A Love That Never Tires (14 page)

Linley walked with Patrick downstairs, where his open-top motorcar waited unattended at the kerb.

“I felt like driving today,” he said. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

Patrick helped her into the front seat, and went around to start the engine before letting himself in on his side. Pulling onto the street, he shifted gears and sped off for Hyde Park.

He was a very good driver, maneuvering through London’s busy streets as if they were nothing more than country roads. Linley never once felt afraid crammed between omnibuses and lorries.

Patrick glanced over at her. “Do you drive?”

“Oh, yes,” she answered. “But I’d be too afraid to do it in London.”

He smiled. “It’s not as hard as it looks.”

They pulled onto Park Lane and stopped in front of a very large old house.

“Are you sure we can park here?”

Patrick nodded and climbed out of the motorcar. Linley didn’t even wait for him to come around and let her out. She hopped onto the ground, adjusting her little feathered hat.

A young couple on horseback clopped down Park Lane, fresh from a ride in Rotten Row. They nodded at Patrick, who tapped the brim of his boater hat.

“Does everyone in this town know you?” she asked.

“They know
of
me,” he replied. “That is not exactly the same thing.”

Together, they walked to the entrance of Hyde Park. A few nannies pushed their charges in prams down the shady walkway. Groups of old men sat on benches while their wives leaned over the railings to talk to ladies and gentleman riding in The Row. Young people were everywhere, and Linley thought they were all dressed much too nicely for a walk.

“It’s a very popular to be seen here,” Patrick explained.

“That seems silly—going to the park just so someone would see you.”

He shrugged. “Everyone does it.”

“Do you do it?” she asked. “Did you bring me here today so we’d be seen together?”

“Can’t I show you off?” Patrick stepped aside to let a woman and her two children pass. “Besides, I haven’t walked in Hyde Park all season. I figured I was overdue.”

Linley watched a troupe of young riders trotting on The Row. “Do you like to ride?”

“I do when I’m in the country, but I haven’t brought horses to town in years.”

“I like to ride, too,” she said. “But lately I find I’m on donkeys, or elephants, or camels instead of horses.”

Hyde Park was a far cry from nature, but it was nice to get away from the bustle of London for a few hours. There was no need to spoil it with conversation merely for conversation’s sake. Linley and Patrick were comfortable enough in each other’s presence not to feel the need to speak, and just to enjoy the warm sunshine and fresh air.

A short distance behind them, someone called out, “Patrick!”

Both he and Linley spun around at the sound of the voice. Linley never heard anyone else call him by his given name, but Patrick knew who it was without looking.

“Georgiana!” he called.

His sister waddled her way over, Hereford in tow.

“You shouldn’t be out walking,” Patrick scolded. “You should be home resting.”

“I’m tired of resting! I want to get out and live a little.” She stopped in front of them, finally noticing that her brother was with a young woman she did not know.

“Georgiana,” he said. “This is Miss Linley Talbot-Martin.” To Linley, he explained, “My sister, the Duchess of Hereford.”

“How do you do?” Georgiana said.

Linley curtsied. “Your Grace.”

Georgiana’s hair was much lighter than Patrick’s dark brown, but Linley could still see the resemblance between them. Among other things, they both shared the same dimples when they smiled.

“Oh,” Patrick added, “And that is her husband, the Duke.”

Hereford nodded from behind his wife, and Linley curtsied one more time.

Georgiana rubbed her stomach. “The doctor said women sometimes get great big bursts of energy before the baby comes,” she explained. “Hopefully that is what’s happening to me today.”

“Do you think it wise to run around Hyde Park when you could be so close?” Patrick asked.

His sister giggled. “I would jump up and down in front of Buckingham Palace if it meant I could get this baby out sooner.”

Everyone laughed except for Patrick.

“Oh, Patrick,” she said. “Everything is going to be fine.” Turning to Linley, she explained, “Our mother died giving birth to me, and I think he is terrified I’ll do the same.”

Not bothering to argue, he shuffled his feet and pretended not to hear.

“It’s really very sweet of him,” Georgiana added. “He’s such a good brother.”

