Slowly, with great deliberation, Evleen set down her fork on the fine china plate. She lifted her crystal goblet and took a sip of water, then drew herself up. “I shall say this one more time. There is a misunderstanding about last night. I did not, in any way, cause the death of Montague.”
A stony silence met her words. How unjust this all was! But unjust or not, she realized she was helpless to prevent Charlotte from spreading lies or Lydia from backing her up. Evleen looked around the table and saw nothing but antipathy except for Amanda, whose sympathetic eyes seemed to offer encouragement.
I do not have to stay here, I could go home to Ireland, she thought, with a sudden awareness that there was no reason in the world why she should tolerate this treatment a day, an hour longer. And yet...
Her mother’s words came back to her: Make me proud. She knew what she had to do. “You asked what I was going to do, Mrs. Trevlyn,” she said. “My answer is, I shall continue on as before. I want to attend Montague’s funeral and shall do so. As for Lord Thomas, he is a grown man who will decide his own future with no help from you, or me.”
Amanda, seated next to her, boldly whispered, “Good for you.”
“We shall see,” Lydia said in an ominous tone.
It was a veiled threat, but Evleen knew there was nothing she could do about it. She managed to smile and said, “Never fear, Mrs. Trevlyn, I wouldn’t dream of interfering with your match-making.” She shifted her gaze to Charlotte. “Lord Thomas is yours, Charlotte... if he’ll have you.”
* * *
Early the next morning, Thomas hastened to Northfield Hall where Papa, his gout worse than ever, was still confined to his room. Thomas had expected to break the sad news concerning Montague, but one look at his father’s pale, drawn face told him he already knew.
“I’ve already heard, son,” said the Marquess in a stricken voice. “Bad news travels swiftly.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Montague gone. I can hardly believe it.”
“It was quick, if that’s any consolation.”
“None at all.” The Marquess heaved a deep, desponding sigh. “Ah, Thomas, there’s no consolation in any of this. My first son dead...” he choked up, for a moment unable to continue “... at least I shall always know I did my best for him. The most excellent tutors—fine clothes—the grand tour, I don’t know what more a father could have done. He had everything, yet you know how he chose to spend his recent—his last—years.” Tears formed in his father’s eyes. Thomas had never seen him cry before, not even when Mama died. “Ah, Thomas, I loved him more than life itself, despite his weaknesses.”
Thomas was hard put not to throw comforting arms around his father but he knew the gout would not permit. Still, he could hardly bear to see his beloved father in such a state of grief.
As he watched, Papa sat taller, seeming to try to pull himself together. An ironic smile touched his lips as he remarked, “So you’re no longer the second son, Thomas. Have you considered what that means?”
“Do you think that matters to me now?”
“Not at the moment, but it will.” The Marquess waved his arm in an encompassing gesture. “All this will be yours now. The estate, my many properties, investments, titles—all yours.”
“I would give them all up in a second if it would bring Montague back.”
“I’m sure you would, but that won’t happen, will it? So we must be practical.” Papa slanted a warning gaze. “The management of this estate is a tremendous responsibility. I wanted Montague to learn, but—” his shoulders slumped dejectedly “—I can only hope you will take your duties more seriously.”
“You know I shall.”
“You must marry soon.”
Evleen. Was it less than a day ago they’d been carefree and laughing at the ball? When the excitement of their meeting had been almost palpable between them? He had said he would call, knowing she knew he would propose. Unless he was totally mistaken in his judgement of women, he was positive she would accept. But of course all that was before the death of Montague.
“I do plan to marry soon, Papa,” Thomas said, “after the appropriate period of mourning, of course.”
“Ah. Charlotte will make a fine daughter-in-law, and the perfect mistress of Northfield Hall.”