Everything he’d done for her was out of pity and duty. But what of it? What was she thinking of? Even if he did care, he was but a second son with a limited income, not even close to fitting Mama’s requirements for the rich, titled Englishman she was supposed to find and marry.
She had written home that she now had her pick of rich Englishmen. Mama’s letters in return revealed how pleased she was, how eagerly she was waiting to hear who would be the final choice. Evleen suspected that one or two of her most ardent suitors were about to propose, but in the meantime, much to her great chagrin, there was Montague.
Nothing but trouble there. Montague had been doggedly pursuing her. He would not take no for an answer. How she would be able to handle his unwanted attentions she had no idea.
* * *
One day, another problem arose when Evleen, about to step into the drawing room, heard Patrick’s voice and because of its imperious tone, stopped to listen.
“I said bring it now, and be quick,” demanded Patrick, obviously addressing a servant.
“Yes, of course, Master Patrick,” came the reply.
The butler. Evleen was horrified. Pierce, the white-haired butler who carried himself with supreme dignity, had been the family butler for more years than anyone could recall. Never had she heard him treated with less than the greatest respect, until now.
She waited until Pierce withdrew, then drew in a breath to regain control of herself and stepped into the drawing room where Patrick was playing a game by the fireplace. “What were you saying to the butler just now?” she asked with deceptive calm.
Pouting, Patrick told her, “I asked for some sweets and he said I shouldn’t have them till I ate my lunch.”
“He’s absolutely right.”
“He’s not right.” Patrick leaped to his feet and glared. “Pierce is only a servant. He must do as I say.”
She was flabbergasted. “Who on earth told you such a thing?”
“Nobody had to tell me. Mrs. Trevlyn and Charlotte and Bettina yell at the servants all the time.”
“Not Pierce they don’t.”
“Maybe not, but all the others.”
That much was true, Evleen thought grudgingly. She was constantly appalled at the rude, unfeeling way the Trevlyn ladies treated their servants. “I cannot argue, Patrick, but are you a sheep? Mama taught us to be kind and courteous to everyone. She taught us to be strong and do what we know in our hearts is right, no matter what the consequences. You reveal a weakness when you follow what other people do and don’t think for yourself.”
“I don’t care.” Patrick crossed his arms over his thin chest and raised his chin. “I shall be the next Earl of Alberdsley, and everyone will have to do my bidding, even you.”
“What?” Fury almost choked her. Her palm itched to slap that arrogant little face, but she had never struck Patrick, and, despite her rage, knew she never would. With a supreme effort, she quelled her hot rush of anger. Actually she was as horrified at herself as much as Patrick. She should have seen this coming, she thought with fearful clarity. While she’d been busy enjoying the delights of London, Patrick had changed from a bright, easy-going boy into this spoiled little prig who placed himself a cut above the rest. And all because of the indulgence of his grandfather. “Who do you think you are?” she asked, her voice shaking. “You must never talk down to the servants. Pierce may be a servant, but he’s older than you, and wiser than you, and you will respect him, Patrick, or . . or...”
“Or what?” Patrick defiantly demanded.
“Or... it’s too terrible to tell you.” She waited, expecting her little brother to blush with shame at her rare castigation, or perhaps even cry. Instead, he regarded her with brazen defiance. “I don’t care what you say, Evleen, I’m the heir. I can do as I please and people have to obey me.”
In shocked silence she took the time to examine her red-haired little brother who had the face of an angel, but underneath, had developed the temperament of one of those worthless aristocrats she detested. Hard to believe that back in Ireland, Patrick had been an agreeable, even-tempered child without an arrogant bone in his body. But now... ?
Was having all this richness and privilege worth the trouble it caused? Perhaps they should just go back to Ireland. Evleen could almost laugh, thinking of how long it would take Mama to