The Irish Upstart

chapter 7





With a heavy heart, Evleen left the pot of soup she’d been stirring and went to stare moodily at the sea from the small cottage window. There would be rain soon. The sky was dull and leaden, a perfect color to match her mood. Actually, all the family’s mood now that Mama wasn’t well.

Darragh, who had been sitting by their mother’s bedside, came into the kitchen, huddled in her shawl. “Mama’s sleeping now. I think she’s a mite better.”

“Do you?”

“I suppose it’s wishful thinking.” Darragh’s brows drew together in a frown. “It’s that Englishman’s fault. She was fine until his letter arrived.”

With a shake of her head, Evleen answered, “Let’s be fair. Mama has not been feeling well for ages, long before the letter. Don’t you remember all those times she was breathless, all the times she felt faint?”

“I suppose,” Darragh answered tartly, “but you must admit her condition has worsened since that day. If you ask me, she’s sick with guilt. She knows very well she’s done Patrick out of his rightful inheritance.” Her face clouded. “And us, too. Just think what forty pounds a year could do.” She glanced down at her well-worn light calico gown, her lips thinning with irritation. “Look at this old thing. No wonder I haven’t a husband. We could have new clothes, live in a half-way decent house, if only Mama would relent and send Patrick to England.”

Evleen felt a sudden urge to inform her sister it was not the lack of pretty clothes that was turning her into an old maid, it was her waspish tongue and selfish attitude. Such a chastisement would be most unkind, though. Unjust, too. Despite her faults, Darragh worked as hard as anyone and worried as much as anyone about Mama. Evleen replied gently, “Don’t be hard on our mother. Can’t you see why she loathes all things English? Surely you understand why she could never send Patrick to live with his grandfather.”

It came as no surprise when Darragh gave her a look that said she’d never understand.

Later, after everyone else had gone to bed, Evleen sat by her mother’s bed and smiled down at her. “All the chores are done, Mama. You see? We get along very well without you.” She noted with sorrow that her mother, once the picture of health, now lay on her bed, pale, hollow-eyed, and exhausted, a mere shadow of her former self.

“I hate this,” Sinead said with a deep sigh. “Where has my strength gone? Why can’t I walk a step without panting as if I’d just run a mile uphill?”

“You know it’s your heart, but the doctor says if you keep taking your tonic you’ll get better. In a while I’ll fix you some chamomile tea.”

Mama turned her face to the wall. “Chamomile tea won’t fix what ails me. Nothing will.”

At her mother’s embittered words, Evleen felt a chill around her own heart. She had made a valiant effort to remain optimistic but had known from the start that her mother’s ailment was not likely to get better and could only get worse. It was almost too much to bear, to see her once-proud, once-strong mother reduced to being an near-helpless invalid.

“It’s time we talked about the future,” said Sinead. It was as if she’d read her daughter’s mind. She sighed and took Evleen’s hand. “I shall be leaving soon.”

“Don’t. You mustn’t say it.”

“It must be said.” A look of despair filled Mama’s eyes. “I confess, I’ve thought and thought, but I don’t know what to do. The eight hundred pounds is gone. As you well know, what little money we have comes from the English lessons I give... gave, I should say. I cannot teach anymore.”

“Then I can do it, Mama. My Gaelic is as good as yours.”

“True, daughter, and I’m relying on you, but the money from the lessons won’t be nearly enough.”

“There’s the sheep.”

“They bring in but a pittance.”

Evleen said firmly, “Somehow we’ll make do.”

“I wanted my daughters to find good husbands. I wanted Patrick to go to Trinity College in Dublin.” Sinead laughed with bitter irony. “Well, he won’t now, will he? He’ll likely end up just another poor fisherman while you girls, unless you marry, will be forced into service where you’ll spend your days scrubbing hearths and emptying chamber pots.”

“What a dreadful future.” Evleen replied, wanting to make light of Mama’s dire prediction. She smiled and squeezed her mother’s hand. “In the first place, you’re going to get better. In the second, somehow or other, we’ll scrape by.”

“Scrape by,” Sinead repeated mockingly. “I wanted better things for you.”

“I can always marry Timothy, you know.”

“Saints preserve us. After all these years you’re finally admitting you’d be best off with Timothy Murphy? Will wonders never cease. What brought on this change of heart?”

“I’m twenty-four, time is passing, and I know Timothy would be good to our family.” Speaking humorously, she went on, “I used to think someday a knight in shining armor would come knocking at my door. He would be handsome, wealthy, kind, tender, and—”

“Irish.”

“Very Irish. We would fall in love and he would carry me off to a life of bliss. That’s what I used to think. Lately I’m not so sure.”

“Now you’re getting some sense in your head.”

“I know I could be happy with Timothy, at least reasonably so.”

“That’s wise, especially since the chances of your prince finding his way to our humble cottage are rather slim.”

