A Love That Never Tires (17 page)

As Patrick contemplated all of this, he scanned the crowd. A few faces stared back at him, faces of young women and their mothers who hoped to catch the eye of the handsome gentleman in the box above. No doubt many of them knew him by sight, trained to spot his aristocratic bearing and Wolford family dimples from a hundred yards away. But Patrick was not interested in any of them. He focused on a young woman who stood with her back turned to him, scanning the track with a pair of men’s field glasses.

His gloved hands clenched the ledge of the box as he leaned forward. He did not have to see her face to know it was Linley. He could tell by her long, slender arms, and floral linen day dress. The frock was new—or, at least, one he’d never seen before—but it was typical Linley.

She stood on her tip-toes watching the action on the track. He did not even notice the race start. Beside him, he heard people calling for Craganour, but Patrick couldn’t care less which horse took the lead. He was too busy studying Linley as she followed the horses around the corner.

***

Linley could not help but get caught up in the excitement. She watched as Craganour and another horse fought for the lead. Schoville cheered as the horses rounded the bend of Tattenham Corner. Through the field glasses, she watched as they thundered through the turn, the jockeys whipping them for all they were worth. Pushing them. Faster. Harder.

“Go!” Linley screamed. “Go! Go!”

Craganour was second, but still fighting the lead horse. Anmer, King George’s own racehorse, ran further back. As the leaders entered the straightaway, Anmer came into the corner third to last. The horses moved so quickly she could barely keep them in sight. She watched as Anmer rounded Tattenham Corner, preparing to go into the straightaway. But through her glasses, she saw something else.

A woman on the other side of the track scrambled under the railing. It happened so fast that no one had time to scream a warning. The woman ran right out in front of the King’s horse, which hit her full on.

Horse, jockey, and woman slammed onto the racetrack, tumbling end over end.

Anmer struggled to his feet. The jockey and the woman remained motionless on the turf. Panic broke out. Spectators rushed onto the track, and Anmer bolted. Before anyone could catch him, he headed straight for the finish line. Riderless.

Linley wanted to shut her eyes against the horrible scene but was in danger of being trampled herself. Somehow in the midst of it all, she became separated from Schoville.

“Schoville!” She screamed his name but could barely hear her own voice over all the shouting and yelling. “Schoville!”

A woman slammed into her shoulder as she ran past, and Linley grabbed the railing with both hands to keep from falling. There was so much screaming. So much crying. No one knew what happened. Had it been an accident? Was it deliberate? Politically motivated?

People feared for their own safety. They knocked each other down in their hurry. Linley watched as a young man was carried past her, blood spilling from a gash in his forehead.

An ambulance rolled onto the field, taking the unconscious jockey away. As it passed the point where Linley stood, the crowd surged again, running over each other to follow it down the track.

She screamed and pushed against the other racegoers as they pulled her with them. The force of their bodies pushed Linley against the railing, threatening to crush her if she did not give in.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Patrick leapt over the ledge of his box. He hit the ground hard, the fall sending pain jarring up both his legs. He caught himself with his hands on the ground to keep from toppling over.

Pushing off, he ran toward Linley.

He shoved his way through the crowd. “Move!” he cried, plowing through the wall of bodies. “Out of the way!”

If he did not reach Linley soon, she could be seriously injured.

Or worse.

Patrick lost sight of her in the panic. He thrust blindly through the crush, pushing people out of his way as best he could. His heart pounded and his ears rang from all the screaming. The crowd was out of control. Bobbies did their best to establish some semblance of order, but with very little effect.

“Linley!” Patrick called out, hoping to God she could hear him over the din.

He felt like he was swimming against a current. His arms were sore, feet and legs ached, and he lost his hat in all the commotion. Patrick thrust his head above the heads of others in the crowd as if surfacing for a breath of air.

It was no use. He could not see her.

Ducking back down, he pushed deeper into the throng. Someone knocked an elderly lady onto the ground nearby, and Patrick swooped in to help before she ended up hurt.

“I’ve got you, madam,” he said, taking the old woman by the arms and leading her to safety. At this rate, he would never find Linley, but he could not leave the lady to be trampled. When they reached the edge of the swarm, he sat her down. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, thanking him.

Resuming his search, Patrick dove into the mass of people. Fights began to break out, and from somewhere he heard someone scream, “Votes for women!”

Christ, it would be the suffragettes!

