The Irish Upstart (18 page)

Although she had mixed feelings, her spirits lifted at his reassuring words. She was beginning to realize he was not just another dissolute Englishman. In fact...

As they stood close in the archway of the ancient stone church, the midday sun shining down upon them, a bird swooping low overhead, she found herself intensely conscious of how drawn she felt toward Thomas Linberry, and how keenly she was aware that this was a man to be reckoned with, who, if she judged correctly, possessed a fierce virility but thinly veiled. Lord Thomas most certainly had no place in her future plans, though. She would be a fool if she allowed herself to be attracted to him. He thought of her as strong? Well, strong she would be. She tilted her chin
.
“
How right you are about my Irish blood. No matter what, I’ll not let them plague me.
”

He smiled and was about to speak when the wizened old caretaker they had seen in the distance came limping around the corner of the church.
“
Ah, I see ‘tis visitors we have,
”
he said in his thick brogue.
“
‘Tis not many who make their way to Clonmacnoise.
”

“
It’s most beautiful,
”
said Evleen.

“
Ay, beautiful it is. Do ye know where ye be standing?
”
When both Evleen and Thomas shook their heads, he continued,
“
Ye be standin’ by the cathedral, largest of the churches, built in nine-hundred-nine. This be the north doorway, carved in limestone. They call it the Whispering Arch. Courting couples ‘ave been comin’ here for centuries. They stand, one on each side, whisperin’ their words of love to one another.
”

“
We’re not courting, I’m afraid,
”
said Evleen.

“
Ye must be cousins then, or mayhap brother and sister.
”

When Thomas told him no, the old man cocked his head and regarded them appraisingly.
“
Well, from the looks of ye, ye should be courting,
”
he announced abruptly, and hobbled away.

When he was gone, Evleen and Thomas broke into laughter, but it was not an easy laughter and was soon stilled.
“
What a funny little man,
”
said Evleen. She felt self-conscious and had groped for something to say.

“
Very,
”
Thomas echoed. He seemed perfectly at ease, and yet some strange force seemed to be preventing him from moving from the spot, just as it was preventing her from moving, too. As they stood staring deep into one another’s eyes, a current of something intense flared between them. Evleen quickly looked away. God in heaven, her pulse was racing, she felt dizzy. This man had just made her senses spin. He also was affected, she could see. She could tell from the sudden tenseness of his shoulders and the way he’d pulled in his breath just now, that he had also felt this... this... what? Deep attraction, she supposed. Yes. Foolish, impossible though it was, that look they had just exchanged had been full of unspoken desire. She had felt a vibrant excitement that made her forget herself for one tiny moment and want very much to fling herself wantonly into his arms.

“
Lord Thomas, Evleen! I climbed inside the tower. Come see.
”
Patrick again. What a welcome interruption.

“
Did you now, Patrick?
”
she called, collecting herself
post haste. The look she cast Lord Thomas was as cool and indifferent as she could make it.
“
Would you care to go see the tower, sir?
”

“
Indeed,
”
he answered, bowing slightly, equally composed.
“
I cannot get enough of ancient monasteries.
”

* * *
 
                                       

Disgusted with himself, Thomas could hardly believe what he had almost done. Despite his stern resolve, during that dizzying moment with Evleen at the Whispering Arch, he had been sorely tempted. The woman was betrothed. Spoken for. Honor alone would prevent him from touching her, yet he had let his guard down enough that he’d come close to pulling her soft, tempting body tight against him and crushing her soft, rosebud lips with his own. And then...

A quiver surged through his veins, but he commanded himself to ignore it. He must stop all thought of her except as her escort to England. Had he gone mad? What was the matter with him? Not only was Evleen betrothed, but eventually he, himself, would be committed to Miss Bettina Trevlyn, who was far better suited to him than this bold-spirited Irish girl.

“
Shall we go find Patrick?
”
she asked.

“
Indeed, time is flying,
”
he answered, forcing himself to sound brusque. From now on, he must not dare allow himself to become too friendly again, or he would...

Would what? Flout society’s rules? Thomas laughed to himself. If that were the case, he would have done far more than kiss Miss Evleen O’Fallon there, under the old man’s Whispering Arch. God, what a tempting woman. If he’d had his way, society’s rules would have been more than flouted, they would have been ground into dust, much like some of the ruins of Clonmacnoise. He spotted Patrick.
“
Ah, there he is, Miss O’Fallon,
”
he remarked, noting with satisfaction how cool he sounded, how very aloof.

And he would remain aloof from now on. Evleen had enough on her hands right now. Their recent conversation concerning Walter and his family had reminded Thomas of the inevitable problems that lay ahead. He wondered if Lord Trevlyn had informed Walter he was not the heir presumptive anymore. A black premonition of impending trouble came over Thomas as he realized Walter might go quietly, but most assuredly not greedy Lydia and her three daughters.