A sudden pounding on the door caused Evleen to jump up in alarm. “Who could it be at this hour?” She went to the one small window and looked out, but it was dark outside, and raining, and she couldn’t see a thing. “One of the neighbors must be in trouble,” she surmised as she flew to the door and swung it open.

Lord Thomas.

She gasped and stiffened. There he stood, completely unexpected, drenched and looking miserable. He bowed low, water pouring off his beaver hat. In an unconcerned voice, he said, “Ah, good evening, Miss O’Fallon. Lovely weather we’re having, wouldn’t you say?”

“You.”

“Yes ‘tis I.” He glanced over his shoulder at two horses and a curricle, barely visible in the black night. “I would have arrived at a more decent hour, but it seems I got lost and ran off the road in the dark.” He smiled wryly. “Actually, I am wet and close to freezing. You have no idea how much I’m hoping you’ll allow me into your warm abode, despite my being an Englishman.”

“I wouldn’t let a dog stay outside on a night like this.” Evleen swung the door wide, pleased with herself for finding an apt riposte despite her shock at seeing him again.

“First, my horses,” he said. “Your stable–?”

“The stable’s in the back,” Darragh said over Evleen’s shoulder. “There’s plenty of room.” In an excited voice, she added, “How lovely to see you again, Lord Thomas.”

Lovely? thought Evleen. Dread filled her heart. Lord Thomas could be here for only one reason.

Minutes later, the cottage was bustling as Darragh made tea and Evleen threw an extra lump of peat into the fireplace. Lord Thomas, finally warm after standing shivering for a time by the fire, sank into a chair and remarked, “Ah, warm at last. I would not recommend such a journey to my worst enemy.”

“Can we assume, sir, you were just passing by?” Evleen asked, tongue-in-cheek.

“No, you cannot assume.”

Evleen had to take a moment to gather her wits. Her emotions were mixed, to say the least. Her mother’s words lay heavily on her heart. Not only was she still in a state of astonishment over Thomas’s unexpected arrival, she found his presence most disturbing. Over the months, she had never been able to clear his handsome image from her mind. Now here he was again, looking more handsome than even she remembered. Despite what must have been a grueling journey, he sat at ease in his chair, his well-formed, muscular legs stretched out before him, a glint of mockery in those marvelous flashing dark eyes. “I suppose I do know why you’re here,” she said frankly. “Lord Trevlyn sent you.”

“Exactly so.”

Darragh asked, “He would not take no for an answer?”

“He wants his grandson. You can understand why.”

“Well, he’s doomed to disappointment,” Evleen adamantly replied. “My mother would never, under any circumstances send Patrick to England. My mother–”

“Your mother will speak for herself,” came Mama’s voice from the doorway. She had thrown a dressing gown over her nightgown and now stood clinging to the doorpost, looking deathly pale.

“You should not be out of bed,” exclaimed Evleen.

Lord Thomas leaped to assist. “Let me help you back–”

“No,” Sinead answered firmly. “I shall sit at the table, if you please.” With a grand wave she indicated the chairs arranged around the table. “Kindly join me, Lord Thomas... Evleen? Darragh? We shall let the younger ones sleep.”

When they were settled at the table, Sinead asked Lord Thomas, “Are you here for the reason I think you are?”

“Lord Trevlyn wants his grandson,” Lord Thomas replied. “To that purpose, he’s sent me to inform you in person of what he now proposes.”

Sinead eyed him with suspicion. “Did I not make it clear I would never allow Patrick to set foot in England?”

“Your letter was extremely clear. A mind can be changed, though, can it not?”

“Why even listen to him?” Evleen interjected, addressing her mother. “What could he say that could possibly make you change?”

A corner of Lord Thomas’s mouth lifted in a smile. “I’ve come a long way, Miss O’Fallon. Kindly hear me out.”

“You should at least hear what he has to say,” said Darragh, who was listening with rapt attention.

Sinead replied, “Very well, tell us, but I warn you, it won’t do you any good. Patrick is my son, sir. Have you any children?”

“I have never married.”

“Then how could you even presume to know how I feel?”

“I don’t presume.”

Sinead sat back and looked him squarely in the eyes. “That’s good that you don’t presume because you won’t know what matters in this life until the day you have children of your own. Then you will realize how the bond between you and your children is more precious than any amount of money.”

Oh, dear God, thought Thomas. How he wished he were anywhere but here. His reluctant journey had been extremely arduous, but nothing compared to now. Darragh seemed pleased to see him, but the wrathful eyes of Sinead and Evleen burned into him, as if he had horns and a tail and had just arrived via his hired curricle through the gates of Hell. Perhaps he should give up, go home, explain to Lord Trevlyn that nothing in the world would move Sinead from her dogged position. Still...

Honor must prevail, Thomas realized glumly. Lord Trevlyn had entrusted him with a vital mission. He would see it through to the bitter, and no doubt, unsatisfactory end.

Sinead spoke again. “As you can see, Lord Thomas, I am not well.”

