A Love That Never Tires (Linley & Patrick Book 1)

by Jeleyne, Allyson

  Linley couldn’t see how she held a candle to the beautiful Miss Robeson. Gaynor’s thick hair was tucked neatly into a feathered headdress, and she wore a gown of the finest crepe de chine. It clung to her perfect figure as if she had been poured into it. As far as Linley was concerned, Gaynor Robeson had no equal.

  “It is you who looks marvelous,” she said, finally finding her voice.

  Gaynor waved her off. “This is a horrid dress. I look like a fat peacock!” She wiggled the feathers on her head for emphasis.

  Linley wanted to protest, but at that moment, a young gentleman pushed his way to their side.

  “Miss Talbot-Martin, this is my elder brother, Allard,” Gaynor explained. “Allard, Miss Linley Talbot-Martin.”

  “How do you do?” he said.

  If Linley thought Gaynor beautiful, Allard Robeson must be the most handsome man alive. Unfortunately, he must not have thought so highly of Linley. Forgetting her completely, he entered into a lively conversation with her father. He never even asked for her dance card.

  Gaynor either did not notice or did not care. “Even though this is only the beginning of the season, we have quite a turnout tonight,” she said, glancing around the enormous ballroom. “Hopefully everyone brought their cheque books. Mama will be so upset if she doesn’t raise a fortune for the Portrait Gallery. It is her pet project.”

  “What exactly is the National Portrait Gallery?” Linley asked.

  “It houses portraits of famous British people.”

  “And do balls like this raise a lot of money for it?”

  Gaynor nodded, sending her feathered headdress dancing. “Usually. That’s why Mama would be crushed if hers was a failure.”

  “I would like to visit the Gallery while I’m here in London.”

  Instead of being encouraged by Linley’s interest, Gaynor frowned. “Ugh! It’s dreadfully boring. Once you’ve seen one portrait of the Duke of Wellington, you’ve seen them all. The Royal Academy Exhibition is much more fun.”

  “Then I suppose I will have to add that one to my list as well,” Linley said. “I want to see everything London has to offer—all the best museums, and galleries, and the opera, and—”

  “Excuse me, Miss Talbot-Martin, but I see Lord Littlecote, and I promised him this waltz.” With that, the young woman disappeared into the crowd of dancers, leaving Linley standing on the sidelines.

  “Button,” her father said, taking her arm. “I believe it is time we started making our rounds. I’ve just learned that the Earl of Dorrough has a fascination with Celtic artifacts of the early Bronze Age.”

  Berenice pulled at Linley’s other arm. “Oh no you don’t, Bedford! You are not going to ruin the young lady’s very first ball!”

  Linley looked from one to the other. There had to be a way to go about this without hurting someone’s feelings. “Cousin Berenice, why don’t you try to find me a dance partner while I walk the room with Papa? No one would be able to choose a more suitable gentleman for me than you could.”

  The woman nodded and released Linley’s arm.

  “Come now, Button,” her father said. “We have much work to do.”

  ***

  Linley found Lord Dorrough’s set eager to discuss the Talbot-Martin expeditions. It seemed her father was a sort of celebrity in some circles. She stood at his side, discussing their findings and taking questions.

  “I think Woolley and Lawrence’s work in Carchemish looks very promising,” Linley said to one captivated gentleman. “The British Museum is especially interested in the examples of pottery found dating back to the ninth century B.C.”

  Her father smiled, adding, “With so many ambitious projects undertaken by the Museum, financial support is spread rather thin. And as we think all archaeological work is important, my team and I would never dream of taking funds from another excavation.”

  “So you can imagine,” Linley said, flashing her sweetest smile at the man, “Outside support is not only important, it is a necessity.”

  At that moment, Berenice appeared and whispered in Linley’s ear, “I have a gentleman who would like to meet you.”

  Certain that her father could handle the rest of the conversation on his own, Linley excused herself and followed Berenice across the ballroom.

