calico and straw hat, were standing in the downstairs entry way when Pierce, who had accompanied the family to London, regarded them askance. “You are not going out at this hour, Miss Evleen?”
“Why not? Morning is the best part of the day.”
The butler’s eyebrows shot up. “But alone? Unchaperoned?”
“Unchaperoned,” Patrick repeated, bursting into laughter.
Evleen laughed, too. “Not to worry, Pierce, I am quite accustomed to taking care of myself.”
“Might I inquire where you intend to go?”
“To see London,” Patrick called excitedly. “Come on, Evleen.”
In a flash they were out the ornately
carved double doors of the Trevlyn townhouse, into the sunshine, suddenly confronted with the early-morning bustle of the street. Evleen sniffed the crisp, early morning air as they bounded down the scoured-clean steps. “You’re the chief explorer, Patrick, which way shall we go?”
“Any way. I want to see it all.” Patrick held out his palm and uncurled his fingers, revealing a gold half guinea. “See what Grandfather gave me? He said an heir apparent should never be without a bit of blunt.”
They started walking, she wasn’t sure which direction, until they reached a street called Saint James’s. Although the shops and businesses that lined the street were closed at this early hour, they still enjoyed looking into shop windows that were bright with color, as well as savoring the delicious aromas of fresh buns and tarts that wafted from the pastry shops. The diversity of the shops was intriguing. “What’s a bagnio?” Patrick asked, glimpsing a sign that announced, “Pero’s Bagnio.”
“Those are baths, I believe.”
“Can’t people take a bath at home?” he asked, but before Evleen could answer he had spied another shop. “Oh, look, Lauriere, the jeweler. Is that where they sell diamonds?”
“I suspect it is, Patrick,” she laughingly replied, “and there’s the Bunch of Grapes which I should wager is a tavern, and there’s Sam’s Library which no doubt is full of books.” How wonderful, she mused, to have a huge bookstore close by. There was nothing nearly this big in Ireland, not even Dublin.
“Why must gentlemen have clubs?” asked Patrick, after they passed by White’s, Brooks’s and Crockford’s.
“So they can play cards, I suppose.” She remembered her mother’s low opinion of the British aristocracy. “And so they can be exclusive and fancy themselves above the rest.”
“Do you think Lord Thomas belongs to a club?”
“No.” She thought of that wastrel, Montague. “But I’m sure his brother does.”
The Irish Upstart Page 14