“I am terribly sorry,” Thomas said sincerely. He had been shocked when he first saw Sinead. In but a few months the woman’s health had obviously declined and she was now but skin and bones.

“So am I sorry, sir,” answered Sinead, a grim smile touching her lips. “At a time like this, I need my family around me, all my daughters, and, of course, Patrick. I assume Lord Trevlyn has sent you with additional persuasions, but you will find I cannot be persuaded, no matter what.”

Thomas could tell by the firm set of Sinead’s jaw that, indeed, she meant what she said. Still, he would try. “I can see you mean your every word, madam, but I’ve come a long way, so at least hear me out.”

After a pause, Sinead answered sharply, “Go ahead. Since you’ve come all this way, I am curious to know what additional enticements Lord Trevlyn has in mind. Although, I can assure you, you’re wasting your breath.”

“Mama,” cried Evleen. “Why even listen to him? You said you would never–”

“Quiet, Evleen.” Sinead, her jaw set, leaned resignedly back in her chair and addressed Thomas again. “So begin, sir.”

At least she’ll listen to me, thought Thomas with some relief, although he still didn’t hold out much hope. “To begin with, Patrick will have everything—wealth, position, power.”

Evleen sniffed disdainfully. “Jonathan Swift said, ‘Power is no blessing in itself, except when it is used to protect the innocent.’”

Blast the girl. At least she was literate. “Well, then, if you are against Patrick going to England alone, then Lord Trevlyn invites you and your entire family to come to England. He will see that you are more than amply compensated for this major adjustment in your life and will provide a home of your own choosing, as well as an ample income to last the rest of your life. Your new home would be close to your son, of course. Or, if you prefer, you are welcome to come live with Lord Trevlyn at his home—”

Sinead burst into laughter. “My, my, he must be desperate. But no, that’s going too far. I could never go to England.” She eyed Thomas intently. “What else?”

“Then...” Thomas flicked a quick gaze at Evleen before he continued, “If you are concerned about Patrick going to England alone, Lord Trevlyn has suggested one of your daughters could accompany him.”

“And how would she be treated?” asked Sinead. “For all I know, Lord Trevlyn would make a servant of her, force her to share a cold, tiny room in the attic with a scullery maid.”

Lord Thomas drew in a patient breath. “If you would allow it, the daughter, whichever one you chose, would be accorded every consideration, every luxury. She would have a Season, as well as clothes, jewels, and, as Lord Trevlyn put it, ‘baubles to her heart’s content’.”

“Baubles,” Sinead repeated, voice oozing with contempt. “You ask a true daughter of Ireland to trade her beloved land for baubles?

Blast. Thomas had known this would be difficult, but nothing like this. It was obvious that despite her illness, Sinead was still a willful woman, tenacious in her beliefs. He would treat her as such and lay down the hard facts. He’d not patronize her because of her present condition.

“From what I understand, aside from your two adult daughters, you have a girl of fifteen, one of fourteen, and then Patrick, of course, who is ten.”

“That is correct, sir.”

“May I be brutally frank?”

“By all means.”

“I do not pretend to know your finances, but I would surmise, since you’re not in good health, these are difficult times for you.” At Sinead’s bare nod, Thomas proceeded. “Then think, madam, of what forty pounds a year would do. Fifty. I am sure Lord Trevlyn would be happy to raise the amount.

“And in return I lose my son.”

“You don’t lose him. England isn’t that far away. Of course you will see him from time to time and–”

“I’ll lose him,” came Sinead’s anguished cry. “He’ll turn into a bloody Englishman.”

Thomas could almost smile at the unexpected use of such a forbidden word coming from a lady—and Sinead O’Fallon was a lady, despite her poverty. “I assure you, Patrick will never forget his Irish heritage. Take my word, Lord Trevlyn is a reasonable man with great sensitivity. He’ll not turn Patrick into an Englishman, not ever. To make doubly sure, I would make him aware of your feelings.”

“Would you?” Sinead sat thinking so long that Evleen, who had been listening with obvious growing concern, now spoke up.

“Mama, you’re not seriously entertaining the thought of relenting, are you?”

“I’m old and I’m sick,” Sinead answered. “Until this moment I never considered letting Patrick go, but the future of all you children is at stake. Lord Thomas has helped me see that perhaps, considering the wretched state of my health... I hate even to think it, but perhaps sending Patrick to England would be the right choice after all.”

Evleen was flabbergasted. “You’re not thinking of going to England?”

“Of course not. I shall never leave Ireland.” In deep thought, Sinead bit her lip and pondered. “Evleen, would you go with Patrick if I asked you to?”

Before Evleen could answer, Darragh, her face reddening, spoke up. “Why does it have to be Evleen? I’ll go, Mama, I would love to go.”

“Be quiet, Darragh,” Sinead commanded. “Well, Evleen?”

Thomas watched as Evleen’s heavy lashes flew up in surprise, followed by a mixture of confusion, bewilderment, and downright astonishment spreading across her face. “I can’t believe this, Mama. That you would even consider—”

“Would you go, daughter?”

