Thomas tried to hide not only his surprise but his displeasure. Since the moment he’d laid eyes on Evleen O’Fallon, he had not given a thought to the girl everyone expected him to marry.
* * *
“So, my boy, have a seat, how was your journey?” asked Lord Trevlyn.
“Fine, sir.” Thomas sank into one of the Louis Fifteenth yellow velvet chairs in his neighbor’s mahogany paneled library and with great caution began a description of his trip to Ireland. When he found himself including every boring detail he could think of concerning his father’s estate in County Mayo, he chided himself. Get on with it. Stop prolonging the inevitable. Lord Trevlyn had listened patiently, but Thomas perceived by the watchful look in his eye that he was anxious to hear the report on his own land. Drat. “And then, per your request, I went to County Clare.”
“And?” Trevlyn sat straight, hardly able to contain his eagerness.
“Actually there’s not much to tell. The land is poor, not much more than dirt, grass, rocks and a few sheep. Hardly worth bothering with. A widow and her five children presently occupy the place.”
“Tell me her name,” Trevlyn said quickly.
“Sinead O’Fallon. She’s been a widow for quite some time. She’s a well-educated, refined woman, not the type you would expect to find living in that miserable cottage, but it seems in recent years she’s fallen on hard times. The cottage is quite small, and the land suited for nothing more than a small garden and a few sheep. Frankly, I wouldn’t bother collecting rent. It’s hardly worth the effort.”
Looking crestfallen, Trevlyn asked, “You found nothing to tie this Sinead O’Fallon to Randall?”
Damnation! Thomas wondered how could he lie to a direct question. He could not. There was no way around it, he was bound by his own honor to tell the truth... the partial truth anyway. “There is a connection. O’Fallon was Sinead’s first husband. Her second husband was–brace yourself, sir.”
“I’m braced. Go on.”
“Your son, Randall.” There, it was out, and no harm done unless Trevlyn asked details of the children. Thomas paused to let his news sink in, but Trevlyn’s face had become a mask. He seemed to be taking the news with equanimity, but it was hard to tell. Thomas continued, “From what I understand, she was quite well-off when they married, having inherited a small fortune from her first husband, who was some kind of an Irish earl, by the way, the eighth earl of something-or-other. You know how those Irish titles go. She and Randall weren’t married long before Randall died of typhoid, I’m sorry to say, but before that, he’d managed to run through her fortune.”
There was a long pause. “Typhoid,” bitterly remarked Lord Trevlyn. “Good Lord, how could I have had a son who... ah, well.” He looked inquiringly at Thomas. “And the children? Tell me about them.”
God help me, thought Thomas. If only he’d learned to lie as well as Montague. He squirmed uncomfortably in his seat—something he never did—crossed one smart nankeen covered leg over the other and paid meticulous attention to a piece of lint on the sleeve of his short frock coat. “The children,” he repeated.
“Yes, Thomas, the children.” Trevlyn was regarding him strangely.
“Well, let’s see now. There are four girls... Evleen who’s about twenty-four, Darragh who’s twenty-three, Sorcha who’s around fifteen, I’d say, and the youngest, who’s fourteen. All pretty, by the way, and well educated, and quite—”
“You said five children,” interrupted Trevlyn, voice brimming with impatience.
Damnation again. “There’s a son, Patrick.”
“And how old is Patrick?”
Trapped. Why hadn’t he realized Trevelyn was no fool and could add as well as anyone? “Ten, sir.”
“Randall died nine years ago.” Trevlyn’s voice had gone sharp. His gaze pierced Thomas’s as he asked, “How long was he married to Sinead?”
“Two years.”
For a time, the room was heavy with silence as Lord Trevlyn first shut his eyes, as if absorbing the shocking fact, then opened them and gazed at Thomas with an expression of incredulity, followed by pure joy, followed by a look of dawning disbelief. “You were not going to tell me?” There was a faint tremor in his voice.
“I was not.” A war of emotions raged within Thomas. He was relieved because in his heart he had wanted Trevlyn to know the truth, but on the other hand, he could only begin to imagine the grief and turmoil his truthfulness was bound to cause.
Trevlyn could not contain himself. “By God, I’ve got a grandson,” he