by Darcy Burke
Sean nodded. He understood perfectly.
He understood that the aristocracy wouldn’t tolerate deception. He understood they held grudges forever. He understood that, having impersonated Hamilton, Lincolnshire’s nephew and heir, he’d soon be earning the cut direct himself.
Once Mayfair learned the truth, no member of society would speak to him ever again. They’d look right through him as though he weren’t there. And should he marry Corinna, she and all of her family would be rejected along with him.
How had he not realized this? How had he convinced himself that he, an Irish vicar’s son, could ever presume to wed the daughter of an English marquess? He and Corinna had been doomed from the first. If not by his background, then by Hamilton’s schemes. Blast the weasel.
Blast him to blazes and beyond.
The fact that Sean would never have met Corinna if not for Hamilton was irrelevant. He’d been happy before he met her, or if not happy, at least content. But now…
How could he ever hope to be either again?
And how was he going to tell her? They’d never discussed marriage, but he wasn’t a knothead. He knew that she cared for him—he’d seen the dreamy look she sometimes got in her eyes.
And she had only three days to fix Lincolnshire’s portrait. After she sketched Sean this afternoon, she’d have only two days left to paint. The truth could devastate her, break her concentration, destroy any chance she had of achieving her lifelong dream. How could he tell her now?
He couldn’t.
He couldn’t tell her for three whole days, until after the painting was finished. He was going to have to lie again, for her sake. He hated lying. And lying to the girl he loved seemed the worst lie possible.
His gut felt heavy. Like an anvil was lodged in it.
“Nephew… Sean.” The earl was tiring. And clearly struggling to make amends. His eyes were pleading. “I wish I’d…known you all these years. I’m so…sorry—”
“Please, Uncle,” Sean ordered himself to focus on the dear old man. “I can’t bear to see you in such distress. We’ve come to know each other now, haven’t we? And nothing could make me happier than bringing what cheer I can to you in your time of need.”
“Cheer? I am…euphoric. You came running when I asked…you’ve cared for me like a son. You’ve found positions…for my servants…seen all my concerns…are alleviated.”
Lincolnshire wheezed, then coughed, then placed a hand on his chest. His lids fluttered, then slowly shut. Before he drifted off to sleep, he uttered one last sentence in a ragged whisper.
“You’re the best man…I’ve ever had…the privilege of knowing.”
But Sean felt like the worst person who’d ever lived.
THIRTY-FIVE
ICED CAKES
Mix sugar together with butter and rose-water. Mix this together with six eggs leaving out two whites and beat for a quarter of an hour. Put in your flour and mix them together well. Put them in your patty pans in an oven as hot as for manchet. Then make your icing. Put fine sugar in a mortar with rose-water and the white of an egg. When the cakes are cold put them on a tin then dip a feather in the icing and cover them well. Set the cakes back in the oven to harden.
These are sweet as a newborn baby. Eat them for the baby's health.
—Belinda, Marchioness of Cainewood, 1799
“Oh, Auntie, she’s beautiful.” Balancing Harry on her hip, Alexandra leaned to run a finger down her new cousin’s tiny, downy cheek. “Is she a good baby?”
“When she isn’t crying.” Aunt Frances was reclining on a chaise longue that had been moved to her drawing room, holding Belinda close. She smiled a weary smile at all the visiting ladies seated around her. “Which seems to be most of the time.”
“For her first three months, my youngest daughter cried all the time too,” Lady A said. “She nearly drove me to Bedlam. Luckily she soon outgrew that and was a lovely child thereafter.”
“I’m certain Belinda will outgrow it, too,” Claire said.
Elizabeth nodded. “And you do have the monthly nurse.”
Rachael took an iced cake from the plate Juliana offered. “I expect the nurse sees to the baby’s needs?”
“True,” Aunt Frances said wryly. “The monthly nurse currently sees to her needs, and she’s instructing the permanent day nurse and the night nurse. I’m only surprised Theodore hasn’t hired a governess to start teaching Belinda her letters and numbers already. Nothing is too much for his daughter.”
