set Patrick straight. And going back would be good for her, too. She wouldn’t have Montague chasing her about, nor suffer the unpleasantness of the Trevlyns. And perhaps she’d stop thinking about Thomas if she knew for certain she would never see him again.
But it was much too soon to think of going home. Besides, all Patrick needed was a strong male voice to inform him of the error of his ways. But whose voice? Possibly Lord Trevlyn’s, although considering the way he doted on the boy, she doubted he could administer the proper discipline. Regardless, Lord Trevlyn could be of no help now. He had returned to his estate and had not said when he would return. Walter was here, but weakling that he was, he could hardly be called a voice of authority.
There was only one man in all this world whom Patrick not only respected, but downright idolized. How ironic, she mused, that Patrick would not listen to his own sister, but if Lord Thomas were to tell him what to do, he would leap to obey.
If only Thomas were here!
And for many reasons, she mused, many of which had nothing to do with Patrick’s transgressions.
* * *
Late on a warm evening in June, at the ball given by Lady Fitzgibbons at her palatial mansion on Bolton Street, Thomas, who had just arrived from Tanglewood Hall, stood by the side of the dance floor, gazing intently at the dancers.
“She’s here, although I don’t see her,” said Penelope, who stood beside him.
He asked, “What makes you think I’m looking for anybody?”
Penelope tilted her pert nose. “Why the sudden visit to London? Aren’t your precious Thoroughbreds enough company?”
He shot her a teasing glance. “I prefer my horses any day to a certain nagging sister of mine.” A force beyond himself pulled his gaze back to the dance floor. Where was she?
Penelope asked, “Did you know she’s become the most popular belle in London?”
“Who?”
“You know very well who.”
He deigned not to answer as he continued his search. Ah, there she was, dancing with Montague, a vision in a pale yellow silk dress, trimmed with silver.
“Lovely, isn’t she?” remarked Penelope. He nodded briefly, careful he gave nothing away. “I know she’s the reason you’re here, Thomas. What do you plan?”
No use trying to fool her. “I want her,” he said simply.
Penelope drew in her breath and clasped her hands together in a gesture of glee. “What wonderful news! Evleen and I have become fast friends these past few weeks. I so admire her for her honesty, her liveliness, her wit and charm, as well as—” Penelope’s expression switched from ecstatic to doubtful “—oh, dear. You want to marry her?”
“Of course. What did you think?”
“Oh, dear.” Penelope looked crestfallen.
Thomas laughed at his sister’s sudden discomfit. “I know what you’re thinking. I am far from being a prime candidate for her hand, aren’t I? Second son, with but a modest income? On the face of it, my chances are nil.”
“Montague is after her.”
“With all due respect to my beloved brother, Evleen is far too smart to marry such a profligate.”
“But you know her mother wants her to marry well.”
“Never love an Englishman,” Thomas quoted with a wry smile, “just marry a rich and titled one.”
“Then how can you even think–?”
“I don’t have a chance, unless she loves me.”
“Does she?”
“That remains to be seen, doesn’t it?”
Penelope lightly rapped his arm with her fan. “Oh, you can be so exasperating. Why didn’t you tell me? I suspected you liked her, but then when you left London all those many weeks ago, I thought you didn’t care.”
“Never fear, I care all right.” Care enough to risk getting soundly rejected, Thomas thought but didn’t say. Tanglewood Hall had been his retreat, a place where he had expected to find not only peace, but forgetfulness. In his ignorance, he had assumed he could easily erase those tormenting dreams of Evleen and concentrate fully on breeding his Thoroughbreds. Surely Montague would marry. He would then proceed to present Papa with the heir he so keenly desired, and thus relieve Thomas of any further responsibility. Only if Montague remained single, would Thomas consider taking a wife. Not Bettina. He had finally concluded he could not abide spending the rest of his life with such a bubble-head. But if need be, surely he could find some agreeable lady of modest means who would be happy to marry a second son in reduced circumstances.