by Darcy Burke
And even distracted by her own excited and nervous thoughts, Corinna couldn’t help thinking something mysterious must be happening under her very nose.
“Good afternoon,” Rachael said, breaking the silence.
“Good afternoon,” Corinna returned. She watched Claire and Elizabeth make their way to two chairs and sit down, clucking over the new baby. And then she watched Rachael choose a seat on the sofa beside Lady Avonleigh.
Rachael paid no attention to the new baby. Instead she leaned close to embrace Lady A, and she seemed to be breathing in the lady’s scent. She closed her eyes momentarily, and a faint smile curved her lips as she sighed a contented sigh, even though that odd mixture of camphor and gardenias couldn’t possibly be pleasing.
And odder still, Lady A was smiling a matching smile and sighing an identical contented sigh. Although, Corinna supposed, Rachael’s jasmine perfume was more pleasant than Lady A’s.
Lady C pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes and nose. “Oh, dear. I seem to be coming down with the sniffles.”
“Me, too,” Lady B said, although she looked perfectly fine. In fact, she and Lady C were both smiling. And so were Claire and Elizabeth. And they weren’t faint smiles. They were smiles a mile wide.
“Would anyone care for some orange custard?” Juliana asked, rising from her seat. “Corinna, could you come with me to the kitchen to fetch it? And Claire and Elizabeth? I cannot carry ten cups all by myself, and James said that I shouldn’t overexert myself in my delicate condition.”
Juliana could certainly carry all ten cups in the same basket she’d brought them in, Corinna thought, and she hadn’t seemed to overexert herself doing so earlier. But she rose and followed her sister anyway.
With a decided lack of regard for her delicate condition, Juliana hurried Corinna and their cousins from the drawing room and through the foyer. Halfway down the steps to the basement, she stopped and turned to them. “What in heaven’s name is going on here? What on earth am I missing? Something has happened between Rachael and Lady Avonleigh. Something significant. I can tell.”
“A blind and deaf person would be able to tell,” Corinna put in.
Elizabeth coughed a little sniffly cough. “Lady A is Rachael’s grandmother.”
“What?” Juliana and Corinna burst out together.
Claire nudged her sister in the ribs. “Now you’ve done it, Elizabeth!” She sighed. “Rachael is Lady Avonleigh’s granddaughter. And we’re her granddaughters, too. We’ve discovered our mother was Lady A’s younger daughter—the one who jumped off the London Bridge. Only she didn’t, not really. She married our father and moved to Greystone instead. And she never went back to London, because she was afraid someone there would recognize her, and her family would know she was alive.”
This was what had made the two sets of sisters chatter like that, Corinna realized. And no wonder—the six of them turning out to be related was a positively astounding coincidence. Even more astounding than everyone’s being too busy to accompany her to Somerset House at the same time.
“That’s why everyone was busy yesterday,” Juliana marveled. “You two and Rachael and Ladies A, B, and C were all together, discovering all of this.”
“Your mother didn’t have asthma, then,” Corinna said.
“No, she didn’t. That was just an excuse.” Claire pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve and blew her nose—because she was overcome with emotion, not because she was coming down with the sniffles. “Please don’t tell Rachael you know. She’d be mortified.”
“Why?” Corinna asked. “None of this is any fault of hers. Does she think so little of us that she believes Aunt Georgiana’s deception would change our feelings towards her?”
“I fear she’s not thinking at all right now.” Claire crossed her arms over her amethyst bodice and leveled a familiar glare at her sister. “Much like Elizabeth. Again.”
Elizabeth sniffled, too. “I’m sorry.”
“We promise not to tell a soul.” Corinna turned to Juliana. “Don’t we?”
Juliana reached to touch both her cousins’ arms reassuringly. “We love Rachael, and we’re thrilled that she’s found more family to love. And do you realize this means James is your first cousin? How amazing is that?”
