“It is an honor to make your acquaintance,” Finchdale said, taking her hand and kissing it.
Allard shoved his friend out of the way and kissed her hand next. “La Infanta!”
“Well,” Patrick said, trying to keep his composure. “This has been entertaining, but if you gentleman will excuse us, we would like to finish our meal.”
“Certainly, Kyre,” Finchdale said. “But only after I secure a dance from the Infanta. Would you do me the honor, Señora?”
Linley nodded. She would much rather dance with the gorgeous Allard Robeson, but Finchdale, with his red hair and bright smile, seemed like a nice enough consolation.
“Wonderful!” Finchdale said. “I will search you out after dinner!”
After the two gentleman walked away, Patrick and Linley burst into laughter.
“I cannot believe you did that!” Linley said, reaching for her glass.
Patrick shrugged. “I hate the both of them.”
“Really?” she asked, taking a long sip of champagne.
“Finchdale is a clod, and Robeson thinks every woman in London is bursting at the seams to go to bed with him.”
“Aren’t they?”
At that, Patrick arched his dark eyebrows. “Oh, I see.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Patrick. I don’t want to sleep with him, I just think he’s good looking.”
“You wouldn’t even think about it? If he asked?”
Linley shrugged. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I’m sorry I ever brought it up.”
“Why can’t you answer the question? Would you or would you not go to bed with Allard Robeson if he offered?”
“I wouldn’t.”
“Are you quite certain?” Patrick leaned across the table. “I could talk to him…”
Linley slammed her palms down on the white tablecloth. “Stop it!”
Satisfied, he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. With shaking hands, Linely grabbed her glass and gulped down the rest of the champagne. They sat in silence for a long time.
“Do you want me to take you home?” he finally asked.
“No.”
“Would you like some dessert then? Because I think I do.”
“Fine.”
When the waiter came, Patrick ordered bombe favorite. Linley picked at a dish of fresh peaches. Neither spoke to the other.
Afterwards, Patrick paid the bill and led Linley through the maze of circular tables full of well-dressed patrons laughing and enjoying their lavish meals. Again, it seemed as if everyone turned their eyes to watch the young pair pass by. Patrick nodded and smiled at a few of them. Linley tried to seem as blasé as possible.
In the lobby, he fetched their coats and his hat, and then stepped through the hotel doors and out onto the pavement. Linley followed him, stopping at his side as they waited for his automobile.
“Please don’t take me home,” she said.
Without looking at her, Patrick answered, “I wasn’t planning on it.”
The motorcar pulled up to the curb, and Patrick’s driver went around to open the door. Linley climbed into the rear seat with Patrick a step or two behind her.
“Where are we going?” she asked him.
“I don’t know.” He situated himself on the tufted leather seat beside her. Leaning forward, he told the chauffeur, “Just drive.”
They drove along Brook Street. Linley stared out the window at the other motors and buildings they passed. Patrick watched her expressionless face as the lights from outside fell across her features.
He cleared his throat and whispered, “I’m jealous of Allard Robeson.”
Linley’s head snapped around. “What?”
“I am,” he said. “Only I’ve just realized it.”
“Would you please just drop it,” she said, turning back to the window.
They turned from Brook Street onto Bond Street. Patrick leaned forward and told the chauffeur, “Drive us to Park Lane, please.”
The drive to Park Lane did not take long, but Linley felt it dragged on endlessly. She didn’t really know where Park Lane even was. The streets looked the same to her, and she was certain if she had to, she could never find her way back to Bedford Square.
“Where are we?”
“Near Hyde Park,” Patrick answered.
As they turned onto Park Lane, Linley could see the great green behemoth that was Hyde Park. On one side lay the park, and on the other stood an endless row of the largest homes she ever saw.
“Would you like to go to a party?” he asked her.
Still studying the houses, Linley nodded.
