He smiled. Linley thought he smelled like gin.
Her father handled the introductions, and Mr. Howard led them all onto the veranda. A wicker table and chairs sat in the far corner, laid out with a tea service and every kind of teacake and treat Linley could imagine. She took a seat, almost sitting on her hands to keep from reaching for a treacle tart. Plus, Madeline Howard was staring at her.
“What a pretty young thing you are!” Mrs. Howard said. “Frank, don’t you think she’s adorable?”
Her husband looked up and smiled. “Adorable!”
“You must be very excited to be in India,” she continued. “Is this your first visit?”
Linley shook her head, waiting for her hostess to hurry up and pour the tea. “No, ma’am. I lived in Calcutta when I was a very little girl.”
“And where do you live now?”
Accepting the teacup from Mrs. Howard, Linley took a sip, thinking how to best answer her question. “I suppose I don’t live in any one particular place,” she said. “My father and I travel extensively.”
“How fortunate you are!” Madeline Howard said. “I traveled before my marriage.” She turned in her seat to face her sister. “Remember our trips, Ada?”
Ada nodded. “The great highlight of my life.”
Mrs. Howard spun back toward Linley. “Ada laments being stuck here in India,” she explained. “But you see, my husband has quite a lucrative tea business, and it is imperative we spend most of our time seeing to that business…since it is how we keep such a nice home and can afford to buy pretty new things.”
Linley sat silent, thinking she’d somehow found herself in the middle of a thinly veiled argument between the two sisters. She took a treacle tart from the tray and tilted her head to hear the gentlemen’s conversation.
“…There can be no question of you staying in the village,” Mr. Howard told her father. “You will sleep here until the railway is back in working order.”
Sir Bedford shook his head. “We could not intrude on your hospitality.”
“Nonsense! We will be glad to have the company.” He waved over a nearby servant. “See that the guest bedrooms are readied, and tell the cook we will be five more for dinner.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Linley bathed and changed into her clean shirt for dinner. She knew the Howards would understand, but she couldn’t help frowning at her shabby appearance. It took three washings to get all the dirt out of her hair, which was still damp at the ends, curling around her temples and the back of her neck. Her cotton shirt was open at the collar, the sleeves pushed up to her elbows, and the ends tucked into a wrinkled linen skirt. Her boots—well, her boots were just too horrendous for words.
She tramped downstairs and found her way to the dining room. Even though they lived in the middle of nowhere, the Howards were obviously fond of nice things. Their plates were gilt edged, their flatware of the finest silver, and even their stemware was crystal, not cut glass.
“Everything was imported directly from London,” Mrs. Howard explained. “We enjoy all the comforts our station in life affords us, even in the colonies!”
An Indian servant came around the table, pouring wine from a large crystal decanter into the glasses. He wore the traditional clothing of an Indian, but the spotless white gloves of an English footman. The man never spoke, seeming to move about the room with the silence of a shadow.
He disappeared through a curtained doorway, returning only to serve each course and refill glasses. Mr. and Mrs. Howard spared no expense on the quality of their food, either, and Linley’s mouth watered over mulligatawny soup, curried beef tongue, and rice.
Mrs. Howard rested her arm on the white tablecloth, jangling the stack of gold bracelets on her wrist. “It’s amazing such delicious food can come from such backward people,” she said. “But that is one thing I do love about the Indians.”
Linley swore she heard the native servant groan as he leaned over to refill her wineglass. “Although they are very different from us, I don’t think that makes them backward, Mrs. Howard.” She picked up her glass and took a long sip the strong wine. “As someone who has traveled all over the world, I’ve met many races of people far worse than those here in India.” Setting the glass down, she looked at her hostess. “Take the Chinese, for example. Young Chinese girls who want to marry well have their feet broken and bound, leaving a deformed mass that will never grow any larger than three or four inches. We English have long revered the Chinese for their wisdom, yet the practice of foot binding has only recently been outlawed there.”