Juliana sounded sincere, but Corinna couldn’t help noticing that she hadn’t actually promised not to tell. She suspected her sister had her fingers mentally crossed. There was a little thrill in the tone of her voice that made Corinna sure she was already plotting her next move.
Juliana was a born meddler, after all, and no doubt she thought this news splendid for all concerned. For their cousins, of course, and also for Lady A, who’d sorely missed her younger daughter and now had grandchildren at long last. But mostly for Griffin and Rachael, because Rachael’s newfound happiness put Juliana that much closer to her goal of seeing the two of them together as a couple.
Corinna had no doubt Juliana would accomplish that goal, because her sister wasn’t only a born meddler, she was an obnoxiously good one—and anyone with two eyes in her head could see that Rachael and Griffin did belong together.
Just like Corinna belonged with Sean.
Sean, of course, was the “certain someone,” because Juliana believed they belonged together, too. She’d made orange custard to bring them love. Though it was a silly superstition that would have no impact whatsoever, it was still a meddlesome thing, and Corinna was certain Juliana had plenty more meddling planned.
But for the very first time in her life, she found herself hoping Juliana’s meddling would work.
Juliana would be smug beyond belief, of course, but it would save Corinna from having to reveal that Sean was the model in her portrait.
To avoid Griffin’s wrath, Corinna would gladly put up with a whole heap of smugness.
FORTY-NINE
An earl’s funeral bore little resemblance to the simple ceremonies performed by a country vicar like Sean’s father. Lord Lincolnshire was to be buried in Westminster Abbey on Friday, and Sean had also arranged for a reception at Lincolnshire House afterward.
Getting everything in place took the better part of the day, and it was late afternoon by the time he trudged up the steps to the garret studio, hoping Corinna wasn’t already waiting. A small part of him couldn’t wait to see her, but most of him dreaded her arrival. He wanted a few minutes to prepare himself, to steel himself for what lay ahead.
He didn’t have to do this, he knew. There were other, easier ways out. Soon the truth would be revealed, as Hamilton was due in town for the judging and would waste no time claiming his new title. Once that happened, society would make it clear to Corinna that Sean was unacceptable. Or he could allow her brother to explain the facts. But he wasn’t the sort of fellow who expected others to do his dirty work. He still picked up a hammer if he saw the need on a construction site, and he wouldn’t leave this task to others, either.
And he had to say good-bye. He needed to tell Corinna just how much he wished things were different. He’d brought something to give her to remember him by, and he’d do that first, while she was still clearheaded enough to be capable of understanding what it meant. He wanted one last kiss—even knowing it was wrong—and he wanted, one last time, to have her look at him in that dreamy way, and speak to him in that low, sweet voice.
Reaching the top of the stairway, he opened the door to the garret and heard a harsh voice instead. “Go away!” it barked.
“I beg your pardon?” Thinking for a moment that he must have entered the wrong building, Sean took a step back. Then the voice’s owner turned to face him, paintbrush in hand. Sean blinked. “Hamilton? What are you doing here?”
“Working. I’m going to lease this space, if you’ll remember, so I consider it mine.” He gestured to a large canvas on the easel, where the beginnings of a scene were already taking form. “The falls, with the Lady of the Waterfall visible in the towering gush. Inspired, isn’t it? What do you think?”
>
Sean shut the door behind him. “I think you were due back weeks ago.”
The weasel merely shrugged. “I arrived early today, in time to vote on the submissions for the Summer Exhibition this morning.” He turned back to his canvas and began adding mist rising at the bottom of the falls. “I told you I would.”
“You also told me your uncle would die within days.”
“He didn’t?”
“Not until this morning.”
Sean wasn’t surprised to see the weasel display no emotion at the news of his uncle’s passing. But Hamilton wouldn’t stay calm for long—not once he heard what had gone on since he left the country.
Having long since accepted that it would all come to nothing—Deirdre wasn’t getting her divorce—Sean’s main regret was that he hadn’t managed to speak with Hamilton before the Summer Exhibition selection. He hadn’t realized it would take place the very day after the submissions were due. “Did you vote for Lady Corinna Chase’s painting?” he asked with a sigh.