“Ireland is my home,” Evleen declared. She flashed a glance at Thomas that well displayed her indignation.

“Mama, I would gladly go,” cried Darragh. “She doesn’t care, but I do. I—”

“Silence,” Sinead declared, her voice stronger than Thomas had yet heard tonight. “I’ll not hear one more word.” Pushing with both palms flat on the table, she shakily arose. “Help me to my bed, girls. Good night, Lord Thomas. You must stay the night—the girls will make a bed for you by the fire. Meantime, I shall think on Lord Trevlyn’s proposal and give you my answer in the morning.”

* * *

Thomas couldn’t sleep. In his makeshift bed in front of the fireplace, he thrashed about this way and that, his mind in a scramble. What have I done? His arrival had created a turmoil that would affect the O’Fallons for the rest of their lives, no matter what Sinead’s decision might be. If she said yes, Patrick would be given a chance at a privileged life, but the family would be torn apart. If she said no, who knew what bitter recriminations might emerge in the future? Darragh’s feelings already were obvious. But might not Patrick someday resent his mother’s denial of his inheritance?

And then there was Evleen ...

He’d had to catch his breath when the door swung open and he saw her standing there, a surprised light vivid in her sapphire blue eyes, her hair hanging loose and like a wavy cloud around her delicate face. For a moment he allowed his gaze to drop to her tiny waist and those enticing rounded curves he’d been seeing in his dreams ever since he first laid eyes on her. He was loathe to admit it, but Evleen O’Fallon disturbed him in every way. Her slim, wild beauty haunted his thoughts, yet he must be sensible. Sinead would reject Lord Trevlyn’s request, he was sure of it. But what if she said yes? And further, what if she decided Evleen should accompany Patrick to England? That would mean...

Good God. The journey back to England would take at least a week. He was faced with being in close proximity to a woman who’d dwelled in his thoughts since the moment they met. Driving a drafty carriage across Ireland... sailing across the Irish Sea in a flimsy ship... they would be thrown so closely together he would be hard put to keep his hands off her. He must not touch her, of course. Judging from those gritty looks she’d given him, she was in no mood to be civil to him, let alone entertain any modicum of friendship, let alone affection.

I would be better off with Darragh, Thomas thought grimly. The younger sister’s whiny attitude was so off-putting he would have no trouble keeping his distance.

An errant flame sparked in the fireplace, then died down until the snug room was wrapped in complete darkness. Thomas inhaled a sweet whiff of peat. How different from home, he thought, where his valet would have laid out his night clothes, turned down his bed, warmed his sheets with a warming pan if the air held the least chill. Strange, but despite the humbleness of this cottage, he felt just as comfortable and at ease as he had ever felt in his own bedchamber at Northfield Hall. The O’Fallons had made him feel at home.

He wished he could fall asleep. Why was he still wide awake? Evleen. She must be in her bed by now, only a few feet from where he lay, those long, lithe thighs, that full, curved bosom all tucked snug, warm, and beguiling beneath the covers. And her shiny raven hair spread over her pillow. She was probably asleep already...

Which, dammit, I am not.

Wide awake, Thomas thrashed about in his makeshift bed, rearranging covers that needed no rearranging. He’d be lucky if he got but a jot of sleep before morning.

* * *

The sun had not yet risen when Evleen, hearing her mother’s faint call, threw a shawl around her voluminous white nightgown and went to her mother’s bedchamber. “You’re awake early, Mama,” She sank to a chair by the bed.

Sinead sat straight in her bed, fully awake. “I’ve hardly slept. I lay here thinking most of the night, and then I went to speak to Patrick.”

“Have you decided?”

Darragh entered, shivering in her nightgown. “Yes, Mama, tell us. I’m dying to hear.”

“Go build up the fire and heat the porridge, girls. Wake Lord Thomas, if he isn’t already awake. Wake Sorcha and Mary. Patrick’s already awake. When we’re all at breakfast, I shall tell you my decision.”

* * *

At the table, Evleen found herself holding her breath as they all sat waiting for Mama to speak. Patrick had a strange look on his face. Sorcha and Mary did not appear concerned, but then, Evleen concluded, they hardly knew what was going on. Not so Darragh, who sat with eyes alert, so eager to hear Mama’s decision she could hardly contain herself. And Lord Thomas...

He was up and dressed already when they came to rekindle the fire. Now he sat, seemingly at ease, yet Evleen perceived a certain tautness of his body and an alertness in his eyes.

Somehow Mama had found the strength to drag herself to the table again. Although she looked as pale and wan as ever, she sat straight, a look of serenity upon her face as if her decision, whatever it was, had given her great peace of mind. She was about to speak. Evleen pleaded silently, please, Mama, let Patrick stay. Let me stay, too, because you need me.

Sinead addressed Lord Thomas. “I have a question for you, sir, but first–” she looked at Patrick “—tell Lord Thomas your feelings about becoming an Englishman.”

