“We’ll stay about an hour or so,” Patrick told him.
Linley followed Patrick through the crowd. Many of them knew him, and shook his hand or stopped him to talk. A few spoke to her, and Patrick was always ready with introductions. By the time they reached the front door, Linley met three countesses, a foreign minister, and the Duke of Darlington.
“It’s a wonder anarchists don’t try to bomb a party like this,” Linley said to Patrick. “Half the most powerful people in England would be wiped out in one shot.”
“Don’t let Asquith hear you say that,” Patrick said, laughing as he helped her inside. “Or you’ll end up in Holloway Prison.”
Her eyes grew wide. “The Prime Minister? Is he here?”
“I wouldn’t doubt it.”
A servant swooped down on them with a tray of drinks, and Patrick took two glasses of champagne, handing one to Linley. As she sipped, she took a moment to look around the huge foyer, filled to capacity with beautiful ladies and dapper gentlemen. A marble staircase twisted up to the floors above. Most of the guests waited in line on the steps, trying to make their way to the ballroom.
“Come on,” Patrick said, taking her hand. Together, they pushed their way up the stairs. “Pardon me. Excuse me,” he said as they bumped their way up the line. “Pardon! Entschuldigen Sie! Mi scusi!”
Linley tried to keep up with him, ignoring the indignant stares from the other partygoers until they reached the landing.
“This is the Earl of Markham’s house,” he whispered in her ear. “He’s a nice old chap, but if he dances with you, don’t be surprised if he gets handsy.”
“Handsy?”
Patrick nodded. “He might pinch your derriere.”
“Seriously?”
“It’s been known to happen. Especially with pretty girls.”
Linley smiled as they passed into the ballroom. It was three times the size of the Robeson’s. Twin staircases led to the marble dance floor below. A full orchestra sat on an elevated platform in one corner, and the entire other side of the room was composed of French doors, which were thrown open to the garden.
Patrick held out his arm for her. “Shall we?”
Slipping her arm through his, they descended the stairs. And she thought the people at Claridge’s stared at them! There must have been two hundred people crowded into the ballroom, and Linley was certain at least three-quarters of them stopped to turn around and gawk.
“How do you ever get used to this?” she asked.
“I promise this never happens to me,” Patrick replied. “It must be you.”
They reached the bottom of the stairs. Instead of acknowledging the crowd of people that rushed to speak to them, Patrick escorted Linley straight to the dance floor.
Linley kept her eyes glued to Patrick as they swept along. She didn’t want to see just how many people were staring and talking about them. A few times, though, she caught her reflection in a mirror and almost didn’t recognize herself. Where was the Linley Talbot-Martin covered in sweat and up to her elbows in dirt? Who was this new Linley, the one in the satin gown and the bright red shoes?
And the gentleman in her arms, with his drowsy eyes and dimpled grin? There was no way he could be hers. This had to be a fairy tale.
Patrick looked down at her and smiled, pulling her a little closer. “If you don’t stop looking at me like that, people will think you are in love with me.”
Linley blushed. What an ass he was to tease her!
“If you don’t stop looking at me, you’ll miss a step,” she replied.
As the waltz ended and they stepped back into the crowd, Linley caught sight of Gaynor Robeson. Her mind drifted back to the night of the ball at the Robeson’s house. She hoped Gaynor did not think anything untoward was going on between her and Patrick, especially after she caught them alone together.
Linley started to ask him not to talk to her, but before she could speak, Gaynor waved them over.
“Hello, Kyre!” the young woman said, smiling at them both. “Miss Talbot-Martin.”
Linley smiled, too, putting on her best face. “Hello, Miss Robeson.”
“What a pretty gown you have on!” she exclaimed, tugging at the panels of Linley’s dress.
“Thank you.” Linley wanted to say something nice about Gaynor’s dress, but the whole outfit looked so ridiculous that she could not think of one positive thing to say about it.
“I know! I know!” Gaynor said, pointing at her swath of bright pink, fur-trimmed brocade. “It’s a little much, but it is a Lucile!”
Linley wanted to ask what a Lucile was, but she didn’t.
Patrick smiled. “I’m sure by tomorrow morning every woman in London will have orders for one exactly like it.”
“Naturally!” Gaynor said, laughing.
At the sound of the young woman’s laughter, a servant stopped to offer the trio a tray of drinks.
“Won’t you take some more champagne, Miss Talbot-Martin?” Gaynor asked, taking a glass for herself.