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Authors: Shirley Kennedy

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BOOK: The Irish Upstart
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Standing indeed
. Evleen refrained from voicing her opinion of what utter foolishness she thought this all was, or how she could make better use of her time staying at home with a good book. She breathed a sigh of relief when, after she’d been jostled and her toes trampled several times, they finally reached the street again. As they waited amidst the milling crowd for their carriage, Evleen took a gulp of fresh air and said softly to Amanda,

Thank the saints, that’s over. Now we can go home.

Charlotte overheard and arched an eyebrow.

We have just begun. Lord and Lady Beckford’s was only the first. There are several more at-homes we plan to attend this evening.

Trapped
. Evleen considered walking home—it was not very far—but she could well imagine how such a course of action would be perceived, considering the heinous crimes she’d already committed this day. She could imagine, too, how short a time it would take for news of her latest transgression to reach Lord Trevlyn. Not a good idea. She wouldn’t want to hurt him again. They continued waiting, jostled by the crowd. Would the carriage never come? She stepped back, felt herself shoved away from the rest, just as she heard a voice proclaim,

Why Miss O’Fallon, what a delightful surprise.

Montague
. She recognized his oily voice and immediately felt repelled, remembering his salacious attitude toward her that night at Lord Trevlyn’s country estate.

Good evening, Lord Eddington,

she said
coolly
as she dared. Such a handsome man he was, almost pretty with his extremely pale complexion—did he never venture into the sun?—and flattering brown ringlets encircling his thin, patrician face. Even so, she sensed the debauchery that dwelt behind that beauteous facade. Determined to say something polite and then move on, she gathered her shawl more closely around her and politely inquired,

Have you just arrived or are you leaving?


Leaving,

Montague answered with a smirk.

I have done my duty for tonight. Now it’s on to White’s.

His breath reeked of alcohol, bringing Evleen a fleeting memory of the men of County Clare, quaffing their glasses of Guiness at The Shamrock and Thistle of a Saturday night.

Delightful to see you again, sir,

she said, pulling away,

now I must get back to my–


Don’t go yet.

He took hold of her arm and drilled her with a gaze of blazing intensity.

Where are you going next?


To another rout, but I don’t know which one. Now I must get back.

She tried to pull away, but, staggering slightly, he held her fast.

I should think it’s Lady Fanshawe’s.

He appeared to hit upon an idea and glanced toward the curb.

Ah, I see my carriage has arrived. One more rout won’t hurt me. Come, my pretty Evleen, I shall give you a ride to Lady Fanshawe’s rout.

She would as soon ride with a tangle of writhing snakes. Besides, what would the Trevlyns say if she rode merrily off with this object of their desperate pursuit—this ultimate prize, a first son? The thought was too horrible to contemplate.

Thank you, but I most definitely think not.


Oh, come now, where’s your spirit of adventure? Go inform the old dragon if you like. She cannot object.


If you mean Mrs. Trevlyn, she most certainly can object.

How stupid could he be? Evleen had no intention of prying into Montague’s personal affairs, but still, something must be said, albeit tactfully.

I am aware you’re not yet betrothed, but I believe there exists some sort of commitment between you and Miss Charlotte Trevlyn.


Nonsense, I am committed to no one,

declared Montague. His eyes raked her boldly.

When we met, I was immediately impressed not only by your beauty but by your independent attitude—your spunk, if you will. Was I right? Or are you simply a poor peasant girl from Ireland, too awed by this noble assemblage to break a rule?

He raised a mocking eyebrow.

My dear Miss O’Fallon, I dare you. Come ride in my carriage.

A lecherous smile played on his lips.

I assure you, you’ll be perfectly safe—on my word as a gentleman.

Did he think she was daft? She was certainly not frightened—after all they were standing in the midst of a crowd of people—but she was thoroughly disgusted. She tried to break free, but he gripped her arm tighter.


I have heard about you wild Irish girls,

he murmured in her ear.

Are you one? How I yearn to find out.


Is my brother bothering you?

Thomas
. Just the sound of his voice caused her anxiety to drain away.

Montague instantly released his grip on her arm.

What is the matter with you, Thomas? I am not bothering the young lady, we were simply having a chat.

Thomas smiled.

Of course you are, Montague. As always, you’re a paragon of virtue.

Montague said,

Er... I think I shall be going.


Have you not paid your respects to the Trevlyns?

Thomas asked in mock astonishment. With pointed words, he added,

Most especially to Miss Charlotte Trevlyn, to whom you will soon be betrothed.

Looking exceedingly discomfited, Montague backed away.