  “Now,” the woman said, tugging Linley by the elbow. “If you are nervous in his presence, that is quite understandable. I have known many women who found themselves tongue-tied in conversation with His Lordship.” Berenice pushed through the crowd, leading Linley deeper and deeper into the room. “If you cannot think of anything clever to say, for God’s sake, let him do the talking. I find that gentlemen of his position usually prefer to carry the conversation anyway.”

  The ladies reached their destination, emerging from the multitude of guests, face to face with none other than…

  Patrick Wolford.

  “Linley, may I present Lord Kyre,” Berenice said. “Your Lordship, Miss Talbot-Martin.”

  Indeed, Linley was tongue-tied.

  Sensing it, Patrick took the lead, bowing gracefully. “Miss Talbot-Martin, a pleasure to meet you. And may I congratulate you on your father’s investiture. You must be very proud.”

  “Yes…” she muttered, dipping into the best curtsy she could manage.

  “Miss Talbot-Martin has spent some time abroad, my lord,” Berenice explained. “This is her first time in London.”

  “Indeed?” Patrick asked, arching an eyebrow. “How are you liking it?”

  She caught the gesture and, although confused, decided to play along with the farce. “It is very different…my lord…what little I have actually seen of it.”

  Patrick turned his attention to Berenice. “Mrs. Hastings, I wonder if Miss Talbot-Martin might have any dances available?”

  Berenice studied Linley’s dance card, careful not to let him see that it was empty. “It just so happens that she does, my lord. Will you take the next two-step?”

  “Gladly,” he said, smiling at the older woman and then returning his focus to Linley. “I myself have recently been abroad.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, I spent some months in Africa this winter.”

  “And did you find that continent enjoyable?” Linley asked.

  Patrick tried to hide his smile. “Very much so. I found that, once there, a man can become whomever he wants to be.”

  Linley’s brow furrowed. She started to open her mouth to speak, but then clamped it shut. Fortunately, the orchestra struck up a two-step, and Patrick led her onto the dance floor.

  “I apologize for the ruse,” he said as he placed his arm around her.

  “It was a dirty trick!”

  “I know.”

  As he spun her around the dance floor, Linley took a moment to study him closer. She’d forgotten how handsome he was. Or maybe she never even noticed. Not really. How could anyone forget that dimpled grin, or the shine of his beaver-brown hair?

  Patrick studied Linley, too. Her brown hair was pinned close to her head. She wore no ridiculous turban or feathered headband. The long, narrow gown of pure white silk emphasized her thin frame and added to the simple elegance of her ensemble. Dressed in tones of white, Linley Talbot-Martin’s tanned skin glowed warm in the light of the chandeliers above her head.

  No one could ever mistake her for a well-bred English girl. She was clearly so much more than that.

  “How was South Africa?” Linley asked, desperate for something to talk about.

  “Miserable. I took your advice and headed north. Ended up in Rhodesia, where a friend of mine put me on to some really good shooting.”

  “Did you bring home any trophies?”

  Patrick grinned with pride. “Quite a few, actually. I put them in my library at Wolford Abbey.” As if the mention of his ancestral home might ruin the magic of their conversation, he felt the need to explain himself. “I never meant to deceive you, Linley. The truth is that I wanted to escape my responsibilities for a while. With
you, I could be Patrick Wolford. With everyone else, I’m ‘His Lordship this’ or ‘My Lord that’. I just wanted to be a regular chap for once.”

  Patrick hoped she could forgive him. He knew if he were in her position, he’d feel cheated. If she didn’t forgive him, he’d certainly understand. But still, he could hope…

  “Would you mind if we skipped the waltz altogether and found a quiet spot in the drawing room next door?”

  Linley thought for a moment what Berenice might say, and then pushed it out of her mind. She was not going to start changing her ways just because one old woman would think it improper behavior.

  Patrick took her through two large double doors. Guests from the ballroom spilled into the elegant drawing room, marveling at the collection of fine art hanging on the walls. Footmen passed through with trays of champagne. Almost every giltwood chair was occupied by someone seeking to catch their breath from the excitement next door.

