His father’s eyes went wide. Aghast, he regarded Thomas. After a stunned silence, he declared, “Are you daft? Over my dead body will you marry that selfish, cold-blooded Irish tart.”
Thomas was so stunned that for a moment he could not speak. “Why do you talk of her like that?” he finally asked.
“Because she’s responsible for Montague’s death and don’t you tell me otherwise.”
“That’s absolutely absurd. Montague fell off his horse because he was drunk.”
“That’s not what I heard. Montague was distraught because of what that woman said to him. I heard that from a very good source, so you’ll not dissuade me.”
That much was true, Thomas thought disconsolately. Once his father made up his mind, nothing could change it. “You’ve heard lies. Evleen is guilty of nothing more than rejecting Montague’s advances.”
Papa bristled. “Whether she’s guilty or not isn’t the point. In any event, Evleen O’Fallon would not make a suitable wife. Under no circumstances are you to marry her.”
Thomas stared in disbelief at his father. “I am amazed. She’s been the toast of London for weeks and now you say she’s not suitable?”
“There’s no noble blood in her, not like Charlotte Trevlyn. Do you really want your children to be half Irish?”
Thomas was suffused with anger. “Now see here—”
Reaching toward his bandaged foot, Papa flinched. “God’s blood but it hurts,” he cried in anguish.
Thomas’s flare of anger instantly subsided. “I hate seeing you suffer. Is there anything I can do?”
“Don’t marry that Irish girl.”
“But you don’t understand. I love her.”
“I don’t give a groat if you love her or not. You’ve been stubborn all your life. Always did what you pleased, even when you were a little boy. Now that you’re grown there’s been no controlling you. But now... Ah, Thomas,” his father cried, gazing up at him with pleading eyes. “Can you not do this one thing for me? I’m old. I’m sick. My older son just died. How can you defy me?”
Not easily, Thomas thought as a lump rose in his throat.
But I must.
“All that is true, sir, and I deeply sympathize, but you may as well know that nothing on this earth will prevent me from asking Evleen O’Fallon to be my bride.”
Thomas braced himself, waiting for the eruption that was sure to follow his rebellious stand. But instead, with baleful softness his father remarked, “So you choose to defy me.”
“You have never even met her. If you did, you would see—”
“I have no wish to meet her,” Papa snapped. “There’s nothing I can do to dissuade you?”
“You can disown me if you like.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re my only son and heir now. Nothing will change that.”
“Then I take it you’re agreeable to my marrying Evleen?”
“We shall see, son.”
“I want an answer now,” Thomas demanded.
“I have no desire for any further discussion concerning that Irish girl.”
What did Papa mean? Although Thomas initially felt pleased that his father appeared to capitulate, he felt a certain unease. Later, his disquiet grew as the more he thought about it, the more he suspected this wasn’t the end of his disagreement with an ever-stubborn, ever-domineering, father who, one way or another, nearly always managed to get his way.
* * *
In the small family burial plot at Northfield Hall, Montague, Lord Eddington, was laid to rest under the spreading branches of an ancient oak tree. Most of the black-garbed crowd attending had come up from London for the day. They remained a somber lot during the services. Afterward, inside the magnificent mansion, when servants passed among them serving refreshments, the atmosphere lightened considerably.
For Evleen, dressed in borrowed black, it had been a most difficult day. Not only did she grieve for Montague, she was in an agony of doubt over Thomas. Did he believe the rumors flying around? She had not spoken to him since before the accident. Now it seemed a lifetime ago when they were laughing at the ball. She recalled the urgency in his voice when he said he wanted to speak to her. Did he still? Today would he greet her warmly or would he blame her for Montague’s death and cut her dead? As it was, she sensed a certain coolness among many whom she thought were her friends. Nobody snubbed her completely, though, until she was given the cut direct by Lady Chatsworth, an old friend of the Marquess. There could be no doubt. The elderly woman ignored Evleen’s greeting, stuck her nose in the air, and moved away.