“As it should be,” Lady A said approvingly. “It was the same with mine.”
“But three nurses? When I’d as soon care for Belinda myself?”
“Alexandra feels the same way.” Juliana set down the platter. “I expect I shall be that way, too. May I hold her?”
“Of course.” Aunt Frances held out the baby. “Support her head.”
“I know,” Juliana said, taking Belinda like an expert. “I learned that with little Harry.”
Bouncing her son, Alexandra watched her sister and smiled. “Does she make you want one of your own?”
“I’m going to have one of my own,” Juliana murmured, gazing down at Belinda’s tiny face. “In the winter.”
A hush fell over the room. Someone let loose an excited squeal. Then it seemed everyone was talking at once, exclaiming and congratulating and jumping from their seats to rush over and give Juliana hugs.
Except for Corinna, who seemed riveted in place. She was very happy for her sister. But she was also very confused.
Suddenly, despite the horror of little Belinda’s birth, she was quite certain she wanted a child after all.
She supposed somewhere in the back of her mind, she’d known all along she would have children someday. Someday unimaginably far away, that was—after she’d made her mark on the art world. And because starting a family seemed such a vague and distant event, because she had no mental picture of her prospective family, it had been easy to dismiss the whole idea when she’d been frightened by Aunt Frances’s ordeal. But now her future children didn’t seem so vague.
Because she knew who she wanted their father to be.
He had dark hair and perfectly clear, deep green eyes. A charming grin. An irresistible accent.
And Sean Delaney’s face.
Sean was exactly what had been missing from the picture. He was honorable and kind and supportive. He would make such an amazing father.
Of course, she’d have to marry him first, but she’d already been thinking about that, hadn’t she? And she couldn’t imagine having a child with anyone else. No one else had ever made her feel like Sean did. No one else ever would.
And giving birth with him by her side, soothing her and encouraging her the way he had when she was nervous about the reception, suddenly didn’t seem so bad.
Oh, very well, it still seemed hideously awful. But she knew she could trust Sean to get her through it.
“Are you all right?” Juliana asked, interrupting her reverie. She waved a hand in front of Corinna’s face. She had handed the baby to Rachael at some point. “You look odd.”
That made sense, because Corinna felt odd. Or at least different from how she’d ever felt before. She cleared her head with a little shake, and smiled. “I’m sorry, I must have drifted off for a moment. I’m so excited!” She threw her arms around her sister.
It was true. She was excited. For Juliana, James, and the whole family. And for this afternoon, when she’d see Sean in the garret again. But there was something—something unpleasant—niggling at her. It wasn’t childbirth. She’d put those worries aside for now. It was something more immediate, but she couldn’t seem to quite put her finger on it.
She must have tensed up, because Juliana pulled away, looking suspicious. “You’re sure you’re excited?”
“Of course I am.” Corinna forced a laugh. ”I’m just being selfish as usual. Thinking about my upcoming submissions. I need to bring my paintings to Somerset House on Monday.”
“Who is going with you?” Lady A asked.
Corinna hadn’t thought that far ahead, but of course she couldn’t go alone. It wouldn’t be proper. Being a girl could be terribly inconvenient at times. “I suppose I’ll ask Griffin.”
“I’d be honored to accompany you, my dear.” Lady A’s smile looked wistful. “It would be my pleasure. I’m supposed to assist my nephew at the Institute until four o’clock on Monday, but I can tell him I need to leave at noon.” The New Hope Institute was James’s facility, where he provided smallpox vaccinations for the poor. Lady B was his assistant today—she and Lady A took turns. “Will that be early enough?”
“That will be fine.” Considering all that kind Lady A had done for her, Corinna wouldn’t think of denying her wish. “I’ll come for you in my brother’s carriage at one o’clock. The submission deadline isn’t until five.”