Mrs. Howard gulped down her wine. “My goodness.”
“I have seen these women,” Linley continued, “tottering about their gardens in their silk shoes. The smaller the feet, the more attractive the girl is considered. And an attractive daughter can bring great wealth to her family through marriage.”
“That isn’t very different from how we do things in England.” Madeline Howard smiled across the table. “It seems a pretty daughter is a valuable asset no matter where she lives.”
From somewhere down the table, Sir Bedford cleared his throat. “I believe you are quite right, Mrs. Howard,” he said. “We experienced a bit of that ourselves just recently.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. If it were not for my own daughter’s charm, we would not be here.” Linley’s father grinned, obviously proud of the fact. “You see, she attracted quite an influential friend in London, and was able to convince him to take interest in helping our fundraising efforts.”
Linley jerked toward her father, nearly toppling her wine glass. “Papa!”
“Now, now, Button,” Sir Bedford Talbot-Martin said, waving her away. “There is no need to be ashamed of what you did. None of us blame you.”
She looked from her father, to her friends, and then to her host and hostess. Mrs. Howard did not seem to be judging her, but Linley refused to let even strangers believe she had used Patrick in any way. “Actually, Papa, I rather liked Lord Kyre—”
“Did you say Lord Kyre?” Ada asked. “As in the Marquess?”
Linley nodded.
“What a coincidence! I just read something about him in The Bystander.”
“Oh, really?” She tried not to seem too interested. After all, what could a gossip magazine possibly know about Patrick that she didn’t?
“I’d never heard of him before,” Ada said. “But they even had a photograph, didn’t they, Madeline?”
Mrs. Howard turned to her sister. “Why don’t we retire to the drawing room and see if we can’t find it?” Smiling at Linley, she rose to her feet. “I keep all The Bystanders I can get my hands on. Of course, they’re always an issue or two out of date.”
Linley followed the two women down the corridor and into the drawing room. The room was large, well-furnished, and the windows open onto the veranda let the warm night air billow in, making it a pleasant place to relax after dinner.
Madeline Howard dug through a few desk drawers until she pulled out a stack of papers. She flipped through them until she found the one she needed. “I think this is it,” she said, unfolding it. “Oh, yes! Here he is.”
Instead of passing the magazine to Linley, she reached for a pair of scissors and snipped the photograph from the middle of the page.
“There you are, dear,” she said, handing her guest the small black and white image. “He’s quite a handsome fellow. Bravo!”
Linley studied the photograph. It was the only one she’d ever seen of him. Of course it was a good likeness, but it did not do him justice. He looked too formal, and since he wasn’t smiling, you couldn’t see his dimples.
“Shall I read you the article?” Mrs. Howard asked. Linley nodded, never taking her eyes of the picture as the woman started to read, “…Oh…well, this isn’t even about him, really. It is about the Duchess of Hereford’s new baby.”
So Georgiana had her baby! “Is it a boy or a girl?” she asked.
“A boy,” Mrs.
Howard said. “It seems the Duke now has an heir.”
Linley smiled, imagining how proud the family must be to welcome such a wonderful new addition. She glanced at the photograph in her hand and pictured Patrick chewing the ends of his fingers as he and Hereford paced the drawing room, awaiting the arrival of the child.
Madeline Howard skimmed the pages of the article. “Oooh! There is something about him in here, after all. I knew they wouldn’t show his photograph for no reason.” She cleared her throat, and read: “…The Duchess, formerly Lady Georgiana Wolford, is sister to the Marquess of Kyre. Her name was attached to many gentlemen in her earlier seasons before finally becoming the wife of the Duke.
“Her brother, Lord Kyre, much prefers to spend time at his country seat, Wolford Abbey, in Kyre, but has lately been in town for the Season—a rare treat for the hopeful mamas of unmarried young ladies out in society.”