“To Markham House,” Patrick told his driver.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The motorcar pulled up to an enormous four-story mansion, lit up so brightly that it flooded the pavement with warm yellow light. A fleet of automobiles lined both sides of the street, and a large group of people spilled from the front door. The driver let Patrick and Linley out at the curb.
“We’ll stay about an hour or so,” Patrick told him.
Linley followed Patrick through the crowd. Many of them knew him, and shook his hand or stopped him to talk. A few spoke to her, and Patrick was always ready with introductions. By the time they reached the front door, Linley met three countesses, a foreign minister, and the Duke of Darlington.
“It’s a wonder anarchists don’t try to bomb a party like this,” Linley said to Patrick. “Half the most powerful people in England would be wiped out in one shot.”
“Don’t let Asquith hear you say that,” Patrick said, laughing as he helped her inside. “Or you’ll end up in Holloway Prison.”
Her eyes grew wide. “The Prime Minister? Is he here?”
“I wouldn’t doubt it.”
A servant swooped down on them with a tray of drinks, and Patrick took two glasses of champagne, handing one to Linley. As she sipped, she took a moment to look around the huge foyer, filled to capacity with beautiful ladies and dapper gentlemen. A marble staircase twisted up to the floors above. Most of the guests waited in line on the steps, trying to make their way to the ballroom.
“Come on,” Patrick said, taking her hand. Together, they pushed their way up the stairs. “Pardon me. Excuse me,” he said as they bumped their way up the line. “Pardon! Entschuldigen Sie! Mi scusi!”
Linley tried to keep up with him, ignoring the indignant stares from the other partygoers until they reached the landing.
“This is the Earl of Markham’s house,” he whispered in her ear. “He’s a nice old chap, but if he dances with you, don’t be surprised if he gets handsy.”
“Handsy?”
Patrick nodded. “He might pinch your derriere.”
“Seriously?”
“It’s been known to happen. Especially with pretty girls.”
Linley smiled as they passed into the ballroom. It was three times the size of the Robeson’s. Twin staircases led to the marble dance floor below. A full orchestra sat on an elevated platform in one corner, and the entire other side of the room was composed of French doors, which were thrown open to the garden.
Patrick held out his arm for her. “Shall we?”
Slipping her arm through his, they descended the stairs. And she thought the people at Claridge’s stared at them! There must have been two hundred people crowded into the ballroom, and Linley was certain at least three quarters of them stopped to turn around and gawk.
“How do you ever get used to this?” she asked.
“I promise this never happens to me,” Patrick replied. “It must be you.”
They reached the bottom of the stairs. Instead of acknowledging the crowd of people that rushed to speak to them, Patrick escorted Linley straight to the dance floor.
Linley kept her eyes glued to Patrick as they swept along. She didn’t want to see just how many people were staring and talking about them. A few times, though, she caught her reflection in a mirror and almost didn’t recognize herself. Where was the Lin
ley Talbot-Martin covered in sweat and up to her elbows in dirt? Who was this new Linley, the one in the satin gown and the bright red shoes?
And the gentleman in her arms, with his drowsy eyes and dimpled grin? There was no way he could be hers. This had to be a fairy tale.
Patrick looked down at her and smiled, pulling her a little closer. “If you don’t stop looking at me like that, people will think you are in love with me.”
Linley blushed. What an ass he was to tease her!
“If you don’t stop looking at me, you’ll miss a step,” she replied.
As the waltz ended and they stepped back into the crowd, Linley caught sight of Gaynor Robeson. Her mind drifted back to the night of the ball at the Robeson’s house. She hoped Gaynor did not think anything untoward was going on between her and Patrick, especially after she caught them alone together.
Linley started to ask him not to talk to her, but before she could speak, Gaynor waved them over.
“Hello, Kyre!” the young woman said, smiling at them both. “Miss Talbot-Martin.”
Linley smiled, too, putting on her best face. “Hello, Miss Robeson.”
“What a pretty gown you have on!” she exclaimed, tugging at the panels of Linley’s dress.
