The Irish Upstart (35 page)

The night of Lord and Lady Trent’s ball had arrived. As Evleen regarded herself in her mirror, she knew she looked the best she had ever looked in her life.
Magnificent and beautiful
, Amanda had said. Well, she wasn’t sure about that. Still, she knew she looked her best in the white silk ball gown adorned with clusters of pink roses, a wreath of pink roses in her up-swept hair, and a diamond and ruby necklace, a present from Lord Trevlyn. At least she could hold her head high and not run and hide, as she’d felt like doing in Charlotte’s ugly dress.

And perhaps, with a bit of luck, she wouldn’t make a fool of herself this time.

When Evleen looked down from the landing and spied Lydia, Charlotte, and Bettina waiting in the front entryway, she could not resist a grand entrance. Sweeping down the stairs, head high, fan unfurled and held just so, she was secretly amused when an expression of astonishment crossed Lydia’s face, followed by chagrin, followed by a mostly unsuccessful attempt to force her lips into the semblance of a smile.

“
Well, Evleen, I must say you look quite presentable this evening,
”
said Lydia. Almost choking, she managed to add,
“
I see the gown turned out tolerably well.
”

“
Tolerably well?
”
asked Amanda, who followed behind Evleen.
“
The gown is beautiful and so is Evleen.
”

Lydia awarded her youngest daughter a thinly disguised look of warning before she addressed Evleen.
“
Bear in mind what I told you. Say as little as possible. Find a quiet corner if you can. I would hate to see you embarrass yourself again if someone should ask you to dance.
”

Amanda, the only one who knew of Evleen’s dancing lessons, opened her mouth to protest, but Evleen gave her a quick nudge.
“
I shall heed your advice, Mrs. Trevlyn,
”
she replied with the meekness of a scullery maid.

“
Good. See that you do.
”

“
And stay away from Montague,
”
Charlotte, looking beautiful all in white, admonished.
“
He’s close to proposing. I suspect tonight is the night.
”

“
Of course,
”
answered Evleen. No problem there. She didn’t care a fig for that wastrel, Montague. Despite herself, though, she’d begun to think a good deal about Thomas. She pictured their kiss of the day before and a warm flood of excitement coursed through her veins. The desperate way he’d grabbed her—the hunger in his eyes—oh, yes, he did care. And didn’t she? Had she not found his closeness so arousing she’d momentarily forgotten the waltz, Penelope, everything else except the exquisite joy of being in his arms?

Tonight, all she cared about was that Thomas would be there, that his eyes would light with admiration when he saw her, that they would dance every dance, spinning around the ballroom with eyes only for each other...

She caught herself and felt instant guilt. But you won’t feel guilty tonight, she informed herself sternly. Her pulse raced at the mere thought of being with him again. She was being selfish, of course, and less than honorable in ignoring her mother’s wish, but her holiday from honor would last only the night. Tomorrow she would remember her promise to her mother, but tonight she would follow her heart.

* * *
 
                                       

“
Look, Evleen,
”
whispered Amanda,
“
everybody’s staring at you.
”

They had just entered Lord and Lady Trent’s ballroom. Evleen wondered what Amanda meant, but soon she knew. The eyes of nearly every man in the room were fixed upon her as she stood, gracefully fluttering her fan, surveying the crowd with a queen-like bearing.

A waltz began. Young Lord Edgemont, whom she’d met the other night, appeared before her.
“
You look beautiful tonight, Miss O’Fallon, would you care to dance?
”

“
She doesn’t waltz,
”
said Lydia.

“
Oh, but I shall try,
”
said Evleen.

All doubt concerning her ability to waltz faded quickly as Lord Edgemont led her through a series of dips and twirls. Totally at ease, she followed gracefully, as sure-footed as if she’d been waltzing all her life. Once or twice, as they whirled past Lydia, Evleen caught a glimpse of the incredulity on the older woman’s face.

When the dance was over, Montague appeared and claimed the next one. For once, his sardonic expression was gone, replaced by one of admiration.
“
I see my brother taught you well,
”
he commented.

“
But where is your brother?
”
she asked, doing her best to make her question seem off-hand.

“
Left, finally, for his estate.
”
He gave her a mocking smile.
“
I cannot imagine what kept him so long in town.
”

“
Oh.
”
Suddenly all pleasure left her. She felt hurt, and deeply disappointed. Why hadn’t he let her know?

“
You seem downcast, Miss O’Fallon,
”
said Montague.
“
I do hope the news about my brother hasn’t ruined your evening.
”

Never would she let her feelings show.
“
Downcast, Lord Eddington?
”
She tilted her head back and awarded him a dazzling smile.
“
Never. I intend to have a wonderful time tonight and dance until dawn.
”

A quadrille followed. She would have danced it with Montague, but someone cut in. As the evening wore on, men were begging for her dances, showering her with compliments.

“
Your eyes are like stars, Miss O’Fallon.
”

“
I am struck by your throaty Irish laughter, Miss O’Fallon.
”

“
You dance divinely, Miss O’Fallon. A fine country, Ireland, if it produces a girl as beautiful as you.
”

Montague kept returning, claiming as many dances as he could.
“
It seems you have captured the heart of nearly every man present tonight,
”
he said as they waltzed and he held her as tightly as he dared.

