“Linley!” Again Patrick called her name, hoping she might hear him.
“Over here!”
He didn’t know where it came from. He looked all around, but could not see her. “Where? Keep calling!”
“Here!” she cried. “Here!”
Patrick followed the sound of her voice. At last he found her wrapped around one of the railings. She clung to it for dear life, her knuckles white and her eyes wide with fear.
“I’ve got you,” he said, rushing to her. The crowd pushed them both hard against the railing, knocking the wind out of Linley, but Patrick held her fast. He would not let her go.
A group of men rushed down the turf, carrying the woman’s limp body from the track. Spectators followed, wailing and weeping. Through all the dust and dirt, Patrick could see a flag of the Women’s Social and Political Union tied about her waist.
If this was indeed about the suffrage, things were about to get ugly.
“We’ve got to get you out of here,” he told her, hoping to shield Linley from seeing the poor woman as they carried her past.
It was too late. Linley went white in the face. Patrick held on to her, feeling her knees wobbling against his.
At that moment, Schoville burst through the crowd, his jacket torn and his trousers covered with blood and grass stains. “Oh thank God,” he said as soon as he saw Linley was safe. “I got separated in the panic. Almost didn’t make it out.”
“We need to take her somewhere safe,” Patrick said. “If we can find my motor, it will be better than trying to get on a train in all this madness.”
Schoville nodded, giving him complete control of the situation.
They rushed through the crowd, practically carrying Linley, who kept her face buried in Patrick’s shoulder. Thankfully, the commotion started to die down, and they were able to get to the motor area with little trouble.
Patrick scanned the rows and rows of automobiles for his own. With any luck, his driver would be waiting, and not caught up in the chaos. But there were hundreds of motorcars—how was he ever going to find his?
“Can you walk?” he asked Linley.
She held onto him tighter. “No, don’t let me go.”
“Everything is fine now,” he said. “No one is going to hurt you.”
Linley refused to be put down, and Patrick had no choice but to carry her up and down the lines of automobiles. Just when he thought the search was futile, his motorcar pulled up along side of them.
“I saw you walking,” his driver said. “Is everything all right, my lord?”
“No, everything is not all right,” Patrick said, opening the rear door of his motor and laying Linley across the seat. Turning, he flipped down the two rear-facing jump seats. “Get us to London.”
***
“That poor woman,” Linley whispered, staring out at the scenery as they rattled down the road to London. “That poor, poor woman.”
“I don’t think we should talk about it anymore,” Patrick said.
“Why not?” she asked. “We cannot pretend like it didn’t happen. I saw the entire thing. I saw…everything.”
Schoville sat beside her on the seat, trying to comfort her as best he could. The day had been a traumatizing one for all of them, but neither man thought it necessary to relive it over and over again.
“Once I take her home,” Patrick told Schoville. “I want you to call a physician. She will probably need something to help her sleep through the night.”
“Of course.”
Linley huffed at both of them. “Please do not talk about me like I am not sitting right here.”
“I’m sorry.” Patrick reached across the car and patted her hand. “When you arrive home, you should call a physician. It won’t do for you to be up all night worrying.”
She stared down at his hand over hers. “Do you think that woman died?”
“I don’t know.”
Linley ignored him and kept talking to his hand. “I don’t see how anyone could survive something like that. It was the most horrific thing I’ve ever seen.”
“You’d see just as bad in the hunting field,” Patrick said. “Those sort of accidents happen more frequently than you’d think.”
Schoville shifted in the seat. “You believe it was an accident?”
“No,” he said. “I believe it was deliberate.”
Linley pulled her hand out from underneath his. “But who would do such a thing?”
“The same people who try to bomb parliament,” Patrick explained. “Who chain themselves to Downing Street.”
“Suffragettes?” she asked. “Oh, Patrick, you cannot be serious. No matter how radical those women are, I don’t think they would resort to throwing themselves in front of galloping horses.”
“Not just any galloping horse—the King’s horse,” he said. “You have to admit, it would make quite a statement.”
Linley shook her head. “I’d rather believe it was some sort of accident.”
“I’m sure you would, but that does not change the fact.”
“Must you be so cynical, Patrick?” she asked. “A woman might have died today.”
He leaned back in the seat, studying her. Finally, he sighed and admitted defeat. “You are right. I might not agree with her motives, but I am sorry she was injured.”
“Well, if it truly was intentional,” Linley said. “I applaud her for feeling strongly enough to die for what she believes in.” She reached up and pulled the pin out of her hair, pulled off her hat, and sat it across her knee. “Since she is a woman, you say she was irrational. But the truth is that very few men would be brave enough to do what she did.”
Patrick’s driver pulled the motorcar into Bedford Square and stopped in front of Berenice’s townhouse. Instead of climbing out, Linley stayed seated.