“Oh, then two o’clock would be better, if you wouldn’t mind. That way I’ll have time for luncheon first. And there’s nothing to worry about.” Lady A leaned to give Corinna’s hand a pat. “The committee members said lovely things about your paintings. My daughter would have been overjoyed to have such important men admire her work,” she added with a sigh.
Corinna didn’t know whether Lady A’s sigh was a hopeful one or a regretful one. But regardless, she sighed along with her. “Most of them did say nice things, but they also said my portrait wasn’t quite right. I need to fix it before Monday.”
“You’re not going to skip the Teddington ball tomorrow night, are you?” Juliana asked. “Or Lady Hartley’s breakfast on Sunday? It’s the event of the season.”
“I probably should skip both.” Which meant Griffin would be hovering over her all weekend, badgering her to leave the house and meet more gentlemen. “I wish I could find somewhere peaceful to paint.”
“Chelsea Physic Garden is very peaceful.” Sitting beside Corinna on the sofa, Juliana rubbed her belly, even though it was still flat as a canvas. “Only physicians and apothecaries can usually gain entrance, but James could request a ticket for you.”
“I was just in Chelsea yesterday,” Rachael commented a bit absently, bouncing Belinda on Corinna’s other side. “At the Royal Hospital.”
“Why was that?” Corinna asked.
When Rachael hesitated, looking flustered—which was unusual for self-assured Rachael—her younger sister Claire answered for her. “It was a charitable visit. She brought books for the pensioners.”
“That was very kind,” Lady C said.
A footman came in and set a tray of tea things on a table by the door.
“Would anyone like tea?” Since Aunt Frances wasn’t up to acting as hostess, Lady A rose and made her way toward the teapot, saying, “My younger daughter’s father-in-law is a Chelsea Pensioner. But I haven’t heard from him in years.”
While Lady A was across the room, Rachael nudged Corinna. “Lady A seems to take any excuse to mention her younger daughter,” she whispered. “I think the poor woman really misses her.”
“You don’t say,” Corinna whispered dryly.
“James told me Lady A’s younger daughter took her own life,” Juliana said quietly. “Lady A doesn’t have any grandchildren. Her oldest daughter eloped against her father’s wishes, and he banished her from their lives. Her middle child, a son, drank too much and accidentally drowned. And her younger daughter was in the family way when she jumped off the London Bridge, taking Lady A’s last chance at having a grandchild with her.”
“Oh, poor, poor woman!” Rachael sighed. “I really like Lady A. She reminds me of my mother. I think it’s the gardenia scent she wears. Mama always loved gardenia perfume.” Though she smiled, the expression looked sad. “I think I’ll go help her pour tea.”
As their cousin went off to return Belinda to Frances and join Lady A, Corinna nudged Juliana. “I think Lady A smells as much of camphor as gardenias.”
“I agree.” They pulled faces at each other. “But as Rachael’s spirits are still low,” Juliana added, “I don’t think we should say anything to ruin her comforting illusion.”
Corinna wished she had a comforting illusion. All the way through the rest of the visit, and all the way home, she tried to figure out what it was that could be niggling her. As she went up to her bedroom to ready herself before meeting Sean, she told herself things weren’t that bad.
She was in love, and she still had time to fix Lord Lincolnshire’s picture. And her life certainly wasn’t as tragic as Lady A’s. She’d lost her parents and a brother, yes, but to illness, which was sad but not completely unexpected. She hadn’t lost anyone to drink, or to suicide, or because they’d eloped without permission and been banished from the family. And someday, she’d start her very own family, and—
She plopped onto her bed, suddenly realizing what was bothering her.
She’d decided she wanted to marry Sean. She wanted to have children with him. But what if the only way to accomplish that was to elope?
She hoped Griffin would agree to their marriage, but what if he didn’t? Sean wasn’t anything like the gentlemen her brother pushed on her, and not only because he was Irish. He could certainly support her—after what she’d learned yesterday, she suspected he could support half of London. But he wasn’t from their world. He wasn’t an aristocrat. Griffin’s saying he admired Sean and wanted his advice didn’t mean he’d support their marriage.