Although she returned a dazzling smile and said thank you, Evleen found that what these strangers thought counted not one whit. All she cared about was that Thomas wasn’t here.

She had another concern, too. From the sidelines, Lydia Trevlyn had been staring at her. As the evening wore on, her expression darkened, until now, as the last dance ended, and Montague led her off the floor, it resembled a thundercloud.

Penelope caught her as she left the ballroom.
“
Sorry about Thomas,
”
she said.

“
Quite all right,
”
Evleen answered with a forced smile,
“
although he did say he would be here tonight.
”

“
He left rather abruptly.
”
In deep thought, Penelope bit her lip.
“
I know him. I know something was bothering him, but I cannot think what.
”

* * *
 
                                       

Ah, how delightful the smell of oats and new-mown hay!

In the stables at Tanglewood Hall, Thomas took a whiff of the sweet air as he brushed the flanks of his favorite Thoroughbred.

Why had he stayed so long in London? This was where his life would be, from now on. He would waste no more time making a fool of himself over a woman he couldn’t have. No longer could he endure the shame of losing control of himself again, as had happened, however briefly, the other day.

No excuse. After the incident in the carriage, he had warned himself to stay away. But then she needed his help, and he had offered gladly, unthinkingly. But he hadn’t thought ahead. He had not foreseen that with every dancing lesson, his longing for her would increase while his strict self-control decreased. Too many days of holding that soft, sweetly curved body in his arms had fanned his desire until yesterday, like some clumsy oaf, he’d grabbed and kissed her, with all the finesse of... he couldn’t think what, but a clown at Haymarket came to mind. He had come to his senses quickly, of course, and made some stupid remark, but his actions ma
d
e him realize he must remove himself as far as possible from Evleen O’Fallon. In the state he was in, to stay one more day in London was sheer folly.

At least he had preserved his honor. A fine thing, honor. Nothing counted more in this small, tight society in which he lived. Trouble was, honor would not warm his bed at night. An increasingly lonely bed, he thought with irony. And when he woke in the night, as he’d been doing lately, honor would not do one damn thing to ease his maddening, increasingly powerful longing for Evleen O’Fallon.

Chapter 15

Over the following weeks, a whole new world opened for Evleen. It seemed as if overnight she had become London’s darling. It mattered not that she hadn’t officially come
“
out,
”
nor been presented at court. Men fought for her favors, extolling her beauty, melodious accent, vivacious Irish charm. London’s leading hostesses vied for the presence of
“
that delightful young lady from Ireland.
”

Lord Trevlyn crowed with delight.
“
We must have the dressmaker back. A popular young lady like you must have an ample wardrobe.
”

Properly chaperoned, she was escorted by eager beaux to Astley’s Royal Amphitheater where horses and clowns alike gave delightful performances; to Kings Theater where she sat in awe of the actor, Edmund Keen; to Green Park where she and Patrick breathlessly watched a spectacular balloon ascension, the daring balloonists using a newfangled contraption called a parachute.

During all this, Evleen felt elated, yet torn. What a heady experience to be admired and sought-after. Yet her new-found popularity did not come without a price, for the atmosphere around the Trevlyn’s London townhouse was decidedly cool. Lydia Trevlyn, hardly able to contain her jealousy, was now only barely polite. Bad enough that Evleen now outshone Charlotte, who had always been considered the great beauty of the family. Worse, despite Evleen’s efforts to discourage Montague, he continued to pursue her, obviously enchanted with her Irish charms. He appeared to have forgotten Charlotte even existed, let alone she was destined to be his bride.

At least Amanda was doing well. Much to the ongoing surprise of her mother and sisters, of late she had blossomed and now had several suitors.

Thus far, Evleen had yet to meet a man she really liked, although she now had at least a dozen to chose from. Mama was right. Too many men of the English nobility were vain, self-centered, and shallow: naught but worthless aristocrats who contributed nothing to the world but lived only for their own decadent pleasures. Evleen could not imagine being married to any one of them, regardless of how rich they were, or how grand their title.

Meanwhile, Evleen had not heard one word from Thomas. Although she tried not to think of him, she often did. She concealed her thoughts from everyone, though, even Penelope, who had become a fast friend these past weeks. Often Evleen was tempted to ask Penelope the latest news of Thomas, but pride prevented her each time. With her sharp percipience, Thomas’s sister would guess immediately how much Evleen missed him and wanted him back. At least Evleen knew where he was. From Penelope’s casual remarks she gleaned that Thomas had returned to his home near Abingdon where he remained in excellent health and was devoting his time to breeding horses. It was obvious he wanted nothing more to do with her. Time after time she tried to convince herself she must forget about him, but had not succeeded thus far.

She was having trouble sleeping nights. She could easily blame the excitement of her glittering new social life, but she knew otherwise. It was Thomas who kept her awake in those dark, silent hours when for the hundredth—the thousandth?—time, she would relive that magical trip from Ireland when they’d exchanged that deeply meaningful look at The Whispering Arch; when she was seasick aboard The Countess of Liverpool and he’d cared for her so tenderly; when he, with the utmost generosity, had seen to it that Patrick got to ride in the flying machine across England. What fun they’d had! And then London, and that night they kissed in his coach...

Oh, Thomas, how could you leave and not even say goodbye? I thought you cared for me. Were those passionate moments in the carriage really just lust, as meaningless as Lord Corneale’s kiss?