“Who the deuce is Corinna Chase?”
“The girl we met in the British Museum. The one who said she wanted to paint portraits.”
“I don’t remember her. And I haven’t the slightest idea. As usual, I voted for my favorites without looking at any signatures.” He added more mist. “The whole exercise was very tedious. No less than fourteen rounds before the final selection was decided on, and all the while all I wanted was to work on this picture.”
“It was a portrait of Lincolnshire. Seated on a bench in Berkeley Square, holding a book—”
“I don’t recall anything like that. Not that I would have recognized the old beast in any case. I haven’t set eyes on him since I was a—”
“Sweet mercy, he was your father’s identical twin! And she painted him looking younger, probably very much as you remember your own father.”
“I didn’t see any portraits of my father, Delaney. And I voted for very few portraits altogether—you know I prefer landscapes.” Having finished adding the mist, he started on some water splashing back up. “My favorite canvas, however,” he mused, “did turn out to be a portrait. I’m not sure whether it made the final cut—it may not have, because it was very unusual. A rather outrageous depiction of a golden-haired young man, half-clothed and bathed in candlelight. Henry Fuseli was quite taken with it as well.”
That certainly wasn’t Corinna’s. Which meant Sean was finished with this discussion. “Nothing went the way you said it would, Hamilton. Nothing went as planned.”
The fellow cocked his head, then added a wee smidge of white to a brown blob on his palette. “What could possibly have gone so wrong?” he asked vaguely, focused on mixing the colors together.
“Everything,” Sean snapped. “To begin with, all of London believes I’m you.”
“What?” His attention finally snagged, Hamilton whirled to face him. “How in blazes did that happen?”
“Lincolnshire asked me to take him to a ball, promising to keep my identity a secret. My identity as you, you understand. Once there, however…”
While he explained everything, Hamilton slowly lowered his palette and dropped heavily to the threadbare sofa, covering his lowered face with his hands.
When Sean finished, the weasel finally, inevitably, exploded, springing off the sofa. “You blasted son of a vicar! You were supposed to keep the mean old brute happy and stay out of public entirely!” He paced here and there, fuming. “Since you didn’t keep your end of the bargain, I’ll clearly not be keeping mine.” Stomping right up to Sean, he growled, “Deirdre will never see her divorce! She’ll bear the next Lincolnshire earl if it’s the last thing she does—and with any luck, she’ll die in childbirth, so it will be.”
Hamilton stormed out, leaving Sean standing still, rooted to the spot, his hands clenched into fists. It was a good thing the weasel had left. If he’d stayed, Sean might not have stopped himself from beating the shorter fellow to a pulp.
He told himself he should’ve expected no less from the weasel, but still, it took him several minutes to calm down. Finally he drew off his coat and draped it over the arm of the sofa, then slowly lowered himself to sit and wait for Corinna to arrive.
FIFTY
“Corinna,” Sean said when she walked in.
Just Corinna. Nothing else. He rose from the battered sofa and walked toward her, and she could see sadness on his face, weariness in his eyes. He looked battered himself, his coat off, his cravat askew, his hair disheveled as though he’d run his hands through it over and over.
“Lord Lincolnshire is gone, isn’t he?” she said quietly, but it wasn’t really a question. “Did you stay up all night with him before he passed?”
In answer he stepped closer and took her in his arms. They stood there like that for a very long while, Corinna’s eyes closed, her ear pressed to his chest where his heart beat steadily through the thin fabric of his shirt.
“I don’t know what happened with your painting,” he said at last in a bleak tone of voice.
“Something happened?” she asked, confused.
She felt rather than saw him shake his head. “Hamilton voted before I could speak to him, so he didn’t speak to any of the other committee members about you, either. And he said he mostly voted for landscapes.”
