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?”