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 something in her tone, a frisson of glee, perhaps, 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 wonderful 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 annoyingly good one—and anyone with two eyes in her head could see that Rachael and Griffin did belong together. Just like she, 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. Regardless of the fact that it would be ineffective, that was 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 had posed for her, which would be totally worth putting up with a slew 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 a man 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, and he wanted, one last time, to hear her sweet feminine voice.
Reaching the top of the stairway, he opened the door to the garret and heard a harsh masculine voice instead. "Go away."
"I beg your pardon?" Thinking for a moment that he must have entered the wrong building, Sean took a step back. Then he blinked as the man turned to face him, paintbrush in hand. "Hamilton? What are you doing here?"
"Working. I'd planned to lease this space, if you'll remember, so I consider it mine." He gestured to a large canvas on the easel, where the essentials 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."
Hamilton merely shrugged. "I arrived earlier today, in time to vote on the submissions for the Summer Exhibition." 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."
Unsurprisingly, Hamilton displayed no emotion at the news of his uncle's passing. But he wouldn't stay calm for long—not once he heard what had transpired since he left the country.
Having long since resigned himself to the fact that this entire exercise had been for naught, Sean's main regret was that he'd been unaware of Hamilton's arrival—that he'd failed to speak with the man 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 hell is Corinna Chase?"
"The woman 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 artists' names." He added more mist. "The entire proceeding proved 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 bastard in any case. I haven't set eyes on him since I was a babe—"
"Sweet Jesus, 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 overall—you know I prefer landscapes." Having finished adding the mist, he deftly painted some water spraying back up. "My favorite canvas, however," he mused contemplatively, "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 sensual study of a golden-haired man, rather scandalously undressed 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 man 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, mixing the colors together idly.
"Everything," Sean said in clipped tones. "To begin with, all of London believes I'm you."
"What?" His attention finally snagged, Hamilton whirled to face him. "How the devil 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…"
It took a good five minutes to explain everything—five minutes during which Hamilton put down his palette, dropped heavily to the threadbare sofa, and finally, inevitably, exploded.
"You bloody son of a bitch! You were instructed to keep the old man happy and stay out of society entirely! Given that you didn't keep your end of the bargain, I'll be damned if I'll keep mine. 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."
Sean had expected no less. Neither was he surprised when Hamilton stalked out of the studio.
Resigned, he drew off his coat and cravat, unfastened the top button on his shirt, and slowly lowered himself to the sofa to 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 the sadness etched in his face, the weariness in his eyes. He looked battered himself, his coat off, his shirt negligently unbuttoned, 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?"
Sean's answer was physical, not verbal. He stepped closer and gathered her into 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 thro
ugh 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 returned and 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 to her, but right now all that mattered was here in her arms. The man she loved was hurting.
"It's not important, Sean. 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 reclaim your life now, and that's good, isn't it? The sadness will pass, and you'll be able to return to what needs to be done, and…"
She couldn't bring herself to say that now they could take steps to be together. Sure as she was that he wanted 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 more suited to your own family's position—gold and diamonds, rubies or pearls—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. "Have a look at it, Corinna."
Slowly she opened her hand 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 said with a soft smile. "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 thing. "Does it have any special meaning? Beyond the fact that it's been passed down?"
"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, all the things in my own heart."
A rún meant my love—she remembered that—and he'd said love in English, too. "Oh, Sean. It's perfect." Tears welled in her eyes. "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. 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 cradled her face in his hands and lowered his lips to meet hers. It was a long kiss but a gentle one, heartfelt and deep, the tenderest kiss she'd ever received, and she didn't push it to be anything more, because she knew he was hurting.
When he drew back, his eyes burned into hers so intently she caught her breath in reaction. "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." His voice broke on the Irish word, and 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. Today was only Tuesday, yet Friday night, the night she'd spent in his arms, seemed such a long time ago.
"It was a story about his twin brother, 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. Having impersonated Hamilton, there's no chance I will ever be accepted in society."
"Oh, God." She knew he was right. The ton wouldn't look kindly upon a man who had tricked Lord Lincolnshire. "Why didn't I think of that?"