Well, at least he wasn’t married. Linley sighed, still studying Patrick’s photograph. “Thank you, Mrs. Howard,” she said. “You were very kind to give this to me, and also to read the article.”
Madeline looked over at her sister. They knew a broken heart when they saw one.
“It isn’t my place to ask,” Mrs. Howard said, “But you didn’t give yourself to him, did you? I won’t judge you if you did, but he needs to be held accountable if he gave you the chuck.”
“No. He was a perfect gentleman,” Linley said. “If he expected anything, he never made it known.”
Ada leaned forward and patted her hand. “Then what’s the problem? Why are you in India when you could be in London with him?”
“Because things aren’t that simple,” she said. “I have a responsibility to my father, and to our team. I couldn’t possibly let them down.”
Madeline Howard frowned. “That’s where you’re wrong, dear. You have a responsibility to yourself. And whether you follow your heart or not, the only person you risk letting down is yourself.”
***
It was hot, but then again, it always seemed hottest before the rains. Linley tossed in bed, kicking off the thin blanket, and wrapping herself in the cotton sheet. Across the bedroom, muslin curtains hung flat and limp against the open window. No breeze stirred them.
Yes, it was hot, but that was not the only reason she couldn’t sleep. The slapping of a headboard against the wall next door didn’t help.
Neither did Madeline Howard’s moans, nor her husband’s low cries. They’d been at it for a good half hour, and Linley prayed one of them would soon give out. As intriguing as it all was, she was hot, tired, and she knew she’d never sleep on the train. Tomorrow she would be hotter, and even more tired.
Linley rolled onto her stomach and pulled the sheet over her head. She once peeked at a page of the Kama Sutra, but was too afraid to investigate any further. She’d always thought sex to be a marital duty—one some couples seemed to enjoy, while others dreaded.
The Howards were obviously part of the former.
Madeline’s cries of pleasure practically rattled the windows. Linley’s mind drifted back to the afternoon when she told Patrick she would one day take a lover. Of course, she hadn’t really known what all that entailed. But now she did. No wonder he became so upset—Patrick didn’t like the thought of her with another man any more than she cared for the thought of him making love to Gaynor Robeson.
The impact of what leaving him in London truly meant slowly began to sink in. She could carry around a clipped-out photograph of him in her pocket for the rest of her life, but it would never be a substitute for the real Patrick. Never be a substitute for a real relationship.
Linley often thought the reason none of the Talbot-Martin team ever married was because they never wanted to…but what if they did? What if all along Archie, and Reginald, and Schoville had wanted wives and families, but never found the time? No one could expect a woman to be happy being dragged across the world, sleeping in tents, and eating food you’d rather not question. There was no stability in their lives. The members of the Talbot-Martin team lived from expedition to expedition, and the future was always an uncertainty. They sacrificed homes, and families, and maybe even love.
She rolled over and sat up in the bed. The noise from next door was gone. Mr. and Mrs. Howard had finished, and were probably falling asleep, damp and sated, in each other’s arms. Linley wondered what it would be like to be made love to. To drift off to sleep against a man’s warm body.
A man’s naked body. She smiled to herself, knowing that when she pictured this man, she imagined Patrick. She thought of their kiss at her party, and the way he held her as they watched the sun rise over London the night before she left.
Of course she had given up a friend, but now she wondered if she sacrificed much, much more. Linley didn’t want to be alone for the rest of her life. She believed in her father’s work, and she never wanted to stop helping him, but neither did she want to grow old without knowing what it truly meant to love someone. And to have someone love her in return.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Under the shade of the lean-to station, the Talbot-Martin team listened to the hiss of the locomotive as the crew stoked the fires and heated the boilers, sending smoke bellowing from the great black engine.
Other passengers began to arrive from the village, joining the ones who had spent the night at the depot. Everyone seemed anxious to get on their way, and Linley could not blame them. She, too, hoped to be in Guahati before nightfall.
