stupid remark, but his actions made him realize he must remove himself as far as possible from Evleen O’Fallon. In the state he was in, to stay one more day in London was sheer folly.
At least he had preserved his honor. A fine thing, honor. Nothing counted more in this small, tight society in which he lived. Trouble was, honor would not warm his bed at night. An increasingly lonely bed, he thought with irony. And when he woke in the night, as he’d been doing lately, honor would not do one damn thing to ease his maddening, increasingly powerful longing for Evleen O’Fallon.
Chapter 15
Over the following weeks, a whole new world opened for Evleen. It seemed as if overnight she had become London’s darling. It mattered not that she hadn’t officially come “out,” nor been presented at court. Men fought for her favors, extolling her beauty, melodious accent, vivacious Irish charm. London’s leading hostesses vied for the presence of “that delightful young lady from Ireland.”
Lord Trevlyn crowed with delight. “We must have the dressmaker back. A popular young lady like you must have an ample wardrobe.”
Properly chaperoned, she was escorted by eager beaux to Astley’s Royal Amphitheater where horses and clowns alike gave delightful performances; to Kings Theater where she sat in awe of the actor, Edmund Keen; to Green Park where she and Patrick breathlessly watched a spectacular balloon ascension, the daring balloonists using a newfangled contraption called a parachute.
During all this, Evleen felt elated, yet torn. What a heady experience to be admired and sought-after. Yet her new-found popularity did not come without a price, for the atmosphere around the Trevlyn’s London townhouse was decidedly cool. Lydia Trevlyn, hardly able to contain her jealousy, was now only barely polite. Bad enough that Evleen now outshone Charlotte, who had always been considered the great beauty of the family. Worse, despite Evleen’s efforts to discourage Montague, he continued to pursue her, obviously enchanted with her Irish charms. He appeared to have forgotten Charlotte even existed, let alone she was destined to be his bride.
At least Amanda was doing well. Much to the ongoing surprise of her mother and sisters, of late she had blossomed and now had several suitors.
Thus far, Evleen had yet to meet a man she really liked, although she now had at least a dozen to chose from. Mama was right. Too many men of the English nobility were vain, self-centered, and shallow: naught but worthless aristocrats who contributed nothing to the world but lived only for their own decadent pleasures. Evleen could not imagine being married to any one of them, regardless of how rich they were, or how grand their title.
Meanwhile, Evleen had not heard one word from Thomas. Although she tried not to think of him, she often did. She concealed her thoughts from everyone, though, even Penelope, who had become a fast friend these past weeks. Often Evleen was tempted to ask Penelope the latest news of Thomas, but pride prevented her each time. With her sharp percipience, Thomas’s sister would guess immediately how much Evleen missed him and wanted him back. At least Evleen knew where he was. From Penelope’s casual remarks she gleaned that Thomas had returned to his home near Abingdon where he remained in excellent health and was devoting his time to breeding horses. It was obvious he wanted nothing more to do with her. Time after time she tried to convince herself she must forget about him, but had not succeeded thus far.
She was having trouble sleeping nights. She could easily blame the excitement of her glittering new social life, but she knew otherwise. It was Thomas who kept her awake in those dark, silent hours when for the hundredth—the thousandth?—time, she would relive that magical trip from Ireland when they’d exchanged that deeply meaningful look at The Whispering Arch; when she was seasick aboard The Countess of Liverpool and he’d cared for her so tenderly; when he, with the utmost generosity, had seen to it that Patrick got to ride in the flying machine across England. What fun they’d had! And then London, and that night they kissed in his coach...
Oh, Thomas, how could you leave and not even say goodbye? I thought you cared for me. Were those passionate moments in the carriage really just lust, as meaningless as Lord Corneale’s kiss?
In dawn’s clear light, after but a few hours of fitful sleep, Evleen would always wake up to cold reality. Thomas did not care.