you be so crass? Miss O’Fallon doesn’t need the likes of you drooling over her. She has enough problems of her own.”
“What do you mean?” Thomas asked.
“Isn’t it obvious? Charlotte and Bettina were green with envy. And did you not notice their mother? I swear, her claws came out when our dear brother here arranged to sit next to Miss O’Fallon at dinner.”
“Granted, they’re a bit jealous,” Montague remarked, “but isn’t that natural, given the circumstances? Miss O’Fallon is indeed a remarkable young woman. Bright, lively, full of charm. Surely they’ll like her once they get to know her.”
“Montague, lusting after women does not mean you know them very well.” Penelope thought a moment. “I hate to think what might happen when they go to London for the Season.”
“Why do you say that?” Thomas asked. Silently he had agreed with all that Penelope said.
“Evleen is all the things Montague just described, and I like her very much,” replied Penelope. “She’s obviously well-educated and possesses infinite amounts of charm. Still, I fear she’ll have a difficult time in London.”
“What do you mean?” asked both Thomas and Montague.
“First, there’s a rawness about her. Granted, her station in life is far above that of some dairy maid. Her manners are good enough, but she’s a country girl, not accustomed to the ton. She’s simply not as polished as she should be. I fear she’ll be like a lamb led to the slaughter. When she’s tossed into the middle of that cut-throat society of ours, every little gesture, every little thing she says will be measured, weighed, scrutinized, and discussed. Mark my words, at the very least, they’ll laugh at her.”
“And at most?”
“I fear she might be cut.”
“And the second reason?” Thomas asked grimly. He had not wanted to hear this, yet somehow he had known.
“She’s Irish. Personally, I adore that Irish brogue of hers. When she talks, it’s like a poem set to music.”
“True of all the Irish,” granted Thomas.
“But you know how the English look down their noses at the Irish. How can Evleen possibly escape the derision and snubs that are bound to be heaped upon her?”
“But she’s strong,” protested Thomas. “She’ll overcome whatever criticism might come her way. Besides, Lord Trevlyn will be of great support.”
“It does not bode well,” said Penelope sadly shaking her head. “I know women. The Trevlyn sisters and their mother will not only not help, God only knows what they might do to undermine Evleen’s position.”
Thomas heartily declared, “They would not dare, especially when they know she has Lord Trevlyn’s support one hundred percent and is under his protection.”
Penelope broke into unexpected laughter. “My dear brother, don’t you know that so-called protection will make Miss O’Fallon’s problem even worse?”
Montague said musingly, “Perhaps I should take her under my wing.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Thomas remarked, his voice icy.
Montague snickered. “Whatever is the matter? Not jealous of the little Irish chit, are we?”
In the moonlight, Thomas made out Montague’s thin, aristocratic face and wanted very much to plant his fist full in the middle of it. Bad idea. He did love his brother, despite everything. Besides, Thomas recognized his own ridiculous and uncalled-for jealousies. He must set his brother straight about Evleen, though. “I believe I mentioned Miss O’Fallon is betrothed.”
“So?”
“So she is taken, Montague.” Thomas’s anger was rising. “An honorable man does not dally with a married woman or one betrothed.”
“Oh, grow up, Thomas, you’re living in a dream world. Above all, an honorable man is discreet, not some sort of chaste idiot. If I should tell you of my dalliances, some with married women of the highest rank, you would be amazed.”
Thomas grit his teeth. “I would not be amazed, I would be sickened. Actually, I don’t care what you do, Montague, except for two things.”
And what might those be, Thomas?” Montague asked with a snicker.
“First, never let Papa know about your dalliances. What he does know is bad enough and hurts him considerably. Don’t make it worse.”
“And second?”
“Stay away from Evleen O’Fallon.”
“Your jealousy is showing, Thomas. You were alone six days with her. What happened on that journey from Ireland? Did you—?”
“That is none of your affair,” Thomas snapped, losing his cool facade despite himself. He regained his composure quickly and continued, “For God’s sake, Montague, did you not see the looks on the faces of Charlotte and her Mama tonight? They were livid when you so much as bowed to Miss O’Fallon. They think they possess you, and with good reason since