We’ll talk later, Thomas. White’s awaits. Good evening, Miss O’Fallon, perhaps another time?

Evleen stared after Montague as he made a hasty retreat. In Gaelic she muttered,

Go nithe an cat th is go nithe an diabhal an cat.


I take it you were not wishing my brother a pleasant evening?


It’s an old Irish saying. I said, may the cat eat him and may the devil eat the cat.

Thomas looked amused.

What a fitting end for Montague.

Evleen smiled up at him, noting he looked more handsome than she had ever seen him in a double-breasted frock coat with claw-hammer tails, long trousers, a fine linen shirt, and an

Oriental

tied cravat.

You came along at the right time. Sure and I’m happy to see you.


Sure and I’m happy to see you, too,

he said, mocking her Irish brogue but in an endearing kind of way.


I thought you never went to routs.


I don’t.


Then why—?


Your fault. I couldn’t stay away.

Her pulse quickened at his startling reply. But what could she answer? She would take the wisest course—find another line of conversation.

I had best go find the Trevlyns. They’re waiting for their carriage to—

she could not keep from wrinkling her nose in distaste

—take us to another rout.


So at last you’re getting a taste of life in the ton,

he said pleasantly.

And how are you enjoying hobnobbing with society’s finest?


So far, I am not enjoying it at all, what with this ridiculous rout, and then Montague—

She cut her sentence short, wise enough to realize she had said enough about his brother. Besides, it was hardly politic to keep disparaging the esteemed Earl of Eddington, destined to be the Marquess of Westhaven some day.

Sorry, that slipped out. I didn’t mean—


Have you read
Childe Harold
?

asked Thomas, growing serious. It was written by—


Lord Byron. Does it surprise you we have books in Ireland? But we do, and, yes, I’ve read the poem.

He ignored her barb.

The poem concerns a debauched young nobleman, the weary survivor of many a love affair and many a night of riotous living. One line reads, ‘Apart he stalked in joyless reverie.’ That’s Montague, miserable in his debauchery. The line suits him perfectly. I suspect Byron used him as a model.

Ah, so Thomas did perceive his brother’s shortcomings
. Even so, politeness decreed she should search for something complimentary to say.

But Montague has his charms, certainly.


I love my brother, but he is an arrogant, joyless man, drugged with pleasure and hell-bent on self-destruction.

Thomas grinned unexpectedly.

But enough of such a grim subject. Come, I shall escort you back to the Trevlyns.

Lydia scowled when she saw them.

Good evening, Lord Thomas. You should not have wandered away, Evleen. Where have you been? Come, our carriage has arrived.

Lord Thomas asked,

Are you going to the rout at Lady Fanshawe’s?

Lydia nodded.

Then your carriage must be crowded. I have the family coach tonight. Kindly allow Miss O’Fallon to ride with me.


Well, I
...”
Lydia looked discomfited, obviously wondering what rule she might break if she consented.


You have nothing to worry about, Mrs. Trevlyn,

Thomas said, amused.

My coach will follow so closely behind yours you would instantly be aware of any... shall we say, foolishness?

To Evleen’s surprise, the dour woman actually managed a small laugh as she declared,

Oh, Lord Thomas,

and playfully tapped his chest with her fan.

You know we trust you. It’s just that I am always mindful of my duties as a chaperone.


Let Evleen go with him, Mama,

Charlotte said indifferently.

He’s right about our carriage being crowded.

Lydia shrugged.

Oh, very well, she may ride with you, Lord Thomas.

It was obvious the matter was of little concern to her. With careful eyes, she surveyed the crowd.

I don’t suppose your brother... ?


I am afraid not, madam. I believe he has gone off to White’s.

Thomas bowed slightly to Evleen.

Shall we find my coach, Miss O’Fallon? I am wild with anticipation at the very thought of the next at-home.


As am I,

Evleen declared, doing her best to keep a straight face.

When Evleen sat back in Thomas’s closed coach she remarked,

You could have asked me.

Thomas settled next to her.

Would you have said no?


Of course not, but you could have asked.


Point taken, but you needn’t be so fractious.

He leaned out the window and called to the coachman,

On to Lady Fanshaw’s.

Reaching for a blanket, he regarded with distaste the thin, inadequate shawl that only partially covered her gown.

It’s cold tonight. I don’t know why you women insist on dressing as if it were the middle of summer.


I have learned already that in London it’s not fashionable to be warm.

Evleen looked down at herself and shivered.

If I had my way, I’d be bundled to my ears. I’d be laughed clear out of Ireland if I wore this ridiculous outfit on a chilly night like this in County Clare.

BOOK: The Irish Upstart
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