She was willing to defy her brother’s wishes to marry Sean, should it come to that. She was willing to run off to Gretna Green to elope. Her family wasn’t the type to banish her. And she was an artist, after all, wasn’t she? Freethinking, a rebel, unconventional.
But none of that mattered…because Sean was conventional.
He wouldn’t elope with her against her brother’s wishes. She knew him well enough to be certain of that. He was too honorable.
Too dratted honorable, again! She was beginning to think honor might be overrated.
The niggling feeling grew now that she’d pinpointed its cause. The iced cakes she’d eaten felt like they were congealing in her stomach, the tea she’d sipped sloshing around.
How could she force her brother to give his blessing? She didn’t know. This was more Juliana’s field of expertise. All Corinna knew was that unless she came up with a plan, her future with Sean was uncertain. This might be the last time they were alone together, ever.
She’d best make the most of it.
She’d work on a plan, she decided as she rose to change and gather her things. But in case she failed, she wanted one last kiss.
And it had better be a good one.
She’d just have to make Sean comfortable so he wouldn’t fear things going too far. And she couldn’t afford to be nervous about sketching him today, either. If she were to have a prayer of fixing Lord Lincolnshire’s portrait, she needed to study Sean. All of him.
Her stomach churned with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation and ice cakes. Thinking she might need what she’d sometimes heard referred to as “Dutch courage,” she grabbed a bottle of her brother’s first vintage on her way out.
THIRTY-SIX
There was plenty of light streaming in through the garret’s north-facing windows, so Sean didn’t bother lighting candles this time. The atmosphere wasn’t nearly as romantic, which suited his intentions perfectly.
Unfortunately, Corinna seemed to have some rather different intentions.
He’d noticed she’d brought two glasses and a bottle of wine, and now she was looking him up and down with that not-quite-flirtatious look on her face. “The light is perfect,” she said, confirming his assessment. “I can see all of you.”
He swallowed hard.
How on earth were they going to get through this session without any impropriety? Or rather, without any unnecessary impropriety—taking off his clothes was plenty improper all on its own. But yesterday, he’d only removed his shirt, and today she wanted to see all of him.
“This is a business meet
ing,” he reminded her.
“A what?”
“We’re here to get sketching done. There won’t be any kissing. And I’m thinking you won’t need to see all of me at once.” He watched her set out the wine glasses. “I’m remembering you said you wanted to sketch part of me at a time.”
“I really need to see all of you if I’m to fix Lord Lincolnshire’s portrait.” Turning away, Corinna made herself busy pouring the wine. “Male artists get to sketch live models day in and day out. I have only these two sittings to get it right.” With an apologetic smile, she turned back and held out a glass filled to the brim. “I brought some of my brother’s wine to help us both relax.”
Sean accepted the wine reluctantly. He needed to keep a clear head. He took a tiny sip, just to be polite.
She took a much larger gulp. “Don’t you like the wine?”
“I like it fine. But I don’t drink very much, so it goes straight to my head.”
“Now I’m remembering you drank only a little that night you were summoned to our family dinner. Just a couple of sips.”
“I watched my mother’s father drink himself into the grave. An effective advertisement for moderation.”
She touched his hand, a brief contact that still gave him a jolt. “I’m sorry.”
He’d felt the warmth of her fingers, and now he smelled her sweet floral fragrance and the hint of paint underneath. He loved that hint of paint, because it was uniquely Corinna and he loved her.
But he couldn’t kiss her. They couldn’t end up together, so kissing her would be wrong.
He couldn’t kiss her. Kissing her would be wrong.
He’d just have to keep repeating that to himself until he accepted it.
He moved toward the sofa as an excuse to put more distance between them. “Grandpapa was a happy drunk, but he never made anything of himself,” he said, taking another polite sip before sitting down.
“You’ve made a lot of yourself,” she said, moving to sit across from him. After another big gulp, she set her glass on the floor. It was already half empty. “You’re the best person I know.”