"I didn't think of it, either. I knew all along that, by perpetrating this hoax, Hamilton was risking his reputation as an artist. I even warned him of that, and I feared that if it happened he'd retaliate by refusing to release Deirdre. But I never considered how it would affect me personally. Maybe because I didn't think it would matter. Not being part of society, I cared nothing for what they thought of me—not until I fell in love with you."
"Oh, Sean." She leapt the small distance between them, wrapping her arms around him, burrowing her nose into the crook of his neck where she could inhale his warm male scent. "I love you, too," she told him again, the words muffled against his skin. "I was waiting to tell you. Everything was so complicated. But now it's over, and we'll work this out. It will be difficult, but—"
"Corinna. You don't understand." He unwrapped her arms and set her away, far enough to meet her eyes, to capture them with his compelling emerald gaze. "I cannot marry you. There isn't anything I want more in the world, but it's impossible."
"No." That couldn't be. "This wasn't your fault. You didn't even want to do it. You did it for your sister, and for Lincolnshire—you made him happy. You shouldn't have to suffer—we shouldn't have to suffer—because you did the right thing."
"I'm not saying I did the wrong thing. I did the only thing I could. But no one ever promised life would be fair. The people in your social circle aren't going to countenance my lying to such a well-respected man; nor will they ever forgive me for fooling them."
"I don't care. I don't need the people in my social circle. I love you. I want to be with you. If they won't forgive you, if they make our life here too uncomfortable, we'll go to Ireland—"
"Your art would be shunned no matter where you made it. You'd never be admitted to the Royal Academy."
"Sharing my life with you is more important than the Royal Academy. I don't care about that, either."
"I care." He caught her close again and captured her gaze once more. "And should you marry me, Corinna, you and I aren't the only ones who would be shut out of society. Your family would be ostracized as well."
A hole opened up inside her, robbing her of breath.
Alexandra and Juliana, Griffin and Rachael, Frances and the cousins…should she stay with Sean and bear the consequences, they, too, would be rejected by all of society.
She couldn't do that to them.
She was willing to give up her personal dreams in trade for Sean, to condemn herself to a life apart from all she'd known. That would be artistic…wild, passionate, romantic. But she couldn't take her family with her.
She'd be more selfish than Hamilton should she do that.
Her heart cracked, and she could see in Sean's eyes that he felt the same. His overwhelming sadness, his staggering weariness, his battered appearance…un
derstanding all of that now, feeling it herself, she moved into his arms.
They clutched each other, held each other close for a long, long time, wrapped in a cocoon of anguish while sobs racked her body and despair claimed her soul.
And then, when she'd cried herself dry, when there was nothing left inside her but a vast, aching emptiness, he walked her home in silence.
FIFTY-ONE
AS FRIDAY afternoon slid into evening, Corinna stood alone in Lincolnshire House's yellow drawing room, wearing a black dress that matched her mood.
Excited voices drifted from the crowded salon, where a reception was being held following Lord Lincolnshire's burial. More babbling came from the entrance hall, where the crowd spilled out. Ladies very rarely attended funerals, so Sean had arranged the reception to allow the women in the earl's social circle a chance to pay their respects.
She'd wager he hadn't anticipated such a crush. He wasn't part of the crush, of course, and she'd been told he hadn't attended the ceremony, either. The reception should have been a polite gathering, the guests soft-spoken and sober rather than excited. But tongues had been wagging ever since this morning, when John Hamilton had shown up at Westminster Abbey and announced he was the next Earl of Lincolnshire.
As she was female, Corinna hadn't been present to witness that, but she'd heard all about it. The men at the funeral had been astonished, to say the least. The new Lord Lincolnshire had informed them that his impostor's name was Sean Delaney, and Sean's reputation had been torn to threads before the reception even began.
Just as he'd predicted, she thought now with a heavyhearted sigh.
For the past two days, lines from Minerva Press novels had run through her head annoyingly, unceasingly. Pamela thinking life is no life without you, and Ethelinde deciding hope seemed to be excluded from her heart, and how, in Children of the Abbey, Amanda had cried, the hand of fate is against our union, and we must part, never, never more to meet!
Art of Temptation (Regency Chase Family Series, Book 3) Page 27