If things continued much longer, the authorities would have a riot on their hands. Patrick had to get to Linley before the situation got any worse. He elbowed his way through the crowd, and they elbowed back. It was not at all British the way they behaved, but the suffrage movement had a way of doing that to people. Burning houses, breaking into parliament, and hunger striking was no way to get the vote. Neither was throwing one’s self in front of the King’s horse, if that was what this was all about. Those women would not listen to reason. They wanted their votes, and they would stop at nothing to get them.

“Linley!” Again Patrick called her name, hoping she might hear him.

“Over here!”

He didn’t know where it came from. He looked all around but could not see her. “Where? Keep calling!”

“Here!” she cried. “Here!”

Patrick followed the sound of her voice. At last he found her wrapped around one of the railings. She clung to it for dear life, her knuckles white and her eyes wide with fear.

“I’ve got you,” he said, rushing to her. The crowd pushed them both hard against the railing, knocking the wind out of Linley, but Patrick held her fast. He would not let her go.

A group of men rushed down the turf, carrying the woman’s limp body from the track. Spectators followed, wailing and weeping. Through all the dust and dirt, Patrick could see a flag of the Women’s Social and Political Union tied about her waist.

If this was indeed about the suffrage, things were about to get ugly.

“We’ve got to get you out of here,” he told her, hoping to shield Linley from seeing the poor woman as they carried her past.

It was too late. Linley went white in the face. Patrick held on to her, feeling her knees wobbling against his.

At that moment, Schoville burst through the crowd, his jacket torn and his trousers covered with blood and grass stains. “Oh thank God,” he said as soon as he saw Linley was safe. “I got separated in the panic. Almost didn’t make it out.”

“We need to take her somewhere safe,” Patrick said. “If we can find my motor, it will be better than trying to get on a train in all this madness.”

Schoville nodded, giving him complete control of the situation.

They rushed through the crowd, practically carrying Linley, who kept her face buried in Patrick’s shoulder. Thankfully, the commotion started to die down, and they were able to get to the motor area with little trouble.

Patrick scanned the rows and rows of automobiles for his own. With any luck, his driver would be waiting, and not caught up in the chaos. But there were hundreds of motorcars—how was he ever going to find his?

“Can you walk?” he asked Linley.

She held onto him tighter. “No, don’t let me go.”

“Everything is fine now,” he said. “No one is going to hurt you.”

Linley refused to be put down, and Patrick had no choice but to carry her up and down the lines of automobiles. Just when he thought the search was futile, his motorcar pulled up along side of them.

“I saw you walking,” his driver said. “Is everything all right, my lord?”

“No, everything is not all right,” Patrick said, opening the rear door of his motor and laying Linley across the seat. Turning, he flipped down the two rear-facing jump seats. “Get us to London.”

***

“That poor woman,” Linley whispered, staring out at the scenery as they rattled down the road to London. “That poor, poor woman.”

“I don’t think we should talk about it anymore,” Patrick said.

“Why not?” she asked. “We cannot pretend like it didn’t happen. I saw the entire thing. I saw…everything.”

Schoville sat beside her on the seat, trying to comfort her as best he could. The day had been a traumatizing one for all of them, but neither man thought it necessary to relive it over and over again.

“Once I take her home,” Patrick told Schoville. “I want you to call a physician. She will probably need something to help her sleep through the night.”

“Of course.”

Linley huffed at both of them. “Please do not talk about me like I am not sitting right here.”

“I’m sorry.” Patrick reached across the car and patted her hand. “When you arrive home, you should call a physician. It won’t do for you to be up all night worrying.”

She stared down at his hand over hers. “Do you think that woman died?”

“I don’t know.”

Linley ignored him and kept talking to his hand. “I don’t see how anyone could survive something like that. It was the most horrific thing I’ve ever seen.”

“You’d see just as bad in the hunting field,” Patrick said. “Those sort of accidents happen more frequently than you’d think.”

Schoville shifted in the seat. “You believe it was an accident?”

“No,” he said. “I believe it was deliberate.”

Linley pulled her hand out from underneath his. “But who would do such a thing?”

“The same people who try to bomb Parliament,” Patrick explained. “Who chain themselves to Downing Street.”

“Suffragettes?” she asked. “Oh, Patrick, you cannot be serious. No matter how radical those women are, I don’t think they would resort to throwing themselves in front of galloping horses.”

“Not just any galloping horse—the King’s horse,” he said. “You have to admit, it would make quite a statement.”

Linley shook her head. “I’d rather believe it was some sort of accident.”

“I’m sure you would, but that does not change the fact.”

“Must you be so cynical, Patrick?” she asked. “A woman might have died today.”

He leaned back in the seat, studying her. Finally, he sighed and admitted defeat. “You are right. I might not agree with her motives, but I am sorry she was injured.”

“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.