The Irish Upstart

chapter 10



“How I detest these affairs,” declared Montague as he, Penelope and Thomas waited in the entry hall to be announced.

Thomas snorted. “How my heart bleeds for you. I am all sympathy.”

Montague lowered his voice. “You know I cannot abide that dreary woman and her daughters.”

“Oh, come now,” said Penelope, looking lovely in a white bombazine dinner gown trimmed with blue lace, “I can see why you don’t like Charlotte and Bettina, but Amanda is not all that bad.”

“Granted, Amanda is a harmless enough creature, but that boring Bettina. That shallow Charlotte—”

“Whom you’re going to marry, and soon,” Penelope declared. “It’s time you made the best of it, Montague. It’s Papa’s wish.”

“Oh, I suppose.” Montague sighed, obviously resigning himself to a dull evening. “You say the Irish girl will be here?” At Thomas’s nod, he brightened. “Then we’ll soon see if she’s truly as beautiful as you say she is.”

Thomas glared at his brother, heartily wishing he had not even mentioned Evleen, but when he’d arrived home, his thoughts had been so full of her that he couldn’t help describing her in the most glowing terms. “Beautiful or no, Montague, you’re to keep your hands off.”

“There’s a strange bit of brotherly advice,” Montague declared triumphantly. “Could my stalwart younger brother actually be jealous? Damme, if I haven’t hit a vulnerable spot in his psyche.”

Thomas was long past the stage where anything his brother said could make him angry, though he did find himself slightly annoyed. He should not even be that, though. More than ever lately, he felt concern for his brother, who, with his drinking and debauching, was throwing his life away with both hands. “Leave my psyche out of this, Montague. Evleen O’Fallon is a fine woman, as you shall soon see. I have nothing but the utmost respect for her.”

Montague laughed scornfully, but before Thomas could retaliate, Pierce invited them into the drawing room.

Stunning. That was all Thomas could think when he saw Evleen. Even when she wore her simple Irish garb, he had known she was beautiful, yet he had hardly been prepared for this elegantly coiffed and gowned creature who returned his bow with a graceful curtsey. How striking was the charming contrast of her snow white skin against the deep orange of her low-cut dinner gown. Cappucine, he thought the ladies called it. Whatever the color, just looking at her caused a lurch of excitement within himself.

This was ridiculous. He must stop acting like a green school boy. Fresh in his mind was the conversation he’d just had with his father, still confined to his room with the gout.

“So you like and admire this young woman,” the Marquess commented, after Thomas’s detailed description of his journey.





“Very much so,” Thomas had answered. “I find her witty, intelligent, and charming.” had felt like adding, and intensely exciting, but thought better of it.

“Surely you have not forgotten Miss Bettina Trevlyn,” the Marquess reminded him, wincing from the pain of his gout.

“No, I have not, but bear in mind I have not yet proposed to Miss Trevlyn. However...” Thomas carefully formed the words to explain. “Marriage is not a consideration. Miss O’Fallon is betrothed to an Irishman named Timothy Murphy.”

His father nodded. “There you have it, then. Honor decrees—”

“I know about honor, Papa,” Thomas testily replied, in no mood for a lecture.

“Even Montague would not deign to dally with a married woman or one betrothed.”

“One of his few virtues.” A lie. Thomas knew differently, but his father had been disappointed enough without knowing the whole truth about Montague.

Thomas proceeded to inform his father how happy he was his journey to Ireland was over and how eager he was to get about the business of breeding Thoroughbreds. He found he was feigning part of his eagerness, though. To his growing chagrin, since the day he’d returned to that small cottage in County Claire, nearly every waking thought in his head had been of Evleen O’Fallon. How could he forget her bravery crossing the Irish Sea, deathly ill, yet still joking? Or, when he was trying to comfort her, how the wind caught her shining dark hair, lashing its softness against his face, taunting him, making him want to thrust his hands through its luxuriant softness. could he forget that moment at the Whispering Arch when their eyes had locked and deep in his belly he’d felt the hot stirrings of desire?

“Why if it isn’t Lord Thomas.”

Bettina Trevlyn’s shrill voice swiftly brought him back to cold reality. Seated on a rose-colored satin settee, she patted the cushion beside her. “Come, do sit down,” she said, her many curls bobbing. “I cannot wait to show you my newest pillow cover.”

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 not 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.”