  This was no place for quiet conversation. Searching for an alternative, he led her through another doorway, and into what looked to be a study. In the corner sat a chesterfield sofa. Patrick gestured for Linley to take a seat.

  “This is much better,” he said, sinking down beside her. He was careful not to sit too close in case someone should discover their hiding place and assume the worst.

  Linley smoothed her skirts and turned toward him. “I don’t think I care for balls very much. They aren’t nearly as fun as everyone makes them out to be.”

  “No, they aren’t.”

  “Thank goodness I’ll only be here for a month,” she continued. “I’m not sure how many more of these I could stand.”

  Patrick eased back against the arm of the sofa, allowing himself better view of her shadowed features in the dim light of the room. “And where are you off to after this?”

  “I don’t know. Papa hopes his knighthood will bring more attention to our work. More attention means more money, and we are sorely in need of funds. As it stands right now, we may be out of a job unless a considerable amount of money is raised.”

  “So why not have a fundraiser?” he asked. “If the Robesons can do it for the National Portrait Gallery, I don’t see why you can’t do it on behalf of the British Museum.”

  Linley thought for a moment. “To have a benefit we’d need somewhere to hold it. Cousin Berenice’s house is nowhere near large enough.”

  “I would say you could have it at Kyre House, but the place has been shut up for years. I stay at my club whenever I’m in town.”

  “That’s very kind of you to offer, all the same,” she said. “I will be sure to pass the idea along to my father. He may not have thought about a fundraising ball.”

  “Do let me know if I can help. I should like to repay the kindness you showed me.”

  Linley sat forward. “I showed you a kindness? When?”

  In Morocco,” he answered. “I know the ‘bored young aristocrat’ bit sounds very cliché, but that is exactly what I was. You shook me up, Linley. For the first time in a long time, I saw the world as a fresh, exciting place ready to be explored.”

  “I did all that?”

  Patrick laughed. “All that and more. Let me do the same for you. Let me show you around London.”

  “You know,” she said, mulling the idea over, “I still have not been to the British Museum...”

  “Then you are long overdue. Let’s go tomorrow.”

  Linley could hardly wait that long. She hoped for weeks that her father would take her, but with his busy schedule, he hadn’t found the time. If she kept waiting, she might never get to go.

  Before she could answer, a group of young men and women flew into the room, spilling a bottle of champagne all over the carpet in the process. If Linley didn’t know better, she’d think they were drunk, but Berenice had assured her that no one ever helped themselves to more than one or two glasses in a night.

  “Oh, bugger!” one of the young men said, stumbling. The unruly party didn’t seem to notice Linley and Patrick. They only stared at the carpet, which fizzled as the champagne soaked in.

  From the doorway, someone turned the switch, filling the room with light. It was Gaynor, and she blinked for a few moments at the couple in the corner, seeing them for the first time. “Lord Kyre…” she cleared her throat. “And Miss Talbot-Martin.”

  Every eye in the room turned in their direction, and Linley felt her face grow warm. She resisted the urge to look down at the floor or up at the ceiling, and instead focused on Patrick, praying he would say something.

  Anything.

  Other than Linley’s heartbeat, the only sound in the room came from the champagne sputtering between the threads of the carpet at their feet.

  Gaynor stepped across the wet floor. “Kyre, don’t you think it’s a little soon to be corrupting our new friend?” she asked, reaching down and taking Linley by the hand. As the young woman led her to the doorway, she whispered in Linley’s ear. “You’re lucky it was only us who wandered in.”

  With that, the door closed in Linley’s face.

  ***

  On the other side of the wall, Patrick eased back into the sofa. If he was caught, he might as well own up to it. One thing his father taught him: if you’re man enough to make a mistake, you had better be man enough to admit it. “You should send for someone to clean up that mess,” he said, pointing to the dark spot on the carpet.

  Gaynor crossed her arms over her chest. “One mess at a time, please.”

  “Surely you aren’t upset.”

  “Upset?” she asked. “Do you know what would have happened if someone discovered you? Someone other than me?”

