“Then what is it you want from me?”
Hereford braced his hands on Patrick’s shoulders. “We want you to be part of this family.” He gave him a firm shake. “It is not good to lock yourself away in that house all alone or to sulk in some corner of the club. Promise me you’ll come ‘round more often, even if it is just for tea.”
Patrick nodded. “All right. I promise.”
“I’ll hold you to it, then.” Hereford released Patrick’s shoulders and motioned for the footman to open the front door.
When Patrick stepped off the front steps and into the foggy London air, he breathed a sigh of relief. It was good to know that someone cared, even if it was only Hereford. And even though Patrick hated to admit it, the duke was right—like it or not, Georgiana’s family was his family too.
He walked along Curzon Street, which was busy with both foot and street traffic. Partygoers in evening finery loitered on the stoops of private mansions, waiting for their motors to take them from one ball to another, or home after a late supper. Some faces he knew, and many stopped him to chat along the way. They asked about Georgiana’s health, how Hereford was holding up, and where Patrick was headed. A few offered him a ride back to his club, but he declined, preferring to walk a bit farther.
London was beautiful on nights like this. Town life certainly had its merits, when one stopped to appreciate it. And that night, with his spirits bolstered from his talk with Hereford, he was inclined to appreciate even the fog.
Really, when he thought about it, Patrick had no reason to be melancholy. No reason to be so contrary toward his sister. Clearly, Georgiana loved him very much. And she was healthy and happy, and he’d done his job by seeing her married off to such a fine man as Hereford.
And then there was Linley Talbot-Martin, who was a welcome addition to the season. She and Patrick had shared a pleasant afternoon together, even helping him see the dusty British Museum in a new and exciting light. He meant it when he told her she’d done him a good turn, and there was no doubt in his mind she would do him a great many more.
For the first time in a long time, Patrick’s life seemed to be looking up.
“My, my,” a voice called from somewhere beside him. “If it isn’t the man who scandalized half the British Museum!”
Patrick grinded to a stop, knowing without looking just whose voice could cut him to the quick. “What do you want, Gaynor?”
She smiled, stepping out of the doorway of a large corner mansion. “An escort,” she said, clutching her beaded evening coat to her chest. “Even Mayfair is dangerous these days.”
He resisted the urge to turn and keep walking, even as she advanced upon him.
“Where is your motor?” she asked, glancing up and down the street.
“I’m walking.”
Gaynor laughed. “Good heavens! How pedestrian!”
“I was enjoying myself.”
“No doubt you were,” she said, looping her arm through his. “But you cannot walk all the way back to Pall Mall. Let me give you lift.”
“Where are you parked?”
Gaynor led him up the street. “I told my driver to pick me up at the Pryce’s,” she explained. “I didn’t want Mama to know I’d slipped a few houses down for a ripping good party. You won’t give me away, will you?”
“I didn’t give your little champagne affair away the other night, did I?”
“Ah, but you see, I didn’t give you away, either.”
“If you are referring to Miss Talbot-Martin and myself,” Patrick said. “You and I both know nothing would have happened.”
“Somehow, I believe you.” Gaynor squeezed his arm, hugging herself very close to him. “You are far too good and noble to take advantage of your inferiors.”
“You were the one who invited her.”
“I thought she was a nice girl.”
“She is a nice girl,” he argued.
Gaynor stopped in front of the Pryce family’s house and dropped Patrick’s arm just as her motorcar pulled into sight. “A nice girl would not have found herself alone in a dark room, sharing a sofa with a man she’d just met.”
“She didn’t know any better.”
The automobile stopped at the kerb, and Gaynor held out her gloved hand for Patrick. As he helped her climb into the back seat, she turned and whispered in his ear, “My point exactly.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Other than her trip with Archie to view the Petrie collection, the week was a very unproductive one for Linley. She moped around the house, sometimes went for walks around the garden, and helped her father write letters to potential investors. Every afternoon, Berenice expected callers—specifically Gaynor and her brothers—but they never came.