“No hitting below the belt, now,” Patrick warned, watching her go around him.
Laughing, Linley charged at him. He grabbed her easily, wrapping his arms around hers, preventing her from punching him. They staggered backward, Patrick’s feet becoming tangled in the longer part of Linley’s skirt.
Before either could do anything to stop it, they both fell backward onto the hard stone pavement.
Linley landed on top of him, arms and legs sprawled in all directions. “Oof!”
She opened her eyes, realizing she lay level with his chest. It was a miracle one of his gold shirt studs hadn’t scratched her eyes out. And since she could still see, she raised her face up to Patrick, who looked as if he’d almost been strangled by his stiff celluloid collar.
His breath came in short, shallow puffs. Was he tired from their boxing match? Winded from their fall? Or was he breathless for a very different reason?
It was a perfect time for him to kiss her. Their faces were already so close together. Linley held her breath, waiting for it.
Patrick cleared his throat instead. “Are you hurt?”
“No…but I think my dress is ruined.” She scrambled to her feet, inspecting the damage. A long rip in the fabric exposed her stocking-clad leg.
“I’ll buy you a new one.” Patrick dusted off his black evening clothes and scooped his top hat off the ground. “In the mean time, no more boxing matches. I’m getting too old.”
“Not old,” she grinned. “Just out of practice.” Linley leaned up and kissed his cheek, wishing she were brave enough to go for the lips. “Good night, Patrick.”
***
The following morning, Patrick woke up early and drove over to Kyre House. Other than to move furniture around, he hadn’t stepped foot in the place since Georgiana’s last season. The enormous old house on Park Lane cost too much to run year around, especially since no one ever stayed there except for a few months during the spring. Patrick kept it open for as long as he could, but once Georgiana was married with a home of her own, it no longer made sense. He moved the most valuable furnishings to the attics of his country estate at Kyre—the only place he could ever call home—and threw sheets over everything else.
As he pushed open the front door that morning, a cloud of dust blew through the foyer, taking old newspaper and trash along with it. Patrick coughed. If he planned on having it ready for the Talbot-Martin’s fundraiser, he would have to hire an army to clean it.
His footsteps echoed on the parquet floor as he walked from room to room. The sheets strewn across the tables and chairs reminded him of ghosts. He pulled one away to reveal a beautiful mahogany side table. It was the one that always held fresh bouquets of flowers his stepmother insisted on having delivered every day.
He recalled the dinner parties held in the dining room. The heavy doors were pulled closed, but he could still imagine the lamplight glinting in the crystal glasses, and the laughter of friends well into the early morning hours.
He walked down the long corridor that led to the carved wooden staircase. Every step groaned under his weight as he climbed his way to the upper floors. Even after their father died, Georgiana insisted on keeping everything the same as it was before. Patrick hated his stepmother’s decorating. At least on the main floor it had been restrained, but the family floors and servants quarters suffered from garish wallpaper and heavy Victorian furniture.
He pushed open the door to his father’s old bedroom. As master of the house, Patrick slept there in the years after he succeeded to the marquessate, but he always felt like an interloper. It would always be his father’s room.
The high, curtained bed still stood against the wall. As a boy, it had been the best bed in the house for jumping. Patrick and his older brother, John, could get so high their fingertips would brush the fabric of the canopy. He grinned as he climbed onto the dusty mattress for old time’s sake.
The bed sagged beneath him. Better not try jumping. With his luck, he’d go through the floor.
Rolling off the bed, he checked the rest of the rooms before heading back downstairs. The house could be ready in a week. All he really needed to fix was the ground floor—the foyer, drawing room, dining room, and the ballroom. Of course, it would cost him more than he would rather spend, but Linley was worth it.
***
“I see you’re no worse for wear,” Linley said, smiling as she joined Patrick in the drawing room. “How are you feeling?”
“Sore,” he replied.
She sank down onto the sofa beside him. “Poor darling!”
“I thought we could go for a walk in Hyde Park this afternoon,” Patrick said. “Would you like that?”
Linley smiled. “Of course.”
Berenice filed into the room, a copy of The Sketch in hand. “Good afternoon, Lord Kyre.”
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Hastings,” he said. “I was just asking Linley if she would like to go for a walk in Hyde Park.”
“Lovely idea,” Berenice said, easing into her favorite chaise. “Have a nice time.”
Linley turned to her. “Aren’t you coming?”
“No, I don’t think that will be necessary. I believe Lord Kyre can be trusted to behave himself as a gentleman.”
Linley walked with Patrick downstairs, where his open-top motorcar waited unattended at the curb.
“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 cu
rious 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.
A Love That Never Tires (Linley & Patrick Book 1) Page 11