She opened her eyes, her gaze falling on a large canvas propped on the easel, a scene of a waterfall. Proof of Hamilton’s return. Unfinished though it was, the painting was impressive…but the selfishness of its creator made it ugly to her.
And she couldn’t care how the vote had turned out, not now. Maybe tomorrow it would matter, but right now all that mattered was Sean. And he was hurting.
“It’s not important. Whatever happened will be.” She sighed and pulled away. “It’s all over. I know you’re sad that Lord Lincolnshire is gone, and I am, too. But you can get back to your life now, and that’s good, isn’t it? The sadness will pass, and you’ll be able to focus on your work, and…”
She couldn’t bring herself to say that now they could be together. Sure as she was that he cared for her, he hadn’t asked her to marry him yet.
“Corinna. Críona. I need to talk to you. But first I want to give you something,” he said, reaching into a pocket. He pulled out a fine link chain with a pendant attached, but she didn’t get a chance to see what it looked like before he took her hand and put the necklace in her palm, folding her fingers around it. “It’s only silver. My family could never afford anything made of gold. I’ve the money now to have bought you something fancier, but I wanted you to have this.”
He still held her hand with both of his wrapped tightly around it. His hands felt warm, and whatever was inside her fist felt hard but delicate. “This belongs to your family?”
“For a hundred years or more.” His lyrical words came slower than usual, and his voice was a bit rough, the sound of it making her heart hitch. “It was my mother’s, and my grandmother’s before her, and so on going back for generations.”
“Oh, then it should be Deirdre’s now, shouldn’t it?”
“I want you to have it,” he repeated, releasing her hand.
Slowly she unfurled her fingers and drew out the necklace, raising it by the chain so the pendant dangled at the bottom. A symbol. Two hands holding a stone heart, surmounted by a crown studded with a few tiny gems.
“They’re not diamonds,” he told her, “only marcasite. I cannot tell you what the heart is made from, because I don’t know.”
“It’s green.” She smiled. “Like your eyes.”
“Is it? I never knew that. But I can assure you it isn’t an emerald.”
“No, it wouldn’t be, because it’s opaque. And I don’t care what it’s made from, anyway. It’s beautiful. And it’s from you.” Anything Sean had given her would have been beautiful to her, of course, but it really was a very pretty charm. “Does the symbol have a special meaning?”
“It does, aye. It’s called a claddagh. The hands signify
friendship, the crown loyalty, and the heart love. All the things I feel for you, a rún.”
A rún meant my love—she remembered that—and he’d said love in English, too. “It’s perfect. So much better than diamonds or gold.” He loved her. She’d thought so for some time now, but hearing the words made it more real. “I love you, too. I love you so much I feel like I might burst, like I cannot hold it all inside me.” Happy tears welled in her eyes. “Will you put this on me?”
She turned around, and he clasped the chain around her neck, his warm fingers brushing her nape. When she turned back, he held her face in his hands and lowered his lips to meet hers. It was a long kiss but a gentle one, heartfelt and tender, the tenderest kiss she’d ever received.
When he drew back, his eyes burned into hers. “We need to talk now,” he said. “Let’s sit down.”
“All right.” Suddenly feeling apprehensive, she walked the few feet to the sofa and sat. He sank down beside her, angling himself so he could see her. “What is it?” she asked.
He took both her hands. “Corinna. Críona.” She watched him swallow hard. “Lincolnshire told me a story last Friday. That seems so long ago, doesn’t it?”
She nodded, her heart pounding with love or trepidation, or maybe a mixture. It was only Tuesday, but last Friday, the night she’d sketched him, seemed a lifetime ago.
“It was a story about his twin brother, John Hamilton’s father, and why he sent him to Ireland,” he began.
And then it all poured out.
She listened silently, taking it all in, until he finished. Until his hands squeezed hers hard, so hard her own hands hurt. “Corinna. That will happen to me now. Once society finds out I impersonated Hamilton, they will never accept me.”
She knew he was right. The ton wouldn’t look kindly upon someone who had tricked Lord Lincolnshire. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
