The Irish Upstart

chapter 17



By dawn’s first light, Evleen was packed and ready to leave. Even though doubts assailed her, she could hardly wait to remove herself from this cruel, uncaring country and return to her beloved Ireland. She felt little joy, though. Mama would be crushed that her eldest daughter had not found that rich, titled Englishman. And then there was Thomas. She felt an acute sense of loss, just thinking about him. In her heart she knew she could never love another man and doubtless would stay single for the rest of her days.

Downstairs, she found Patrick dressed, ready, and in high spirits. He had shown no great regret when she told him they were leaving England. “I shall miss Grandfather,” he said, but then his eyes lit as he added, “I can hardly wait to see Mama and the girls again.”

They ate a quick breakfast. Afterwards, followed by a footman hauling their luggage, as well as Lord Trevlyn himself, they made their way to the marbled front portico where Lord Trevlyn’s coach awaited.

“I wish you Godspeed on your journey,” Lord Trevlyn said brightly after hugging Patrick and pecking Evleen on the cheek. “Patrick, always take pride in who you are. Never forget you are not simple Patrick O’Fallon, but Viscount Montfret, heir to my estate and title.”

At another time, Evleen would have protested Lord Trevlyn’s admonishment to Patrick. She would have ardently proclaimed that pride in one’s inherited title was misplaced. Far better for Patrick if he took pride in his honor, integrity, and the manner in which he conducted himself, and that included his treatment of his so-called inferiors. But the old man meant well. He had been part of this stilted, vainglorious society all his life, and knew no other. Strange, how little upset he seemed. She had expected he would be distraught his grandson was leaving, but instead he appeared exceedingly cheerful.

“Where is Walter?” she asked.

“Er... you’ll find your escort inside my coach. Er, goodbye, my children.” With obvious haste, Lord Trevlyn retreated inside his mansion. Surprising. She would have thought he would stay to wave goodbye.

The footman opened the coach door. Someone was sitting there, she assumed Walter. She was half-way inside when she looked into his face and got such a jolt she gasped. It wasn’t Walter, it was Thomas.

“You,” she said, frozen half-way in, half-way out.

He sat there grinning at her, one boot jauntily propped on the seat across. “Ah, good morning, Miss O’Fallon. Fleeing to Ireland, are we?”

She stepped back out of the coach and glared at him. “What are you doing here? Where is Walter?”

“Alas, Walter was busy, so I volunteered to take his place.”

“You mean... oh no! Surely you’re aware by now what your father told me. Why are you doing this? There’s no point.”

His grin disappeared. He sprang lightly from the coach and standing close, took both her hands. “You’re making a mistake. Don’t go. There’s nothing we cannot work out.”

She jerked her hands away. “I am indeed going to Ireland, but not with you. Patrick and I are quite capable of going by ourselves.”

“That may very well be, but if you do go alone, it won’t be in this fine coach. Lord Trevlyn insists you have an escort.” He cocked an amused eyebrow at her. “Alas, it appears the only suitable escort available is me.”

“I won’t go with you!”

“Ah, but you will. I give you my word I shall be the perfect gentleman, just as before. Not only that, I promise I’ll say nothing more to dissuade you from returning to your home.”

“Please, can’t Lord Thomas come?” begged Patrick, who had been listening wide-eyed.

“Well...” She felt herself weakening.

“Who knows the roads better than I? asked Thomas. “Who knows how to get to Holyhead and find a boat?” An amused gleam filled his eyes. “Who else will take care of you when you’re heaving over the side?”

“Oh, very funny,” she retorted, unamused. He had a point, though. She could not picture Walter comforting her as Thomas had done. The timid little man would no doubt himself be heaving. Still...

“You and Lord Trevlyn plotted this together,” she accused.

“Of course,” he instantly admitted. “We don’t want you to go, Evleen, but if you do, I promise, I shall be the perfect escort.”

“Then... oh, all right, I suppose I must.” But I don’t have to like it. She would be civil to him, and barely polite, but would keep her distance, mentally if not physically, and most certainly not indulge in any sort of personal conversation. “But I warn you, Lord Thomas, nothing on this earth can make me change my mind.”

Thomas only smiled and had no answer.



* * *

Thomas remained true to his word on their trip across England. Always his charming self, he was helpful, courteous, and always amusing, but not one personal word crossed his lips.