Linley smiled up at Patrick, who studied two squirrels fighting over a half a piece of candied lemon. “I’m sure he’ll make a wonderful uncle as well.”

“Of course he will,” the duchess said. “Men can be very reluctant about babies at first, but once he actually holds the little darling, I just know he’ll come around.”

At that, Patrick spun to face them. “I will not be holding any babies.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Georgiana said, waving him off.

He started to open his mouth to argue, but looked over at Linley and decided to shut up. Hyde Park was no place for an argument, even if it was between family. And he didn’t want Linley’s first impression of the Wolford siblings to be of two squabbling, immature brats. They were raised better than that.

Thankfully, Georgiana realized this and let the argument go. For such a large city, London was a surprisingly small town. Rarely did she ever see her brother with anyone she did not already know. Yet here he was, walking in the Row with someone completely new.

Her curiosity was piqued. Patrick had never been one to go out and make friends, but this young woman seemed easy and comfortable in his presence. And, although well mannered and smartly dressed, Georgiana knew the girl was nowhere near her social equal.
 

But it was not like Patrick to go slumming, so his sister felt confident that, whoever she may be, this young woman was a worthy companion for her beloved brother. And the one thing Georgiana wanted most for Patrick was to find someone who made him as happy as Hereford made her.

Far be it from a meddling sister to interfere with a potential romance! Georgiana put on her most tired face and, resting her hands on the small of her aching back, bid her brother and his new friend good afternoon.

“I’ll let you two enjoy your
promenade
,” she said, turning to her husband, who wandered off to speak to an acquaintance. “Hereford! Darling, do come along!”

Linley and Patrick watched her waddle down the path, arm in arm with the duke.

“Your sister is very sweet,” Linley said. “And a Duchess, to boot.”

Patrick huffed. “I’m not very keen on the idea. Having my little sister married and starting a family of her own makes me feel very old. And besides, this baby only serves as confirmation of something I’d really rather not be true.”

“You mean that Hereford makes love to your sister?” she asked, grinning.

Rolling his eyes, he nodded.

“Well, I think they are adorable.”

“Of course they are adorable. And I suppose I am very happy for them,” Patrick said with a sigh. “Hereford is a good man and he makes Georgiana very happy.”

“That is all anyone can ask for, Patrick.”

“God knows it was hard enough finding one who could afford to keep her.”

Linley shook her head. “Please tell me that was not your only criterion.”

“Women are very expensive,” Patrick explained. “Especially ones like Georgiana, who are accustomed to only the best of everything. I told you, she is very particular.”

“But surely marriage is worth some sacrifice,” Linley argued. “What if she had fallen in love with a poor man? What then?”

“That would never have happened. Georgiana is smarter than that.”

***

After Hyde Park, Patrick and Linley drove back through the heart of London. But as they passed through Piccadilly Circus onto Shaftesbury Avenue, a jam up of automobiles, busses, and lorries stretched as far as the eye could see. Patrick stood up, craning his neck to get a better view. Women with signs marched through the traffic, and police on horseback struggled to cut them off.

“What is going on?” Linley asked.

Patrick flopped down onto the seat. “Suffragettes.”

“Oh! Berenice told me if I ever see a suffragette, I should cover my eyes.”

“Sound advice,” he said. “They are a miserable lot—not that I don’t believe women should be allowed to vote, it’s just that I don’t think violence and hunger striking are the proper ways to get their message across. No one takes them seriously.”

The women drew closer. “Votes for women!” they cried. “Stop sexual tyranny!”

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Patrick said, trying to maneuver his motorcar around a group of them. There was nowhere for him to go. Traffic gridlocked in every direction. He grinded the motor out of gear and pulled the brake.

The suffragettes were all around them carrying banners for the Women’s Social and Political Union.

“Votes for women!”

“We demand the vote!”

They beat on motorcars and shoved pamphlets in the windows. Up the street, things looked violent. Men brawled with men, women brawled with men, and they all brawled with bobbies who tried to arrest them. Some young women were carried past gushing blood from their foreheads and noses.

“Patrick!” Linley cried, reaching for his hand.