* * *
 
                                       

Surprised, yet not overly upset, Walter Trevlyn stepped from the mahogany paneled library of Aldershire Manor where his brother had just delivered the supposedly ghastly news.
“
I know this comes as quite a blow,
”
Charles had compassionately added at the end,
“
but I could wait no longer. I have just received word from Lord Thomas that he, Patrick, and his half-sister, Evleen, will be arriving any day now.
”

Walter knew he was supposed to be stunned, devastated, outraged. Instead, more than anything else he felt a vast sense of relief that he would not be compelled to become the sixth Earl of Alberdsley. He had never fancied being addressed as His Lordship, with people bowing and scraping to him as if he had just descended from Heaven and was a touch above the rest. He was comfortable as he was, and most certainly did not need a vast fortune when he already had his books, his bird-watching expeditions to the woods, his sketch pad and paints. What more could he ask for? After all, he’d no expectation of inheritance during Randall’s lifetime. Then, as now, his life was happy and complete, except...
oh, Lord, Lydia
.

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear
.

He pictured the look on his wife’s face when informed her dream of ruling over Aldershire Manor as
“
Her Ladyship
”
would never be fulfilled. Now she would never assume the title she coveted, which was very bad news indeed. Over the years, how many times had he heard Lydia lament her lack of a title? If she told him once, she told him a thousand times the dreaded day was coming when the husband of her arch rival, Mrs. Drummond-Burrell, would inherit his mother’s title. When he did, Mrs. Drummond-Burrel, esteemed Patroness of Almack’s, would become Lady Willoughby de Eresby. Who knew when this woeful event would actually occur? All he knew was that when it did, if Lydia was still plain Mrs. Trevlyn, her life would be ruined. Never could she hold her head up, or appear in polite society, ever again. Not that she wished Walter’s dear brother ill, of course, but after all, he was quite old, and getting feeble, and how much longer must she wait to be called
“
Her Ladyship,
”
a title she justly deserved?

And then there were the girls...

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear
.

The more Walter thought, the more he realized this whole affair was nothing but trouble no matter how he looked at it. Lydia would doubtless have a fit when she found out. Daughters, too. Although... good grief. How could he marry them off now? It had been bad enough before, despite the large dowries.

The butler encountered him in the hallway.
“
Dinner is served, sir. The family is waiting.
”

The remains of Walter’s brief spell of euphoria fast disappeared. He heaved a sigh and heartily wished he could just go to his rooms and read Euclid. But no, he must face his family and give them the devastating news. Truth be told, he would rather face Napoleon’s army than dinner tonight.

“
Is something the matter, Walter?
”
asked Lydia when he entered the dining room. She and the girls were already seated at the dining table, engaged, as usual, in their lively discussion of suitors and the coming London Season which they were about to attend.

Lydia asked,
“
Lord Trevyln is dining in his bedchamber this evening?
”

“
As usual.
”
Walter seated himself at the head of table, a habit Lydia insisted he pursue since his brother seldom came down to the dining room anymore.

“
Cook has fixed Westphalian ham tonight, Walter, your favorite, as I recall.
”
Lydia frowned and peered closer.
“
Are you all right? You look... strange.
”

He smiled, discovering that despite his kindly nature there existed a tiny part of him that anticipated with keen delight the horrified expression that would soon occupy his ambitious wife’s face. Must be the devil. He should be ashamed of himself, but he would save that until later.

“
I have something to tell you, m’dear. Something you won’t like.
”

He proceeded to relate the news, noting as he talked his wife’s slow change of expression from mere interest, to incredulity, to now, as he finished, pure horror. He ended his discourse with,
“
So there you have it. Nothing to be done, I’m afraid,
”
and sat back in his chair.

There was a moment of stunned silence. They all sat round-eyed, forks suspended in mid-air. Charlotte was the first to recover.
“
You cannot mean this, Papa.
”

“
You heard correctly. I shall not be the sixth Earl of Alberdsley after all. Much as you may dislike the idea, Randall’s son is next in line.
”

Until now, Lydia had resembled a sleeping volcano, quiet but gathering steam. Now, much as he anticipated, she erupted,
“
Do you mean to tell me some scrawny little
whey faced
urchin from Ireland is to inherit Charles’s estate?
”

Walter shrugged.
“
It would appear so.
”

She glared at him, transmitting a mixture of incredulity, rage, and stupefaction.
“
Well, don’t just sit there. Do something.
”

He felt a nudge of guilt because that tiny part of him that was enjoying this debacle refused to be squelched. He shrugged again, fully aware his seeming indifference would drive her mad.
“
Not much I can do.
”

“
But what of us?
”
She gestured
dramatically around the table.
“
Are we to be thrown out into the cold and snow?
”

The devil got the better of him again. With great deliberation he peered toward the window.
“
I do believe Spring has arrived. I don’t recall it snowed once this past month. Now, last month—
”

“
Oh... oh.
”
Her little pursed mouth kept opening and closing but nothing came out.

At last feeling a modicum of guilt, Walter hastened to say,
“
Charles won’t throw us out. We are welcome to stay as long as we like, although of course after his demise, I cannot speak for what the new heir might do. But do remember, Lydia, I do have an income of my own. Small it might be, but enough to sustain us, although not anywhere near
”
—his gaze swept around the luxurious dining room—
”
this grand a fashion.
”

She glowered at him.
“
Don’t even bother to mention that paltry sum.
”