“Thank you.” Linley wanted to say something nice about Gaynor’s dress, but the whole outfit looked so ridiculous that she could not think of one positive thing to say about it.
“I know! I know!” Gaynor said, pointing at her swath of bright pink, fur trimmed brocade. “It’s a little much, but it is a Lucile!”
Linley wanted to ask what a Lucile was, but she didn’t.
Patrick smiled. “I’m sure by tomorrow morning every woman in London will have orders for one exactly like it.”
“Naturally!” Gaynor said, laughing.
At the sound of the young woman’s laughter, a servant stopped to offer the trio a tray of drinks.
“Won’t you take some more champagne, Miss Talbot-Martin?” Gaynor asked, taking a glass for herself.
“No, thank you. I believe I’ve had enough for the night.”
“Some lemonade then?” she asked. Without waiting for a reply, Gaynor turned to Patrick. “Kyre, do be a gentleman and get Miss Talbot-Martin a glass of cool lemonade.”
Patrick blinked at both women, then shrugged and walked away. He was not so naïve to think that Gaynor actually cared if Linley was thirsty. Clearly, this was not about lemonade. This was about getting him out of the way for a moment. And, for once, he was all too happy to comply.
As Patrick slipped through the crowd on his fool’s errand, Gaynor turned to Linley. “Besides the Duke of Buckland and perhaps one other gentleman,” Miss Robeson explained. “Lord Kyre is the most sought after marital prize in England.”
“How fortunate for him.”
“Yes, but not so fortunate for the young ladies interested in him,” she said.
“I see how that could make things difficult.”
“And it doesn’t help that he is so nice to everybody.” As if Linley had only imagined the insult, Miss Robeson continued, “You see, our dear friend is the ideal husband—handsome, gracious, and quite manageable. His wife could do whatever she pleased, as long as she kept him in Henry Poole and left him to those dusty old books he loves so much.”
“I’m sure he would disagree.”
“On the contrary,” Gaynor said. “Lord Kyre is a smart man. He understands what it takes to make a marriage beneficial for both parties.”
“And what would that be?”
“Privacy,” she said. “And the good sense not to ask questions one needn’t know the answers to.”
“You mean the freedom to have affairs.”
“Oh, Miss Talbot-Martin, you are so delightfully middle class.” Gaynor laughed. “Haven’t you heard of Lady Wolstanton? She and Lord Kyre carried on quite the torrid love affair some years ago. He didn’t seem to mind that she was married.”
Patrick turned and glanced in their direction. Clearly, he knew they were discussing him. Even from thirty feet away, it was plain to see. But as quickly as he locked eyes with them, he returned his focus to the footman at his elbow.
Linley forced herself to do the same, concentrating on Miss Robeson instead. “You seem to know a great deal about his virtues.”
“And, as you can see, I know a great deal about his vices, too,” Gaynor said. “No, not his vices. His…” She paused to find the right word. “…Weaknesses. A man like that doesn’t have vices.”
Linley had to agree. Since they day she met him, she had never known Patrick to be anything other than the perfect gentleman. She could not imagine him as anything less.
But hadn’t they quarreled that very same evening? Hadn’t he confessed to being angry and jealous? Clearly he was not perfect. And, clearly, Gaynor knew him better than she did.
And it made Linley furious.
She opened her mouth to say something. She was not going to be bullied, especially not by the likes of Gaynor Robeson, no matter how rich, or pretty, or popular the woman was. Linley could out-shoot her, out-ride her, and more than likely out-smart her. In the real world, Miss Robeson did not stand a chance. But Linley had to remind herself that this was not the real world, and that Gaynor Robeson possessed an entire arsenal of the only thing that mattered here—feminine allure.
By then Patrick had returned, sans lemonade, and, as if sensing her victory, Gaynor took a quick sip of her champagne and handed Linley the half-empty glass.
“Kyre,” she said, holding her free hands out to him. “Dance with me!”