He intertwined his fingers with hers. “Just sit tight. This will all be over soon.”

A woman reached a hand into Patrick’s automobile, pulling on Linley’s sleeve. “Don’t just sit idly by!” she cried. “Join your sisters in the fight!”

Linley tried to pull away from the woman’s grasp. “Oh, Patrick! Help!”

“Let her go!” he cried. “Let her go!”

The suffragette tightened her grip on Linley’s arm, dragging her halfway over the door. Linley dangled half in and half out of the motorcar, her feet kicking and her arms flailing.

“Join your sisters in the fight!” the woman yelled as she tried to pull her out onto the street.

“I don’t want to fight!” Linley cried. “Let me go!”

Patrick threw his weight over her lower half, doing his best to pin her down. He wrapped his right arm around her waist.

Even during a riot, a young man and two women wrestling in a motorcar was a curious spectacle. Thankfully, a policeman and a few good samaritans joined the struggle. They grabbed the suffragette by the shoulders and pulled with all their might. No matter how they fought against her, the woman would not release Linley. The bobbie blew his whistle, intending to call for reinforcements. However, the commotion not only attracted more police, but more suffragettes as well.

“Patrick!” Linley cried, coughing and sputtering as the edge of the door bit into her stomach.

Looking the suffragette square in the eyes, Patrick said, “Madam, I suggest you let her go!”

The woman reared back and spat at him.

Still gripping Linley’s waist with his right arm, Patrick took his left hand and grabbed the woman’s face. As a last resort, he pushed his palm against her nose as hard as he could, bending her head back and forcing her to turn Linley loose.

The crowd of bobbies and good samaritans dragged the woman away, taking the fight with them. Patrick pulled Linley back into the automobile.
 

“Are you all right?” he asked her.

Linley nodded. “Those women are insane! How dare she spit on you!”

He pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve and wiped his face. “They only want to upset people. It fuels their fire when anyone reacts.”

“Here, let me.” She took the handkerchief from him and cleaned the spittle from his flushed face. After a moment, she said, “Thank you for fighting for me. You were very brave to stand up to her like that.”

Patrick almost laughed. “I would hardly call that brave.”

“What would you call it, then?”

He shrugged. “Merely doing my duty as a gentleman to assist a lady in need.”

“I’m flattered you deem me worthy of such a rescue,” Linley said, settling back into her seat beside him. “But you shouldn’t be so dismissive of your braveries, no matter how small. You’d be surprised just how much of an impact they can have.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Turned out in their finest, Linley, her father, and the rest of their team stood before an enormous, recently whitewashed house and stared at the line of motorcars that stretched down the street.

“Are you certain this is the right place?” Schoville asked.

Sir Bedford Talbot-Martin checked the address Patrick gave him one more time—Number twenty-six Park Lane. “This is the house.”

“Come on, then.” Linley said, picking up her skirts. “We don’t want to be late for our own party.”

They followed her up the front gate of the magnificent mansion. Its large, rounded terraces overlooked the park, and Japanese lanterns lined the walkway leading up to the front door.

Patrick greeted them in the foyer. “Thank goodness you’re here.”

“We weren’t sure we were at the right place,” Linley said, smiling. “Whose house is this, anyway?”

He took her by the arm and led her through the room. “Might I say you look absolutely stunning?”

They passed through the foyer and into the drawing room. Everything smelled of fresh paint, as if the entire house had been renovated. The walls were a sunny yellow and the parquet floor gleamed from a fresh waxing.

“Who did you say this house belonged to?” Linley asked again.

“It is my house.”

“
Your
house?”

He nodded.

Linley looked around the room again. “Your house…”

“No one stays here,” Patrick explained. “It costs a fortune to maintain.”

“I believe it.”

He took her by the hand. “The ballroom is through here,” he said, sliding two heavy pocket doors, opening the room up to the Grand ballroom.

It wasn’t as large as the one at Markham House just down the street, but Linley thought it no less beautiful. Gilt woodwork decorated the ceiling where three gold chandeliers hung over the dance floor. In the corner, the string band began the first melody of the evening.