Evleen remained aloof much of the day, constantly reviewing in her mind that terrible scene with Thomas’s father. The coach was well past Shrewsbury before her curiosity got the better of her. “Why are you doing this, Lord Thomas?” Quickly she corrected herself. “Lord Eddington, I mean.”

“You need not be so formal.” He was sitting across, so he was able to look her square in the eye. “Actually, ‘Thomas’ would do, if you could possibly bring yourself to be that informal.”

“You have answered my question, Lord Eddington.”

“Ah, so that’s the way it is,” he said, amused. “Well, then, Miss O’Fallon, has it crossed your mind that I am here because I care enough to be concerned?”

“Totally unnecessary.”

“Not unnecessary at all. According to Lord Trevlyn, you’re a delicate flower who could not possibly be allowed to travel alone.”

She bristled. “Delicate flower indeed.” She noticed the mischievous gleam in his eye. “You weren’t serious.”

“Of course not. God help anyone who gets in your way.”

“You are absolutely right,” she replied, flinging the words at him. “There’s never a need to worry about me.”

“So true,” he replied agreeably. “Actually I foresee a marvelous future for you in Ireland.”

“And what might that be?”

“You will marry that fine, upstanding Irishman, Timothy Murphy. You will have at least ten children—make that a dozen. You will live to a ripe old age and become the wizened old oracle of County Clair, dispensing sage advice far and wide. They’ll be beating a path to your door. They—”

“I get the point,” she said, not at all amused. Oh, he could be so exasperating! She knew she shouldn’t bother to defend herself, but he needed to be set straight. “For your information, I shall never marry Timothy Murphy.”

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Is that right? Then perhaps you and I should talk.”

“You promised you wouldn’t.”

“I promised I would do nothing to dissuade you from returning to your home.” He glanced out the window. “It would appear this coach is indeed heading west toward Ireland, just as you wished.”

She took pains to conceal her rising curiosity. “Then say what you have to say.”

“This is not the time nor the place.” He replaced his mocking smile with a gentle one. “When it is, I shall let you know.”

* * *

They crossed the Irish Sea on a ship called The Union, which pitched and rolled as much, if not more, than The Countess of Liverpool. Evleen found herself hard-put to maintain her aloof attitude with Lord Thomas, especially when she was sick again, and he, all kindness and concern, was there to comfort her every mile of the way.

Back on land, Thomas hired a carriage in Dublin which he drove himself. They were nearly half-way across Ireland, near Athlone, when he made an unexpected turn and started down a familiar road.

“Are we going to Conclonomaise?” asked Patrick, full of enthusiasm.

“Oh, no, not now,” cried Evleen. The closer they got to County Claire, the more anxious she was to see her mother.

“It will only take a few minutes,” said Thomas. With a slight smile, he continued, “Indulge me.”

* * *

The enduring silence of the ancient monastery grounds was broken only by the melodic chirping of the birds. Overhead, fleecy white clouds skittered about an azure blue sky as Evleen gazed down at the carved stone crosses dotting the emerald green setting of Conclonomaise. They were like silent sentinels guarding the centuries, she mused.

Since that terrible scene with Thomas’s father, she had lived in her own little world of hurt and resentment, but gradually, as she gazed at the ancient ruins lying below her in the sunshine, her inner turmoil stilled, replaced by a marvelous feeling of serenity. “Just think, it was founded in five-forty-five AD,” she murmured. “It’s hard to imagine, all those many years ago.”

Thomas stood close by her side. “Here, I can think of Montague without feeling bitter at his wasted life. I know he’s at last found peace.”

Thomas has done so much for me, she thought with sudden clarity. The thought barely crossed her mind when another followed. Even though grieving for his brother, he had taken the time to escort Patrick and her home to Ireland. “How thoughtless of me. I’ve been so sunk in my own troubles, I forgot how terrible you must feel.”

“This is the least I can do. My father treated you abysmally.”

“Yes, he did, but still...” She was silent for a time, putting her thoughts in order. “I’m so glad you brought me here. It’s not easy to explain, but I’m thinking of all the people who’ve lived here over the centuries and how they’ve come and gone. They had troubles, too, but now, what does it matter? I stand here in awe. This place makes me realize how petty are my own concerns.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “A hundred years from now, all those uncertainties of ours that loom so large today won’t matter one whit.”

So very true, she thought. Although she had been deeply wounded by the Marquess’s words, a year, six months, from now, what would they matter? Aside from honor, the one thing in her life that truly mattered was her love for her family, and their love for her. And equally important...

