“But I also choose sturdy, sensible boots,” Linley said, wiggling her dirty, booted feet. “And yet I’m fond of white buckskin oxfords. And even more fond of no shoes at all when I can get away with it.” She shrugged and sighed. “Using your theory, you could look at me one day and think I’m a certain type of girl, but then the very next day I could give the completely opposite impression.”
“I know,” he said, smiling. “The very first time I saw you, you were dressed much the same as you are today—boy’s jodhpurs, boots, and an old linen shirt. But then you showed up in London in your smart frocks and little French heels, and turned my whole idea of you on its head. I’ve come to believe that your charm lies in your versatility. You can go anywhere, and do anything, and become anyone. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life.”
Linley was stunned. “You like that I am confounding, and contradictory, and unpredictable?”
“Most of the time, yes.”
“How odd,” she said. “What I like most about you is your steadfast, constant nature. You are the same man I met in Morocco, and you are the same man that I danced with in London. I have every reason to believe that you will be the exact same person in twenty years as you are right now in this very moment.”
“And that comes as a comfort to you?”
She nodded. “We are completely different from one another in every way.”
“They do say opposites attract.”
“Opposites may attract, but they rarely thrive together,” Linley argued.
“And yet I find that I cannot thrive without you,” Patrick said. “I left London at the height of the season to search you out when every bit of common sense told me to stay put. But every girl I danced with I compared to you, and every one of them was found wanting. Instead of delicate complexions, I suddenly preferred freckled. Instead of tall, graceful swans, I wanted plucky little fawns.”
Patrick reached over and took her hand, holding it tight. “I’m not making much sense, but what I mean is this—Linley, you have quickly become my dearest friend in all the world. Please don’t be ashamed of what you feel for me, and please don’t be ashamed that you don’t understand it,” he said. “Life will deal you a great many surprises. I’m sure you will rise to the challenge of each and every one of them. But for now, let’s enjoy our special friendship without worrying about what it is or isn’t, or what it can or cannot become.”
Linley studied her fingers intertwined with his. Her hand was so small, and his was so large, yet hers was scarred and calloused, while his was soft and manicured. They were direct opposites of each other even down to their basic composition, yet some strange common thread held them together.
***
“You seem to be settling in nicely,” Linley said, kneeling over a pot of hot, soapy water.
Patrick hovered over her shoulder, watching her scrub that night’s dishes. She dipped her hands into the hot water and pulled out a bowl, giving it a thorough washing.
“I like it here,” he said. Taking the clean dish from her hand, he wiped it down with a towel. “But I’ll admit it’s different than anything I’ve ever known before.”
Linley laughed, passing him another bowl. “I doubt you have ever lifted a finger to cook your own meal or wash your own dishes.” She reached back into the water and pulled out a handful of spoons. “You probably have someone to trim your toenails if you don’t feel like doing it yourself.”
“I do, actually,” he said, grinning. Patrick took the spoons and dried them with the towel.
With the dishes put away, Linley poured out the pot of dirty water onto the ground. “It seems strange to me that someone would actually enjoy serving another person, that some poor man would willingly clip your nails and rub your dirty feet.”
“I don’t look at it that way,” Patrick said. “You see, I am terribly fond of my valet. Over the years, he’s been more like a friend to me than a servant.”
He watched as Linley poured another pot full of water and placed it over the campfire.
“I would think a man as nice as you wouldn’t have to pay someone to be his friend,” she said.
Patrick frowned. “I have friends. It’s just that these days they are all starting families or busy in their occupations,” he explained. “And since I have none of those things, there seems to be less and less to talk about whenever I see them.”
Linley picked the pot from the fire. “Then I suggest you find yourself some new friends.”
“I thought that’s what I’ve been doing.”
She carried the water to the edge of the campsite. Patrick took a seat by the fire and watched her as she strung a rope from one tree to another. Once it was secure, she took a sheet of canvas and slung it over the line, using clothespins to hold it in place. The canvas formed a partition between her and the camp, completely blocking her from view.