we know how desirous Papa and Lord Trevlyn are of uniting their estates. You are putting Evleen to a great disadvantage when you show an interest in her.” Thomas glowered at his brother, even though he knew full well Montague could not see him in the dark. “In words you can understand, those feral females will tear the girl apart if you continue with your attentions.”
“But perhaps I find myself already growing fond of her,” Montague playfully protested. “What if I fall in love with her?”
“You will never love anyone but yourself.”
“She’s accompanying them to London, you know. For the Season. I sensed the others weren’t too keen on it.”
“Of course they weren’t. Montague, please—” Thomas stopped himself because damned if he would beg. Besides, what was the use? His brother would do what he pleased, no matter the consequences.
“Just go tend to your horses, Thomas,” Montague remarked.
“I plan to do just that,” Thomas answered, hard-put to quell his anger. But Montague was Montague, and he was right on one score: Thomas should indeed tend to his horses and forget Miss Evleen O’Fallon. Even so, Tanglewood Hall was not so very far from London. After all, he would have need to attend Tattersoll’s occasionally, and in so doing, would it not be the courteous thing to drop in on Trevlyn’s London townhouse from time to time?
Thomas smiled with satisfaction. You’ve not seen the last of me yet, my sweet Evleen. Of course, his interest was only that of a concerned friend. Anything else would be ungentlemanly and quite without honor.
And you are nothing if not a gentleman, Thomas told himself grimly, knowing he would be kept awake tonight by visions of Evleen O’Fallon and how delectable she looked in that low-cut gown. How she would deal with the Trevlyns, he wasn’t sure. There was bound to be trouble, but perhaps Evleen, being the feisty Irish girl she was, could handle all the petty jealousies that were bound to arise. He could not help but feel concern, though. Personally, he would rather face a pack of lions than Mrs. Walter Trevlyn, now forever bereft of a title, and her unmarried daughters.
* * *
The next morning, Evleen awoke feeling both tired and discouraged. The strangeness of a new place—the Trevlyn’s hostility—the unsettling presence of Lord Thomas—all contributed to her restless tossing and turning most of the night, and in the process not getting much sleep. She wished she could avoid going downstairs to breakfast, even though when she’d arrived, she had looked forward to getting better acquainted with the family. She had even envisioned the sisters, and perhaps the mother, showing her and Patrick around the estate, a gay, friendly little group exploring the house and grounds. How deluded she had been! Now she wondered if she might just stay in her bedchamber and have the maid bring her breakfast on a tray.
That wouldn’t do, of course. Never had she been a coward and she wouldn’t be one now. For Patrick’s sake, she must make the effort. It was just... last night had been such a disaster. It hadn’t taken long for the true feelings of Mrs. Trevlyn and her two elder daughters to emerge. Amanda, she wasn’t sure. And then there was Montague. What an odious man! How could Lord Thomas, who was everything wonderful and kind, possibly be the brother of that egotistical fop who actually had the nerve to assume she liked him?
Evleen dragged herself from bed and had just finished dressing in her old calico gown when Celeste came bustling in, took one looked, and exclaimed, “Miss Evleen, you cannot wear zat.”
“Whyever not?” Evleen perversely asked, knowing the reason full well.
“Because... because...” Evleen could see Celeste was trying to control herself, but she finally burst forth with “Zat is the ugliest gown I have ever seen.”
“I know that, Celeste.” Evleen feigned the utmost indifference. “But I chose to wear it anyway.”
“Never. I shall borrow another gown from—”
“No you won’t,” answered Evleen in a voice that brooked no argument. “Lord Trevlyn says he’s already sent for a seamstress. Meanwhile, I shall wear what I brought.”
Despite that last, Celeste’s eyes lit. “Marvelous. I am so glad, Miss. If you are going to London you will need gowns for morning, afternoon, dinner, walking, riding. You must have several ball gowns, as well as the shoes—hats—jewels—”
“Don’t overwhelm me, Celeste,” interrupted Evleen, laughing. “Where I come from we put one gown on in the morning and take it off at night. No one