“Everything looks to be in order,” Archie said, taking a seat on a long wooden bench that served someone’s bed the night before. “As soon as the boilers are ready, we can board the train.”
“Thank God!” Linley’s father said. “We cannot lose any more time. The rains will be here before we know it.”
Reginald joined Archie on the bench, pulling his cigarette case out of his pocket. “I think this heat is making us all impatient,” he said, lighting a cigarette and taking a deep breath. “Why can’t we just enjoy this beautiful afternoon?”
“Because it isn’t beautiful,” Archie said, “It’s damned hot!”
Even in the shade, temperatures were climbing and it wasn’t yet noon. Sweat pooled around the men’s open collars, soaking the faded bandanas tied around their necks. Linley pulled her own handkerchief from her skirt pocket and dabbed her forehead. Somewhere in the distance, a train whistle sounded, driving a flock of birds out of the trees. Everyone watched them cut across the sky, but since trains were so common in India, no one paid the whistle any more attention. It was only when its black plume of smoke drew closer that anyone bothered to take notice.
“We may have a little traffic jam-up,” Reginald said.
Again, the train’s whistle sounded. “I don’t suppose anyone bothered to wire the rest of the stations,” Archie said. “I’ll wager that one is today’s train, still running right on schedule.”
“Then they’ll get quite a surprise when they come up on us.”
The wooden floorboards of the train depot clattered beneath their feet as the locomotive pulled into sight. Cutting from between the trees, the shiny black engine began a slow deceleration so not to crash into the back of the small train at the station. A few of the railroad employees ran out to the locomotive, waving their arms. Linley assumed they yelled up at the crew of the second train, telling them about the back up and subsequent delay.
Sir Bedford Talbot-Martin shifted from one foot to the other, resisting the urge to pace around the depot. “Perhaps we should have stayed for luncheon at the Howards’.”
Archie turned around on the bench, “It will only take an hour or so to heat the boiler, and then we will be on our way,” he said. “Besides, we can afford to lose a few more hours. Right, Schoville?”
Schoville nodded.
“See!” Archie continued. “Schoville says we can afford it, so there is nothing to worry about. And the Howards packed us a hamper to take with us on the train.”
The engine l
et out another long blast of the whistle, groaning to a stop behind the first train. The steward, a tall Indian man, cleared his throat and explained to everyone waiting at the depot, “We should be prepared to depart by one o’clock. Please make arrangements to be here at that time.”
Linley’s father looked at his watch—they still had an hour and fifteen minutes before they would be on their way to Guahati. “What a disaster!”
“It’s not a disaster,” Linley said. “Like Archie told you, at least the Howards packed us a hamper. You would be much more miserable if you had an empty stomach.”
“Yes, well, I believe you are right about that, Button,” he said. “Why don’t we step away from the crowd and the flies, and have our picnic under the shade?”
Linley’s own stomach grumbled, but suddenly food was the last thing on her mind. She stood transfixed as she watched the passengers from the second train step out to stretch their legs. A gentleman dressed in white linen stood on the top step of the passenger car, waiting for the woman in front of him to disembark. His face was hidden by a straw Panama hat—a hat that reminded her of the one Patrick wore in Morocco.
The man stepped down onto the platform. He paused for a minute to look around, squinting in the glare of sunlight. Linley braced her hands against the back of the wooden bench. In her heart, she knew it was Patrick. If only he would do something to prove it! She started to call his name, but she didn’t have to—at that moment, he slid the hat from his head and ran his hands through his damp brown hair.
“Patrick!” Linley nearly jumped over the bench as she ran toward him.
He looked up, shocked at first, but then he grinned and held out his arms.
Linley folded into him, wrapping herself around his neck. “Patrick!”
“So you haven’t forgotten about me,” he said, still a little in shock at the surprise of seeing her here—completely by chance—in the middle of nowhere.
A Love That Never Tires (Linley & Patrick Book 1) Page 16