should be insulted, he thought. Angry. But despite himself, his stomach clenched with a feeling he had never, in all his thirty years, experienced before. Jealousy. He had a sudden, totally unreasonable urge to punch the big Irishman square in the nose and grab the girl away. How totally uncivilized. He could hardly believe it of himself. Despite being a second son, he had never been compelled to lift a finger to attract any woman he chose. Strange, but her words had not stung him in the least. Instead, as he’d listened to her ranting, all he could really hear was the entrancing sound of her melodious voice, her words becoming more and more Irish, flowing from her sweet mouth in that beautiful, lulling brogue.
When he returned to the cottage, not sure of the welcome he’d receive, Sinead O’Fallon greeted him graciously and apologized. “You must understand how we feel, sir, and it’s nothing personal. You and O’Grady must spend the night if you don’t mind makeshift beds in front of the fireplace.”
He had said nothing more, and in the morning, after a near sleepless night full of O’Grady’s snoring and his own tossing and turning, they left amidst a chorus of friendly goodbyes. Even Evleen shook his hand, but her words were a final plea. “Leave us be. Please don’t tell.”
“I cannot promise.”
For a moment, she seemed to pause and reflect, and then smiled gently. “Then I can but wish you siochain leat, sir,” she answered softly. “That means peace be with you.”
He left, deeply affected by the young woman’s graciousness in the face of his intractability. No truer lady could be found anywhere in England, he thought, and knew that although he would never see her again, he would have a most difficult time forgetting Evleen O’Fallon.
* * *
Despite the warm weather, the return journey from Ireland to England was not a comfortable one. The easiest part was his trip across Ireland, via Bianconi Coach, to the port of Ringsend, called by all a “vile, filthy, disgraceful-looking village” which, despite its poor reputation, was the busy port from which Thomas took the packet that crossed the Irish Sea to Holyhead in Wales. The seventy-mile journey took the better part of a day. What a miserable boat ride, Thomas glumly reflected more than once. For the fare of ten and six, he was given the great privilege of taking passage on a ship where facilities were primitive and minimal, where the air was confined and nauseating, and where, for most of the unfortunate passengers, seasickness was a constant misery. At least he’d been spared that final indignity, Thomas reflected, as the ship approached Holyhead. Still, his journey had been a discomfiting one. He could easily tolerate the physical discomforts, but ever since he’d left that little cottage in County Clare, his usual serenity had been shaken to the core. Up until now, his well-ordered life had contained few dilemmas, but over and over, he now wondered, should he tell or should he not tell? Sinead O’Fallon and her daughter, Evleen, had been adamant in their plea that Lord Trevlyn not be told he had a grandson. With good reason, too, Thomas mused. Despite his family’s poverty, the boy was bright, healthy, and obviously happy, right where he was. Why chance fate? If Trevlyn knew of the grandson, he would not only want to see the boy, he would no doubt seek custody. After all, Patrick could live a life of ease and luxury, waited on hand and foot, with everything he could possibly need.
But what does he need he doesn’t have right now?
And that wasn’t all. To his great chagrin, Thomas could not get Evleen off his mind. You will never see her again, he kept telling himself. He had done his duty, both to his father and Lord Trevlyn. Of a certainty, he would never make this unpleasant trip again. All memories fade, given time, but again last night the beautiful face of Evleen O’Fallon glimmered before his eyes, keeping him awake far past the time he should rightfully be asleep. There was absolutely no future in thinking about her, he kept telling himself, but he did, just the same.
And then there was Patrick. What should he do? He despised indecision.
The ship was delayed by the tides for hours. Finally, as it slipped into Holyhead Harbor, he made up his mind. He would not say a word to Lord Trevlyn. The boy was happy where he was, in