Patrick stood, squared his shoulders and fervently declared, “Even though my father was English, I shall never be an Englishman.”

“Tell Lord Thomas who you are, son.”

Patrick proudly lifted his chin. “I am Patrick O’Fallon, son of Sinéad Coneeley O’Fallon, daughter of James Coneeley, Duke of Dormonde, whose roots can be traced back to Macha Mong Ruad, the red-haired queen who reigned over the land nearly three hundred years before Christ.”

Sinead nodded her approval. “That’s enough, Patrick. I do believe Lord Thomas can see what your background is. Now tell us what you know of the part England has played in Irish history.”

Without hesitation, Patrick continued, “After King James the Second landed in Ireland, to try to regain Britain from William and Mary, he was defeated at the River Boyne. Then the Irish who had not rallied to his cause, both Catholic and Protestants, were punished severely.”

“By measures from which we suffer to this very day,” Sinead interjected, with a meaningful glance at her visitor. “And that, Patrick, is one of a plethora of reasons why we do not like the English, is that not correct?”

The boy nodded enthusiastically. “Indeed it is, Mama.”

Sinead turned to Lord Thomas. “There you have it, sir. Does it appear to you the boy would, under any circumstances, ever forget his Irish heritage?”

“No, it would not appear so,” he replied. Evleen noted that if he was the least perturbed by Patrick’s words, he showed no sign of it.

Sinead smiled faintly. “I know what you think of us in England. The Irish are sinners, you say, and that’s true enough, but we’re much more. We are a mix of sinners, saints, gamblers, gentry, peasants, priests, rebels, heroes, villains, but we’re all Irish, and proud natives of this emerald isle. Lord Thomas, I must make it plain to you that Patrick is Irish through-and-through. If he lives to be a hundred, he will never be an Englishman.”

Lord Thomas nodded solemnly. “I cannot argue.”

Sinead continued, “Then my question is, do you honestly believe Lord Trevlyn would want a grandson who is so thoroughly Irish? Who could never be molded into an Englishman, no matter what measures Lord Trevlyn employed?”

Lord Thomas took his time in answering, seeming to mull his answer carefully. Finally he said, “You understand I cannot speak for Lord Trevlyn.”

“I am aware of that.”

“I can only tell you what I think Lord Trevlyn would say, an assumption I would never dare make if it weren’t for the fact he sent me here to represent him.”

“Understood.”

“Then it’s my strong belief Lord Trevlyn would say, Patrick will do very well in England.” Lord Thomas smiled at Patrick. “Your grandfather is old now, and somewhat feeble, but all his life he has been a man of strong character who believes a man must have a purpose to his life. He would applaud your Irish independence. To his mind, a tenacious belief in oneself and one’s principles is a virtue. Never would he try, as your mother puts it, to mold you into something you are not.” Lord Thomas paused to reflect, then said to Sinead, “Patrick is the heir to a vast estate. As such, his grandfather will be more busy instilling in him the virtues of honor and hard work, rather than the rather dubious advantages of being an Englishman. I cannot imagine any circumstance in which Lord Trevlyn would allow his grandson to dissipate his time, wealth, and health, as I regret to say, many of my fellow Englishmen do.”

“Well said, sir,” answered Sinead. Evleen thought so, too. Their visitor had been forthright, and she admired that quality in a man. She suspected Lord Trevlyn’s lofty virtues might be Lord Thomas’s virtues, too.

“If Patrick should go to England, I have one condition,” said Sinead.

“Which is?”

“That if, after a reasonable length of time, he’s not happy in England, he may return to Ireland, no recriminations, and his return passage paid.”

“I am sure I speak for Lord Trevlyn when I say he’ll happily agree to those terms.”

“It’s settled, then.” Sinead looked around the table. “Patrick shall go to England,” she announced in a voice that brooked no further argument.

“No, Mama you cannot,” cried Evleen, feeling her throat close up.

“No,” cried her sisters,

Sinéad firmly set her jaw. “It’s for the best.”

Looking cool and detached as ever, Lord Thomas spoke up. “Will you come also, madam?”

“Did I not make it clear I would never leave Ireland?” Mama turned a piercing gaze on Evleen. “My eldest daughter shall accompany Patrick to England and stay as long as she likes.” She looked to Thomas. “As with Patrick, if she decides she doesn’t like it there, will Lord Trevlyn pay her passage back?”

“I guarantee it.”

Despite her own shock, Evleen’s attention was diverted by Darragh’s wail, which doubtless could be heard clear to Dublin and beyond.

“No, Mama. How could you send Evleen when she doesn’t want to go and I do? How could you–?”

“That’s enough, Darragh,” Mama sternly interrupted. “Evleen is the eldest, and therefore the most entitled to go. She deserves to travel, see a bit of the world. Besides, I need you here, not only to take care of Sorcha and Mary, but, quite frankly, me.”