  Patrick rose to his feet, ignoring the group of young men and women whose evening he’d just ruined. “Nothing would happen, because nothing did happen. Miss Talbot-Martin and I were having a very nice conversation before you barged in.”

  “Please.” Gaynor stomped her foot. “Mama would die if there was a scandal in her house. And I would personally murder you if you ruined my season!”

  Barely holding back his smile, he studied the faces across from him in the room. All of them he recognized—Nigel Chapman, Lord Littlecote, Lady Caroline Cantner, Lord Birkby, and Madeline Chalmers. None of them were married, and he certainly saw no chaperones. “It looks like no one is in danger of ruining your season but you, Gaynor. Now, I wonder what your mother will have to say about her carpet?”

  And with that, he turned and walked out of the room.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Linley was never the sort of girl to fret over her looks, but by the time Patrick arrived, she must have tried on everything in her wardrobe. A quick glance at the clock told her she’d already kept him waiting for fifteen minutes, and she didn’t even need Berenice to remind her how rude that was.

  “I’ll just have to go in this,” she said, turning in the mirror. She could see Clare’s face in the reflection, brows knitted. “What? Is it that bad?”

  “You look fine, miss.”

  Linley set her hands on her hips. “Then why are you making that face?”

  The maid sighed and stepped forward to adjust the trim on one of the blue frock’s sleeves. It wasn’t the outfit that made her frown, no one could argue that it didn’t fit perfectly, but the nervous young woman inside it couldn’t see that—and it showed. “I’ve never met a marquess before, but I don’t care if he’s the Prince of Wales, he doesn’t deserve you.”

  “Clare, don’t be ridiculous,” Linley said, pinning the matching blue hat into place. “He isn’t a marquess to me. He’s Patrick. And he’s just a friend, so don’t go getting any wild ideas in that head of yours.”

  “You certainly don’t make such a fuss about yourself when Mr. Bourne or Mr. Gwynne pay calls.”

  “That is different. I’ve known them all my life,” she explained, reaching for her gloves off the dressing table. “Patrick is a new friend, and I want to make a good impression.”

  She pulled them on and made her way down
stairs to the drawing room, where no doubt Patrick had already grown tired of waiting and left. To her surprise, he was still there, sitting in an armchair by the fireplace, looking almost as nervous as she did.

  “I apologize for keeping you waiting.”

  Patrick turned at the sound of her voice, and rose to his feet a little faster than necessary. “Not at all,” he said. “I have a sister, remember? I am used to it.”

  A snort from the other side of the room drew Linley’s attention away from Patrick’s superbly tailored blue suit. Gathered around a chintz sofa stood Archie, Schoville, and Reginald.

  “Oh good Lord,” Linley said. “What are all of you doing here?”

  Reginald cleared his throat, his eyes never leaving Patrick, causing Linley to thank God then and there that looks did not kill. “When your father mentioned someone was taking you to the Museum, we decided we’d better meet this chap.”

  “Well, are you satisfied?” she asked.

  All three of them shrugged.

  Linley looked over at Patrick. “Can we please be on our way before I am any more humiliated?”

  “Of course,” he said. “But we cannot leave without Mrs. Hastings.” When Linley opened her mouth to question him, he continued, “She is, after all, your chaperone.”

  Patrick hoped that would appease her security detail for the time being. Surely they could find no fault in Linley’s going out completely chaperoned.

  ***

  The British Museum was as imposing a building as Linley ever saw. The enormous columned façade loomed behind the wrought iron fence separating it from the tree-lined street. Her heart raced as she stepped through the gates. This building and everything it stood for was Linley’s sole purpose in life.

  Patrick reached out and touched her arm. “Are you going to faint?”

  Unable to utter a sound, she nodded.

  He chuckled, tightening his support of her as they climbed the limestone steps leading to the colonnade and the entryway beyond.

  Inside, the museum was no less intimidating. Its high, coffered ceiling and polished marble floor seemed to stretch on endlessly. Linley craned her neck to study the intricate paintwork above her head, marveling at the time it must have taken artists to complete each design.