County Clare, Ireland, and there he should remain.
Chapter 6
“So, Thomas, how was your journey?” asked Penelope.
In the drawing room of Northfield Hall, Thomas, who had just arrived home, made a wry face as his sister poured from a silver gilt pitcher and handed him a delicate bone china cup of tea. “The journey was wonderful,” he replied, “if you like tossing about in a filthy boat for a day, then waiting for hours at Holyhead until the tides are favorable enough for you to get ashore.”
“You seem to have survived,” Penelope remarked dryly. She stirred daintily. “I take it things did not go well?”
“Well enough.” Thomas described the first part of his journey, wherein he visited their father’s lands in County Mayo and assured himself they were in good hands. “And then I went to County Clare...”
Knowing his sister was the only person in the world in whom he could confide everything, or at least almost everything, Thomas related the story of his visit to the cottage at Galway Bay and his astonishment at finding that Montfret had a wife and child. He told everything, omitting only his turbulent feelings concerning the Irish girl. “Afterward, I struggled, trying make up my mind what best to do. It was not an easy decision, but I’ve decided not to tell Lord Trevlyn he has a grandson.”
“But that’s wrong,” Penelope firmly declared. “Think of the wealth, the title. At the very least, shouldn’t the boy be allowed to decide for himself?”
“His mother is adamant,” Thomas explained, “and who can blame her? Being pure Irish, she has always disliked the English, but now, after her experience with Randall, she hates everything about us. Ask yourself, why would she want to send her one-and-only beloved son to the very land she detests?”
“Hmm... you have a point, I suppose.” Penelope’s bright eyes flashed with excitement. “Good grief, just think of the stir this would cause. Wouldn’t tongues be wagging! If Patrick were to be proclaimed the true heir, then that little worm, Walter Trevlyn, and his family would be deposed.” An impish grin crept over her face. “Wouldn’t we love to see Lydia and those stuck-up daughters of hers taken down a peg or two.”
“What an uncharitable thought,” Thomas admonished, although he could not suppress an answering smile. “But despite the shortcomings of the heir presumptive and family, I have made up my mind.” He frowned. “Now I must ride to Aldershire Manor and inform Lord Trevlyn of my return.”
“But if you conceal the news he has a grandson, won’t you be forced to lie?”
“I should hope not.”
“So do I. Really, Thomas, you’re not a very good liar.”
“I take that as a compliment.”
Penelope wrinkled up her nose. “You are not as natty as you think, brother dear. According to the London dandies, lying is an art. Well, you’re no artist. Your problem is, to be a first-rate liar, you must possess some finesse, and you have none.” With sisterly derision, she continued, “You are much too blunt.”
“I still take it as a compliment. I’ve never been a London dandy, as you well know. If you mean I always speak my mind, then I plead guilty.” Thomas spoke lightly, concealing his concern. He, who held liars in the lowest possible esteem, was about to become a liar himself, if only by omission. But it’s for the greater good, he told himself, his mind drifting once again to that proud Irish family who dearly loved Patrick and would be devastated if he were sent away, especially to hated England. “I shall tell Trevlyn as little as possible. It’s for the best. The boy looks Irish, acts Irish, sounds Irish. He would be a fish out of water here, and no doubt completely miserable. How could he possibly fit into this tight, bigoted world of ours?”
Penelope made a little moué. “Is that what we are? I had no idea you had such a low opinion of the ton.”
“I don’t see you chomping at the bit to get to London again. You’ve gone through—how many?—two Seasons now? All I hear is complaints, complaints about how frivolous and superficial everyone is, and how odious are those shallow, vainglorious London dandies.”
“Touché,” Penelope replied, lifting a knowing eyebrow. She thought a moment and her face brightened. “Enough of this. Whatever the problem with Lord Trevlyn, I’m sure you’ll handle it. This evening we celebrate your return. You’ll be pleased to hear Father and I have invited the Trevlyns, and, in particular, Miss Bettina