Evleen felt like crying out her protest, too, but if she did, she would sound as whiny as Darragh. In an agony of doubt, she shook her head. “You talk of my seeing a bit of the world, Mama, but I have no wish to. I have what I want right here. Let Darragh go.”

“Yes, let me go.” Darragh eagerly bobbed her head. “I would love to have a Season. I would love the clothes, the parties, the baubles. I would love to be a part of The Polite World. After all, isn’t that where we belong? And besides, what of Timothy?”

Sinead had listened patiently. “We won’t worry about Timothy. Besides—” a corner of her mouth lifted wryly “—Evleen has never appeared to be in any great rush to marry him.”

Evleen could not help casting a quick glance at Lord Thomas, although why she should need to see his reaction, she wasn’t sure. “Darragh has a point, Mama. Timothy will most certainly disapprove.”

Sinead replied, “I am not the least concerned with what Timothy Murphy thinks, and I suspect that deep down, neither are you. I have made up my mind and you shall go. At least give it a chance. Then, if you really want to come home, you may do so. Meantime, if Timothy loves you, he’ll gladly wait.”

“It’s not–” Evleen began, then stopped abruptly. The granite set of her mother’s chin told her further argument was futile. She had been going to tell her mother it really wasn’t Timothy who concerned her, that she wanted to remain at home because of her health. Besides, for some unfathomable reason, she felt uncomfortable discussing Timothy in front of Lord Thomas.

Sinead turned fond eyes to Patrick, who looked dazed by the news. “Patrick and I have already talked. He agrees I’ve made the right decision.”

“You had better talk to me, too, Mama.” Evleen had to speak over a lump in her throat. She turned her eyes to Lord Thomas. “It appears your visit has changed our lives.” She had spoken the words flatly, yet the bitter accusation in her voice was unmistakable and she made no attempt to hide it.

Lord Thomas was silent a moment. It was as if he was keenly aware of the roiling emotions he had caused and knew he must choose his next words with the utmost care. “I can make no apologies, Miss O’Fallon,” he began softly. “I am only the messenger, don’t forget. But need I point out that henceforth Lord Trevlyn will be furnishing your family fifty pounds a year? I am sure you will admit it’s an amount which will provide your loved ones with a much more comfortable life. And need I point out that Patrick will soon be receiving every advantage a young boy could possibly receive? And you, too, actually.”

“You need not point those things out, sir.” Evleen stood, inwardly reeling from this shocking turn of events in her life. “When would we leave, Mama?”

“How much time do you need?”

“Enough to say goodbye to my friends... and Timothy.”

“Day after tomorrow then? I shall immediately direct a letter to Lord Trevlyn, telling him we’re coming.”

“Fine,” Sinead replied, finality in her voice. She directed a glance at Evleen. “If it turns out Lord Trevlyn is an ogre, you are to bring Patrick home immediately, fifty pounds a year or no.

“Rest easy. Lord Trevlyn is no ogre,” Thomas assured her. With a look of the utmost admiration, he continued, “You’re a brave woman, Sinead O’Fallon.”

She returned a small smile. “I trust you can stand one more night on that makeshift bed.”

“I’ve slept on worse.” He shrugged dismissively. “And so will Patrick and Miss Evleen, I fear. The journey to England won’t be an easy one.”

“I’m not worried about their journey,” said Sinead, “It’s what happens after they get there that causes me concern.”

And well it might, Thomas thought but wisely didn’t say.

* * *

It was morning and time to go. Outside the cottage, dressed in a coarse blue flannel gown covered by a yellow and pink shawl, Evleen took one last, lingering look down at the far shining sea, the sparse, bent trees that stood on the cliffs below, and, closer, the cottage and its small walled garden. Her heart swelled with the pain of parting as she said, “Oh, Mama I shall miss you all so very much.”

Sinead, supported by Darragh, gently pressed her palm to Evleen’s cheek. “My prayers go with you.”

“Mine, too,” Darragh said sincerely. She could not contain herself and burst, “Mama, how could you just let her go off with that man?” She looked over at Lord Thomas, who was hitching the curricle. “Evleen should have a chaperone.”

“Don’t be silly, Darragh,” Sinead replied. “Leave chaperones to those pampered English young ladies who must be treated like children. You should be grateful we don’t live in such an artificial society. Besides, Lord Thomas is not an monster. Even if he were, Evleen is quite capable of taking care of herself.”

“You realize I shall soon be living in your so-called artificial society,” Evleen declared.

Darragh pounced on Evleen’s words. “It will be the ruination of her, Mama. Evleen won’t know how to handle herself amidst the ton. All those rules, those fancy manners. She won’t have the least notion what to do.”

“Ah, yes she will.” Sinead regarded her eldest daughter with proud eyes. “I have every faith that wherever she goes, whatever she does, she’ll remember the lessons I have taught her. She will at all times act courageously, and with fortitude. She will always see the best in people and ignore the worst. She will always do what she knows is virtuous and right. Those are rules that will keep her safe, not only in Ireland but wherever she goes.”

