“All rocks and mud, from what we hear,” Charlotte volunteered.
In a voice chill as the wind over the Irish Sea, Lydia continued, “Is it true you and Patrick are descended from the kings of Ireland?”
What was this, some sort of Spanish Inquisition? Evleen felt her temper rise but determined to control it. “Patrick is my half-brother. As I’m sure you know, his father was Randall, Viscount Montfret.” She enjoyed the gritting of teeth that seemed to occur after her remark and could not resist tilting her chin and parrying, “So if he’s descended from kings, we most likely should include the kings of England.”
“I see. Hmm.” Mrs. Trevyln’s fighting spirit seemed quashed for a moment, but she quickly recovered and inquired, “So do tell us of your heritage.”
“We are so impressed,” said Bettina.
Evleen was not sure if they were jesting or not. Perhaps not. Perhaps she was being overly sensitive because of the remark about the dress, but that was minor and they truly wanted to make her welcome. “You’re sure you want to hear?” They all nodded. “Well, then...”
She told them of her father, who was Ian O’Fallon, son of Daniel O’Fallon, eighth Earl of Dunkerry, and how he was descended from the Duke of Connaught, who was a direct descendent of Euchaid, one of the ancient kings of Ireland who reined over one of the earliest Gaelic kingdoms many centuries ago. “So that’s why I’m descended from the kings of Ireland,” she concluded. “Would you like to hear about my mother’s side?”
All were silent a moment. Then Bettina giggled, trying to conceal it by bringing her hand to her mouth.
“Bettina!” admonished her mother.
“I cannot help it, Mama, she really is an Irish princess.”
Evleen hastily began, “Oh, please, I don’t think of myself as a princess. I—”
Her abrupt halt was caused by the sudden realization that they were making fun of her. Not Walter Trevlyn, who still stood by the fireplace, now with a pained expression on his face. Not by Amanda, who looked downright stricken. But it was clear Mrs. Trevelyn, Charlotte, and Bettina were most definitely not her friends.
“What were you going to say, Miss O’Fallon?” asked Mrs. Trevlyn, faking a solicitous concern. “You were going to tell us about your mother’s lineage?”
Never in a million years. Evleen answered softly, “I make no pretense at being a princess. I am plain Evleen O’Fallon from County Clare, Ireland, no better, no worse than anyone else on God’s green earth.”
“Well, we cannot fault her for that, can we, girls?” Lydia asked with a forced laugh. Her eyes drilled into Evleen’s. “And what will you be doing while you’re here?”
“Looking after Patrick, of course. Until he grows accustomed to his new life.”
“Then you intend to return to Ireland?”
“I am not sure of my plans. Much depends on how well Patrick fares here in England.”
“Ah.” Mrs. Trevyln made no attempt to hide her relief, nor did Charlotte and Bettina. “So you’ll be acting as sort of a governess, then.”
“I suppose... yes, you could say that.” Evleen was bewildered. What was Mrs. Trevlyn getting at?
“Not a governess,” came Lord Trevlyn’s voice from the doorway. He entered, and despite the slight trembling of his limbs and his heavy dependence on his cane, Evleen sensed from the way all in the room quickly came to attention, his very presence commanded respect. “I thought I had made it clear Evleen is no governess.”
Looking embarrassed, Walter replied, “Of course, Charles.” He cast a warning glance at his wife and daughters. “We understand that.”
Lord Trevlyn sank with a weary groan into an armchair. Regarding Evleen fondly, he declared, “You look beautiful tonight, child. Have they been treating you well?”
She smiled brightly, “Of course. I’ve been made to feel wonderfully welcome.”
Lord Trevlyn smiled. “You will all meet Patrick tomorrow. Wait ‘til you see him. A fine little lad.”
“We can hardly wait,” said Mrs. Trevlyn, her daughters all eagerly nodding their heads.
Beaming with delight, Lord Trevlyn launched into an ecstatic description of his newly-found grandson. “... and he’s an extremely bright boy. Runs in the family, you know. Already the lad knows Greek and Latin, thanks to his mother who has done an outstanding job in educating the child.” He cast an admiring glance at Evleen. “That also applies to Miss O’Fallon, who is a bright, as well as most beautiful, young lady. Is that not so, everyone?”
Evleen could have sworn she heard the sounds of gritting teeth again as the Trevlyns all