“Could you give Lord Kyre and I a moment of privacy?” she asked Schoville, who nodded and stepped out of the motor. Linley sat in silence for a long time, choosing her words carefully. “Thank you for coming to my rescue,” she told Patrick. “You always seem to be there just when I need you.”
“I was glad I could help.”
She looked down at the limp, ruined hat in her lap. She studied it as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world, and then looked back up at Patrick. “It was never about your money. You do know that, don’t you?”
“Let us say no more of it.”
“No.” Linley shook her head. “I won’t leave without being absolutely certain you know it was never about money. We’ve enjoyed a wonderful friendship and I would hate to have it marred by unpleasant accusations.”
“I don’t think it was about money.”
“Truly?” she asked. “Oh, Patrick, you’ve been so good to me. I will miss you terribly.”
“None of that, now,” he said, taking her hand and helping her up. “Run along inside. And remember what I said about the physician. Call for him as soon as you get settled in.” He handed her down to his driver, but was reluctant to let go of her hand. “Will you promise me you’ll do that?”
Linley gave his fingers a squeeze. It was always like Patrick to be so worried. “I promise.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Everything was packed. From the looks of it, Linley was ready to go. As she looked around her room at the trunks and boxes, she realized she would miss London more than she ever thought she would. She would miss this house, miss Cousin Berenice, miss Clare, and even miss all the pretty things she accumulated throughout the weeks.
Linley crossed the bedroom and stared out the window onto Bedford Square just as she had the first night she arrived. It was late—the clock had chimed midnight a very long time ago. There was not a soul on the street, which was surprising with the season in full swing.
Perhaps they were all at some big party. She knew the young couple next door never came home before dawn, and that the lights from the houses across the garden stayed on almost all night. There was always something going on over
there—a dinner party, or dancing. Sometimes the fun spilled out onto the pavement.
What she wouldn’t give to be at one of those parties right now.
She wondered where Patrick was. He could be anywhere doing anything he liked. He was probably at his club, or meeting friends for supper after the theater. Maybe he was with Georgiana and Hereford having a quiet family night at home.
She sighed and rested her hands on the windowsill. How could she ever leave him and London behind? Nothing would ever be the same. Wherever she went, Linley would always think of Patrick. Doomed at only twenty to live the rest of her life imagining what could have been.
What should have been.
Linley smacked her forehead against the cool glass of the window. When did she become such a hopeless romantic? She had no more chance of being with Patrick than she did marrying the Prince of Wales.
She told herself she knew better as she turned and walked across her bedroom. And she told herself she knew better as she went downstairs to use the telephone.
Tomorrow morning, Linley would be on a steamer to India and would never see Patrick again. She could not leave without saying goodbye.
***
Patrick sat in a high-backed leather armchair at his club. He intended to find a quiet corner to read in, but ended up passing the time over a few games of cards. Nights like these were good nights—his friends were in town for the season and hiding from their wives at the club. They sat around catching up, remembering the old times, and counting the weeks until August when they could all go back to their country houses in peace.
“I beg your pardon, my lord,” a waiter said, “But you have a telephone call.”
It could be Hereford. Georgiana’s baby was due any day. Patrick excused himself from his friends and followed the man to the telephone.
He picked up the receiver. “Hello. This is Lord Kyre.”
“Patrick.”
The voice on the other end was certainly not Hereford’s. “Linley?”
“Yes, it’s me.”
Patrick looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. He leaned down lower to the mouthpiece. “What are you doing ringing me at the club?”
“I have to see you.”
He glanced at his pocket watch. “It’s nearly two in the morning. You should be sleeping. Why don’t I pay you a visit tomorrow afternoon?”
“Tomorrow will be too late,” she said. “I’m leaving in the morning.” There was silence on the line. “Please, Patrick. I want to see you before I go.”
“Fine. Be watching for me.” He hung up the telephone and called for his motor to be brought around. After making his excuses to his friends, Patrick stepped out of the club and into his waiting automobile.
A quarter of an hour later, he pulled into Bedford Square. Linley waited for him on the front steps of Berenice’s townhouse. When she saw him, she sprinted across the pavement and climbed in beside him.
“Thank you for coming,” she said, settling herself into the passenger seat.
Patrick took a deep breath and nodded. Gentlemen did not take unmarried ladies for a spin in their motor at two thirty in the morning. If anyone saw them, the consequences would be dire. “Did you have anywhere particular in mind?”
“No.”
“Then I know somewhere we can go.” He put the automobile in gear and circled Bedford Square.
They drove out of London toward one of the smaller towns north of the Thames. Away from the thick haze of coal smoke, moonlight flooded the countryside, shining so bright that Patrick could’ve driven without his headlamps. Neither he nor Linley spoke, contented to take in the view and enjoy the crisp night air over the whine of the engine.
On the outskirts of a small village, the motorcar turned off the lane and pulled into an open field of grass. Far down the hillside, London’s lights cast a yellowed glow on horizon. Patrick shut off the engine, and the night went silent.
