“Well, if it truly was intentional,” Linley said. “I applaud her for feeling strongly enough to die for what she believes in.” She reached up and pulled the pin out of her hair, pulled off her hat, and sat it across her knee. “Since she is a woman, you say she was irrational. But the truth is that very few men would be brave enough to do what she did.”
Patrick’s driver pulled the motorcar into Bedford Square and stopped in front of Berenice’s townhouse. Instead of climbing out, Linley stayed seated.
“Could you give Lord Kyre and I a moment of privacy?” she asked Schoville, who nodded and stepped out of the motor. Linley sat in silence for a long time, choosing her words carefully. “Thank you for coming to my rescue,” she told Patrick. “You always seem to be there just when I need you.”
“I was glad I could help.”
She looked down at the limp, ruined hat in her lap. She studied it as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world, and then looked back up at Patrick. “It was never about your money. You do know that, don’t you?”
“Let us say no more of it.”
“No.” Linley shook her head. “I won’t leave without being absolutely certain you know it was never about money. We’ve enjoyed a wonderful friendship and I would hate to have it marred by unpleasant accusations.”
“I don’t think it was about money.”
“Truly?” she asked. “Oh, Patrick, you’ve been so good to me. I will miss you terribly.”
“None of that, now,” he said, taking her hand and helping her up. “Run along inside. And remember what I said about the physician. Call for him as soon as you get settled in.” He handed her down to his driver but was reluctant to let go of her hand. “Will you promise me you’ll do that?”
Linley gave his fingers a squeeze. It was always like Patrick to be so worried. “I promise.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Everything was packed. From the looks of it, Linley was ready to go. As she looked around her room at the trunks and boxes, she realized she would miss London more than she ever thought she would. She would miss this house, miss Cousin Berenice, miss Clare, and even miss all the pretty things she accumulated throughout the weeks.
Linley crossed the bedroom and stared out the window onto Bedford Square just as she had the first night she arrived. It was late—the clock had chimed midnight a very long time ago. There was not a soul on the street, which was surprising with the season in full swing.
Perhaps they were all at some big party. She knew the young couple next door never came home before dawn, and that the lights from the houses across the garden stayed on almost all night. There was always something going on over there—a dinner party or dancing. Sometimes the fun spilled out onto the pavements.
What she wouldn’t give to be at one of those parties right now.
She wondered where Patrick was. He could be anywhere doing anything he liked. He was probably at his club or meeting friends for supper after the theater. Maybe he was with Georgiana and Hereford having a quiet family night at home.
She sighed and rested her hands on the windowsill. How could she ever leave him and London behind? Nothing would ever be the same. Wherever she went, Linley would always think of Patrick. Doomed at only twenty to live the rest of her life imagining what could have been.
What should have been.
Linley smacked her forehead against the cool glass of the window. When did she become such a hopeless romantic? She had no more chance of being with Patrick than she did marrying the Prince of Wales.
She told herself she knew better as she turned and walked across her bedroom. And she told herself she knew better as she went downstairs to use the telephone.
Tomorrow morning, Linley would be on a steamer to India and would never see Patrick again. She could not leave without saying goodbye.
***
Patrick sat in a high-backed leather armchair at his club. He intended to find a quiet corner to read in, but ended up passing the time over a few games of cards. Nights like these were good nights—his friends were in town for the season and hiding from their wives at the club. They sat around catching up, remembering the old times, and counting the weeks until August when they could all go back to their country houses in peace.
“I beg your pardon, my lord,” a waiter said, “But you have a telephone call.”
It could be Hereford. Georgiana’s baby was due any day. Patrick excused himself from his friends and followed the man to the telephone.
He picked up the receiver. “Hello. This is Lord Kyre.”
“Patrick.”
The voice on the other end was certainly not Hereford’s. “Linley?”
“Yes, it’s me.”
Patrick looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. He leaned down lower to the mouthpiece. “What are you doing ringing me at the club?”
“I have to see you.”
He glanced at his pocket watch. “It’s nearly two in the morning. You should be sleeping. Why don’t I pay you a visit tomorrow afternoon?”