The footman opened the coach door. Someone was sitting there, she assumed Walter. She was half-way inside when she looked into his face and got such a jolt she gasped. It wasn’t Walter, it was Thomas.
“You,” she said, frozen half-way in, half-way out.
He sat there grinning at her, one boot jauntily propped on the seat across. “Ah, good morning, Miss O’Fallon. Fleeing to Ireland, are we?”
She stepped back out of the coach and glared at him. “What are you doing here? Where is Walter?”
“Alas, Walter was busy, so I volunteered to take his place.”
“You mean... oh no! Surely you’re aware by now what your father told me. Why are you doing this? There’s no point.”
His grin disappeared. He sprang lightly from the coach and standing close, took both her hands. “You’re making a mistake. Don’t go. There’s nothing we cannot work out.”
She jerked her hands away. “I am indeed going to Ireland, but not with you. Patrick and I are quite capable of going by ourselves.”
“That may very well be, but if you do go alone, it won’t be in this fine coach. Lord Trevlyn insists you have an escort.” He cocked an amused eyebrow at her. “Alas, it appears the only suitable escort available is me.”
“I won’t go with you!”
“Ah, but you will. I give you my word I shall be the perfect gentleman, just as before. Not only that, I promise I’ll say nothing more to dissuade you from returning to your home.”
“Please, can’t Lord Thomas come?” begged Patrick, who had been listening wide-eyed.
“Well...” She felt herself weakening.
“Who knows the roads better than I? asked Thomas. “Who knows how to get to Holyhead and find a boat?” An amused gleam filled his eyes. “Who else will take care of you when you’re heaving over the side?”
“Oh, very funny,” she retorted, unamused. He had a point, though. She could not picture Walter comforting her as Thomas had done. The timid little man would no doubt himself be heaving. Still...
“You and Lord Trevlyn plotted this together,” she accused.
“Of course,” he instantly admitted. “We don’t want you to go, Evleen, but if you do, I promise, I shall be the perfect escort.”
“Then... oh, all right, I suppose I must.” But I don’t have to like it. She would be civil to him, and barely polite, but would keep her distance, mentally if not physically, and most certainly not indulge in any sort of personal conversation. “But I warn you, Lord Thomas, nothing on this earth can make me change my mind.”
Thomas only smiled and had no answer.
* * *
Thomas remained true to his word on their trip across England. Always his charming self, he was helpful, courteous, and always amusing, but not one personal word crossed his lips.
Evleen remained aloof much of the day, constantly reviewing in her mind that terrible scene with Thomas’s father. The coach was well past Shrewsbury before her curiosity got the better of her. “Why are you doing this, Lord Thomas?” Quickly she corrected herself. “Lord Eddington, I mean.”
“You need not be so formal.” He was sitting across, so he was able to look her square in the eye. “Actually, ‘Thomas’ would do, if you could possibly bring yourself to be that informal.”
“You have answered my question, Lord Eddington.”
“Ah, so that’s the way it is,” he said, amused. “Well, then, Miss O’Fallon, has it crossed your mind that I am here because I care enough to be concerned?”
“Totally unnecessary.”
“Not unnecessary at all. According to Lord Trevlyn, you’re a delicate flower who could not possibly be allowed to travel alone.”
She bristled. “Delicate flower indeed.” She noticed the mischievous gleam in his eye. “You weren’t serious.”
“Of course not. God help anyone who gets in your way.”
“You are absolutely right,” she replied, flinging the words at him. “There’s never a need to worry about me.”
“So true,” he replied agreeably. “Actually I foresee a marvelous future for you in Ireland.”
“And what might that be?”
“You will marry that fine, upstanding Irishman, Timothy Murphy. You will have at least ten children—make that a dozen. You will live to a ripe old age and become the wizened old oracle of County Clair, dispensing sage advice far and wide. They’ll be beating a path to your door. They—”
“I get the point,” she said, not at all amused. Oh, he could be so exasperating! She knew she shouldn’t bother to defend herself, but he needed to be set straight. “For your information, I shall never marry Timothy Murphy.”