“Are you cold?” he asked, shrugging out of his evening jacket. “Put this on.”
He placed the jacket around Linley’s shoulders. She hugged it tightly to her body, taking in the scent of him that still lingered in the heavy wool. “Won’t you be cold now?” she asked, noticing that he was down to his shirtsleeves and waistcoat.
Patrick shook his head. “It feels good to be out of that thing for a while.” As if the idea just came to him, he climbed over the back of the driver’s seat and into the rear of the motorcar. “Come on,” he said, giving her his hand. “We’ll be more comfortable back here.”
Linley crawled up and over the seats. “Schoville said this is a Rolls-Royce,” she said as she plopped down beside him in the back. “A rather expensive motor for someone who’s stony-broke. Apparently my definition of the word must be quite different from yours.”
“I am broke, no matter how you see it. After my father died, the death duties took nearly all the money I would have inherited,” he explained. “Georgiana and I practically had to start over from nothing.”
“I don’t think it is fair. No matter how much money someone has, they don’t deserve to have it all taken away in taxes.”
Patrick kicked his feet up on the jump seat in front of him. “I’m glad you feel that way. I only wish more people shared your sympathy.” He lowered his voice and added, “As much as I hate the suffragettes, I tell you I didn’t mind their blowing up Lloyd George’s house.”
“Please, let’s not talk about the suffragettes.”
Frankly, Patrick was as sick of hearing about them as she was. He didn’t know why he brought it up, and he already wished he hadn’t. “All right, then let’s talk about you.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. There has to be a reason you pulled me out of my club at two in the morning,” he said. “So let’s hear it.”
Linley gulped. “Oh, Patrick, I am sorry about ringing you, but I’m leaving for India tomorrow and the prospect of not saying goodbye…I just couldn’t bear it.”
He folded his arms behind his head. “What happened to our not seeing each other anymore, and that business about only being friends?”
“If you’re going to tease me,” Linley said, “Then I’d rather you take me home.”
“I am not teasing. You of all people should know I never joke about matters of the heart, especially when it’s matters of my heart.”
She blinked at him.
“You see, I’ve grown terribly fond of you these past few weeks,” Patrick continued. “And to be perfectly honest, I wish you wouldn’t go.”
“But I have to.”
“You don’t have to do anything,” he said. “I’m sure Mrs. Hastings wouldn’t mind if you stayed on, at least until the season ended.”
“Cousin Berenice cannot afford to support me in London, and you know my father’s financial situation is impossible.” Linley turned her head up to the canopy of stars above them.
“Don’t you want to see where this is going between us?”
Linley shook her head. “I already know where this is going.” She brought her eyes down to meet his. “Nowhere.”
“It’s going nowhere because you never give it a chance!”
“We’ve had this conversation before and my thoughts on the matter haven’t changed,” she said. “I will never leave my father. He needs me.”
“I need you.”
She snorted. “No you don’t. You might think you do, but you’ve gotten along just fine without me until now.”
“If that is what you think…”
“It’s what I know, Patrick. You’re a great deal stronger than you let on.”
Patrick nearly shot out of his seat. “Look here! You hardly know me. So don’t go making assumptions about who and what I am.”
“Any idiot would know within five minutes of meeting you what sort of person you are,” she said. “Do you really think I would’ve invited you to walk to the souk that day if I didn’t believe you were the sort of man a girl could put her trust in?” Linle
y did not give him a chance to answer. “And I know you feel trapped in all your responsibilities, and you’re scared to let them go, but one day you’ll realize there is more to life than fancy clothes and fancy motors.”
“If money was all I cared about, then I would be having this conversation with Gaynor Robeson, and not with you!” When Linley’s jaw fell open, Patrick sneered. “That’s right! Gaynor’s father has made it quite clear that her hand in marriage would come with a fat dowry. A dowry that I desperately need.”
Linley sat there with her mouth agape, unable to think of anything to say.
“Oh, but don’t worry about me,” Patrick continued. “After the season, I’ll return to Kyre. I’ll attend a few shooting parties, and then join the hunt.” He sighed, wondering whom he was trying to convince. “It will be summer again before I know it.”
“You would…marry…Gaynor Robeson?”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t look like I have much choice.”
“Patrick, you cannot marry her,” Linley said. “She may be pretty, and she may have heaps of money, but she is the most vile woman alive. Not to mention spoiled and shallow. Her dress bills alone would run you into the poorhouse!”
Despite Linley’s very good argument, Patrick couldn’t help but laugh. “Do I detect a twinge of jealousy in your words?”
“If it wasn’t for Gaynor Robeson, our paths might not have crossed again.” She thought about that for a moment as she rested her head on his shoulder. “In a small way, I owe her everything.”
“But I’ll bet you’d never tell her that.”
Linley grinned. “Not for all the tea in china.”
A Love That Never Tires (Linley & Patrick Book 1) Page 14