“But what if my head is turned by the clothes, the jewels, the baubles?” asked Evleen, her lips twisting into a wry smile.

“To be sure, you will find yourself in difficult situations, my daughter, but I have no doubt you will stay the course, see it through. Just one thing more.”

“And what might that be?”

“Never love an Englishman.”

Evleen started to laugh. “You’ve said that before, I don’t know how many times. If you’re thinking of Lord Thomas—”

“As I have said, he appears to be a kind man, and I’m sure you’ll travel in safe hands. Still, he’s English and not to be trusted.”

“You have my word.”

“I had better have your word. Forget what I said before. I want you to enjoy your life in England. Go to the parties, the routs, the balls. Find a rich, titled Englishman and marry him.”

Evleen stared at her mother, astounded. “Marry an Englishman? But you said—”

“I am only being practical,” Mama answered. “What I said was, never love an Englishman because if you do, he’ll break your heart. But I never told you not to marry one, not as long as he can offer you wealth and a fine title.”

“But this is so unlike you. I never thought I’d hear you say these things.”

“I lay awake the night, reflecting,” answered Sinead. “At dawn, it all came clear. My love of Ireland has clouded my thinking. Don’t you see? Much as you don’t want to face it, I shall be gone soon. The girls will marry and be gone, too. So what is there for you to come back to? Timothy Murphy and his fishing boats? No, Evleen. You, with your beauty, your warmth and wit and charm were made for better things.”

“But Ireland is my home,” cried Evleen. “I want to come back. I want—”

“Men will adore you in England.” Sinead gripped her daughter’s arms. “Listen to me. There’s nothing for you here, child. Nothing except poverty, and want, and a marriage with a man you could never love. I know what’s best for you, and I know you must make a fine marriage in England. Just don’t do anything foolish. Always listen to your head, not your heart and you’ll do fine.”

Still shaken from her mother’s astonishing turn-around, Evleen asked, “What if I don’t find a rich and titled Englishman?”

With an amused smile, Sinead answered, “You will. Promise me you will. Before I die, I want to know your future is secure. It’s what I want for you more than anything else in this world.”

A thousand objections crossed Evleen’s mind, but one thing she knew: she could never deny her mother. “I... suppose. Yes, I promise I shall try.”

Sinead shaded her eyes and looked down the road. “Ah, speaking of Timothy, here he comes to say goodbye.”

* * *

In the lower corner of the garden, Timothy, resentful and confused, looked down on Evleen, his brows pulled together in an affronted frown. “I cannot see why you are doing this,” he said.

“It’s for Patrick,” Evleen informed him for at least the third time. She felt terrible. Timothy had dressed in his Sunday finest to come and say goodbye. He looked his very best in his grey frize coat, linen shirt with the collar fastened by a black ribbon, corduroy trousers with a bunch of ribbons floating at the knee. She wished with all her heart he would understand, but so far, nothing she said seemed to penetrate. “I must go with Patrick. He’s too young to go alone.”

“Ah, Evleen, why must you go so far away?”

Why wouldn’t he listen? “It’s not so very far—only across the Irish Sea to Holyhead, then we take a coach to London, and then another to Hertfordshire, near Hatfield, to an estate called Aldershire Manor.”

“Names I never heard of.”

“But you will. I shall write as often as I can.”

“But when shall we be married?”

This was going to be hard, but with her future as uncertain as it was, she knew she must be truthful. “We are not betrothed, Timothy. It would be unfair of me to promise I’ll marry you, when the future is so unsure.” There, she’d said it. She expected he’d be deeply hurt, but to her surprise, Timothy didn’t appear wounded in the least. It was if he hadn’t heard her.

“I’m buying another fishing boat,” he said, “and by the time you return I’ll have built our new house.”

“Didn’t you hear me?”

Before Timothy could answer, Mama called, “Evleen, are you ready?”

“In a moment, Mama.” Evleen gazed up at Timothy and thought how strange it was that now she was leaving she felt fonder of him than she ever had before. And he did look handsome in his Sunday clothes. “I must go, Timothy. I pray you understand.”

“Kiss me goodbye.” As Timothy pulled her into his arms, she felt self-conscious. This was no time to be pulling back, but despite herself, she sneaked a glance to where Lord Thomas had been hitching the two bays to the curricle. Good. His back was practically to her and he was examining the harness, not paying the least attention. Timothy’s arms encircled her. She raised herself on tiptoe and brushed her lips across his.

“Sure and you can do better than that.” He crushed her against him and brought his lips hard against hers. They swayed for a long moment. She felt a ringing in her head until finally he let her go.

“Oh,” she said, quite surprised. In the few times they’d kissed, he had never been this passionate before.

Timothy stepped away and looked down on her, his honest face shadowed with concern. “You won’t forget me now.” He cast a resentful glance at Lord Thomas. “And promise you’ll be careful of Himself over there. I don’t trust the man any farther than I could throw that fine carriage of his.”

