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 on the dressing table. “Patrick is a new friend, and I want to make a good impression.”
She pulled them on and made her way downstairs 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 fa?ade 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.