Her heart swelled with newly discovered feeling. My love for Thomas. She smiled up at him. “I feel better somehow.”

“You should. Of your many admirable qualities, the one I admire the most is your faith in yourself. You know my father was wrong. You are not going to wallow in self-pity.”

“I know, and I won’t.”

He took her hand. “Let’s stroll, shall we? I want another chance at that Whispering Arch.”

Patrick was off exploring when they reached the ruins of the cathedral and The Whispering Arch. “You stand here,” said Thomas, placing her on one side of the arch. “And I’ll stand here.” He stood on the other side and they faced each other.

Evleen’s heart was pounding as she asked, “Would you mind telling me why you brought me here?”

He asked, “Do you remember what the old man said to us the first time we were here?”

“He said courting couples have been coming here for centuries. They stand, one on each side, whispering their words of love to one another.”

“As I recall, you couldn’t wait to inform him we were not courting.”

“Which if you recall, we weren’t at the time.” As casually as she could manage, she softly asked, “Are we now, Thomas?”

He gave her a look so warm and compelling, so full of longing, it dispelled all doubts. “Of course we are.”

She felt instant joy at Thomas’s words, yet was suddenly beset with all the reasons why such a union would never work. “But your father disapproves of me.”

“Not for long. Amanda is going to speak to him, if she hasn’t already, and tell him the complete truth about Montague’s death, and that it was in no way your fault. My father will come ‘round. If he does not, it’s his loss, not ours. By the way, I’m amazed at the change in Amanda. Thanks to you, the girl has developed a backbone.”

“That’s all very well and good,” she said, “But I hate to think of facing the Trevlyns again. You know how they dislike me.”

“You will be happy to hear Walter and his family will soon be leaving Aldershire Manor. Before I left, I spoke to Lord Trevlyn. It seems he’s booting them out. They’ll be living on that small piece of land Walter owns. There’s a small cottage there with a nicely thatched roof. With a servant, possibly two, they should be quite comfortable.”

“Lydia Trevlyn in a cottage?” She could hardly picture such a thing. “She’ll be miserable.”

He gave her his lopsided grin. “Do you care?”

She grinned in return. “Of course not, except for Amanda.”

“Never fear, Lord Trevlyn is giving Amanda her Season. The way she’s changed, I’m sure the dandies will be swarming about.”

Evleen was delighted. “Amanda will find her true love in no time.” In the distance, she saw Patrick and was reminded of yet another problem. “But then there’s Patrick and his behavior—”

“Not a problem,” Thomas interrupted firmly. “Lord Trevlyn has told me of the boy’s arrogant conduct. It’s quite normal, under the circumstances. All he needs is a firm hand.”

“Which Lord Trevlyn will never give, I’m afraid.”

“Nor should he. Grandfathers are meant to indulge their grandchildren, not mete out the discipline. The firm hand will come from me.” He gazed fondly at Patrick, playing in the distance. “We’ll get along just fine.” He swung his gaze back to Evleen. “All right, anything else? Or have we covered all your objections?”

She considered a moment. “I can’t think of anything.”

“In that case, it appears it’s time to follow the old tradition.” Thomas leaned a flattened palm against the arch, jammed his other hand into his hip, and jauntily crossed one boot over the other. He lowered his voice to just above a whisper and lightly said, “My dear Miss O’Fallon, in all my life I have never met a woman as beautiful, charming, witty, and entertaining as you, nor one as independent, if not downright obstinate. I love everything about you—the way your face lights when you smile, the sound of your voice and that Irish brogue of yours which, the madder you are, the thicker it gets. I want to hear it all the rest of my life. In fact, ‘love’ is hardly the word, I am mad for you. Will you marry me?” He took a deep breath and stared intensely, waiting for her answer.

“Must I whisper it?” she asked from four feet away, her heart racing.

“Tradition be dammed.” He stepped across the archway and swept her into his arms. “Say it as loud as you like.”

“Yes, I will marry you,” she cried, and would have said more but he crushed her lips with an eager, grateful kiss. Finally she pulled back enough to say, “I thought of something else.”

“And what might that be?”

“I want a long, long visit with my mother.”

“If you like, we shall post the banns in Galway and be married in Ireland.”

“Mama would like that.”

“Really? Didn’t she tell you, never love an Englishman?”

Evleen smiled as she reached to kiss him again. “Mothers can be wrong.”

The end