Timothy was bound to be jealous, Evleen thought, and hastened to reassure him. “The only duty Lord Thomas has right now is to escort Patrick and me to England. I hardly know the man, but he seems dependable. Mama likes him, anyway. He mentioned he plans to breed Thoroughbreds at his estate near Abingdon. I’m sure he’ll leave for there immediately after we arrive at Lord Trevlyn’s, so I doubt I shall ever see him again.”

That said, Evleen could not prevent herself from sneaking another peak to where Lord Thomas was still busy checking the harness, oblivious to her and Timothy. A good thing, she thought. She would not have wanted Lord Thomas to witness hers and Timothy’s parting kiss and close embrace.

* * *

Thomas had to grip the harness and look out at the sea an extra moment to steady himself. He was shocked at the roiling wave of pure jealousy that surged through him when he observed Timothy Murphy slide his arms around Evleen O’Fallon. Never had he been a man to pry into the private affairs of others, yet, unable to prevent himself, he surreptitiously watched as Timothy’s hand intimately caressed the small of Evleen’s fine, straight back as he pulled her closer, ever closer, then crushed his lips to hers.

He must be crazy, but the sight of that Irish oaf kissing Evleen made him want to rush to the bottom of the garden and punch the fellow out. An absurd notion, of course. Timothy Murphy was not an oaf. He was a fine, upstanding, honest Irishman who would make Evleen a fine husband. He had better remember that. If this surprising spurt of jealousy struck again, he must guard against acting the fool. In fact, he would have to exercise the utmost control if he were to accompany this tantalizing woman and her brother clear back to England and hang onto the cool detachment he always maintained when dealing with women.

But I will, he vowed, despite the fact he could hardly keep his eyes off Evleen O’Fallon. How ironic, he mused, thinking of the many beauties of the ton who had thrown themselves at him to no avail. He could not have cared less, despite their elaborate coiffeurs and beautiful gowns. Now here was this Irish girl, her hair worn simply, dressed in a gown that was hardly the height of fashion. He felt a pang of concern, thinking how the women of Aldershire Manor would scoff at Evleen’s coarse blue flannel gown and the yellow and pink shawl she had thrown over her shoulders with such artless grace. But what mattered fashion? What man would not be enchanted by her melodious Irish voice; the wealth of dark hair that swung with such allure about her slender shoulders; the knowing light that twinkled deep in those sapphire blue eyes? Yet, he must contain himself and never let his attraction show. For all her fire and beauty, Evleen O’Fallon could play no part in his future plans. If he married anyone, it would be Miss Bettina Trevlyn. Not now, of course, but some faraway day when and if he could get past the embroidery stitches. Papa not only approved, he expected Thomas to marry her. Not that Thomas did not have a mind of his own, but he, too, recognized that Miss Evleen O’Fallon was from a different world. Besides, she was betrothed to Timothy Murphy, was she not? Actually, despite the conversation at the table last night, he wasn’t sure.

Darragh had come to stand beside him. He nodded to the couple still standing at the bottom of the garden and asked, “Are they betrothed?”

Darragh seemed to hesitate before she answered, “Indeed they are. Evleen is madly in love with him. They plan to marry as soon as she returns from England.”



* * *

“Goodbye, Mama,” said Evleen, trying unsuccessfully to hold back her tears. “I hate to go.”

Tenderly Sinead gripped her arms. “Go to England. Keep an open mind. Yes, I hate the English, but I’m not so blind I cannot see how much more England has to offer than impoverished County Clare.”

“But if you feel that way, why don’t you come to England and bring my sisters, too?”

Sinead smiled sadly. “Your sisters and I belong here, but you, with your strength, your wit and keen intellect, were meant for better things. In England, you will flower. Embrace every bit of it—the poetry, music, books, art. The glittering social life, the brilliant people. Learn. Enjoy every minute of your life. Never feel guilt and never feel obligated. And most of all, make me proud, Evleen.” She looked toward Lord Thomas. “He’s not a bad sort.”

Evleen shrugged. “I suppose.”

“You’ll be thrown together on this journey. I worry.” Her brow furrowed. “Don’t you be falling in love with Thomas Linberry.”

“I?” Evleen asked skeptically, “fall in love with an Englishman?” She laughed derisively. “I grant you, he’s handsome enough, and rather charming, but he’s English, after all, and I shall never forget what one Englishman did to you and all our family.”

“Good, and if you find yourself attracted to him, remind yourself he possesses neither wealth nor significant title.”

“But find an Englishman who does,” Evleen replied warily. She still could hardly believe what Mama had told her a while ago.

“I meant what I said, Evleen.”

Evleen’s heart wrenched at the thought of leaving Ireland forever, yet if it was what Mama wanted...

“I shall try,” she said over a growing lump in her throat.

Sinead hugged her tight. “Don’t be afraid. If worse comes to worse and all else fails, you can always come home and marry Timothy Murphy.”