Linley watched Patrick lead Gaynor onto the dance floor. She had to admit they made a smart couple. Even in that ridiculous gown, Gaynor’s poise and beauty lit up the room as she laughed and spun in Patrick’s arms. But, however lovely Miss Robeson looked, no one else seemed to notice. The entire ballroom studied Linley in her black dress and red slippers.
Her heart raced and she felt flushed all over. She longed to slip into a corner and hide somewhere, or to run out into the street and jump in the first motorcar she saw.
As she scanned the room, hundreds of unfamiliar faces stared back at her. But the one face she did recognize—and for once in her life wished she hadn’t—was Reginald’s. He stood with his family near the French doors.
When his eyes met hers, Linley waved. She’d been spotted. What else could she do?
Reginald crossed the dance floor and headed straight in her direction. “What are you doing here?”
“I—I came with Lord Kyre.”
“The man is taking you to balls now? What is he trying to do, flaunt you?”
Linley shrugged.
Looking down at her, Reginald sighed. “At any rate, you look beautiful. I almost didn’t recognize you in these clothes.”
“Thanks,” she replied. “You look nice, too.”
“Listen, I’ve been trying like mad to raise money for your father, but I’m afraid we’re running out of time. Tonight was my last hope, and not even the Earl of Markham would commit.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean it might be over for us, Lin. Everyone is afraid there’s a war coming, and no one wants to part with their money. My own parents are tapped or they would help.” He lowered his voice and leaned in very close to her. “Between you and me, I’ve been borrowing against my inheritance for years to keep us afloat.”
Linley brought a gloved hand to her mouth. “Oh, Reginald!”
Of course Patrick chose that exact moment to reappear. He looked at Linley’s distressed face, and then at Reginald, who looked almost as upset. “What is going on?”
She turned to him, placing her hand on his arm. “Reginald just told me that our fundraising efforts have been a failure. No one is willing to help us.”
Patrick stared hard into Reginald’s eyes. “You couldn’t raise any money?”
“Not nearly enough.”
“What about a ball?” he asked. “You haven’t tried that
.”
Reginald shook his head. “We have nowhere to hold it. Mrs. Hastings’ house is not big enough, and Bedford already asked the British Museum, which refused.”
“Then I may have a place for you,” Patrick said.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
By the time Patrick’s motorcar pulled up in front of Berenice’s townhouse, Linley could barely keep her eyes open. She was not used to keeping such late hours, even if Patrick assured her two in the morning wasn’t late at all.
“Most parties don’t end until dawn,” he explained.
“That is just stupid,” Linley said. “Some people can’t sleep all day.”
“I assure you that you could if you tried.”
They both smiled, and Linley resisted the urge to take his hand. “Thank you for a wonderful night.”
“It was my pleasure.” He stepped out of the motorcar and helped her onto the pavement. “And I will see what I can do about helping your father.”
She nodded, yawning.
“Go upstairs and straight to bed,” Patrick said, poking a finger at her. “I don’t want to see any puffy eyes tomorrow when I call on you.”
“You’re calling on me?”
“If you’d like me to. I know I’m no substitute for Allard Robeson, but…”
Linley gave him a hard shove, nearly sending him toppling off the edge of the curb. “I’m too tired to fight with you tonight,” she said. “But tomorrow I am going to punch you in the mouth!”
Patrick laughed. “I’d like to see you try.”
“Oh?” Linley grinned, putting both of her little fists in the air.
“I warn you I earned a blue in boxing at Oxford.”
Linley tilted her head. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’m pretty damned good.”
“Well, in that case!” She hopped around him, keeping her guard up.
Patrick put his fists up, showing that he knew what he was doing.
Linley, however, was not intimidated. She jabbed at him, which he dodged.
“You can’t win,” he told her.
She laughed, taunting him. “You’re nothing but a kangaroo boxer!”
Patrick’s eyebrows shot up.
Linley still circled, keeping her fists up, ready to strike at any minute.
A Love That Never Tires (Linley & Patrick Book 1) Page 10