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He failed. Miserably.
‘‘Explain,’’ he demanded when she returned. ‘‘And don’t leave anything out.’’
Between them, with much mind-boggling back-and-forthness, his three sisters explained.
And explained.
And explained.
A quarter hour later, when they finally finished, Corinna paused for a breath. ‘‘You won’t give away Mr. Delaney’s secret, will you? Not only would it imperil his sister’s divorce, but it would also make Lord Lincolnshire’s final days unhappy ones.’’
‘‘I don’t know,’’ Griffin grated out. While his sisters’ reasoning was not unsound—assuming one took into consideration their female brand of logic—none of it really sat quite right with him. ‘‘I don’t like tricking that kindly old man.’’
‘‘You’re not tricking him,’’ Juliana said with that same typical—illogical—logic. ‘‘You’re only allowing it to happen.’’
‘‘Which isn’t very honorable.’’
Alexandra shook her head. ‘‘Seeing to Lord Lincolnshire’s happiness is the
epitome
of honor.’’
‘‘It’s lying,’’ Griffin disagreed.
Now Corinna shook her head. ‘‘It’s only failing to reveal the truth.’’
Semantics. It was all semantics. And it was
wrong
.
Griffin was opening his mouth to say so when a footman stepped into the dining room. ‘‘A caller, my lord. A Mr. Sean Delaney.’’
‘‘What a coincidence,’’ Griffin said. ‘‘Show him in.’’ No sooner had the servant left than Corinna snorted. ‘‘It’s not a coincidence.’’
‘‘I sent a message to Lincolnshire House,’’ Juliana explained. ‘‘I told Mr. Delaney that you’re aware of his true identity and there is something we need to discuss.’’
‘‘So that’s what you were doing when you went off.’’ Tristan nodded contemplatively. ‘‘I wondered.’’
James spread his hands. ‘‘I thought she was visiting the water closet.’’
‘‘We should have guessed,’’ Griffin muttered. ‘‘She always
has
been the family meddler.’’
When Mr. Delaney walked in, Corinna motioned to a footman to fetch him a chair, then scooted over so the servant could fit it in beside her own.
A tall man, Delaney looked like he spent all his free hours in Gentleman Jackson’s boxing salon. Griffin wouldn’t care to challenge him to a match. And he was even more certain they weren’t acquainted. ‘‘Had we already met?’’ he asked him. ‘‘Before Lady Partridge’s ball?’’
Delaney gave a little bow before he sat. ‘‘Not that I recall, sir.’’
The man had a distinct Irish accent, and Griffin hadn’t ever met very many Irishmen. ‘‘Yet your name seems familiar.’’
‘‘Is it?’’ Although he took the glass of wine Corinna handed him, Delaney didn’t drink from it as he seemed to consider. ‘‘I think I may have bought a piece of property from you. Last year, through your solicitor, which explains why we never met.’’
‘‘Ah, yes.’’ Now Griffin remembered seeing the name on the contract. ‘‘A tumbledown boardinghouse near Lincoln’s Inn Fields, if I recall aright. Cannot imagine why my father and brother held on to it for so long. I was pleased to get rid of it.’’
‘‘I take it you haven’t been by there of late.’’ A corner of Delaney’s mouth twitched as though he wanted to grin. ‘‘That ‘tumbledown boardinghouse’ is now a sound four-story building with sixteen tenants. Shops and offices on the ground floor, residential above.’’ He looked to Corinna. ‘‘I received your note. What is it you feel we need to discuss?’’
‘‘It was
my
note,’’ Juliana said. ‘‘And you’ve been summoned in order to convince both you and my brother that your posing as John Hamilton is the very best thing.’’
Which she proceeded to do, of course, with the help of her sisters.
Though Griffin didn’t know Delaney, he judged him a man with a quick mind and sound business sense. Together they put up a good fight. In the end, however, they both reluctantly agreed to preserve Lincolnshire’s happiness for his final few days.
It was inevitable, Griffin supposed.
Three Chase females against two hapless men was nowhere near a fair match.

 

Chapter Twenty-two
‘‘Very handsome gentleman,’’ Juliana commented as Corinna came off the Billingsgates’ dance floor Saturday night. ‘‘Who is he? Did you kiss him?’’
‘‘I cannot remember his name. Lord Stonehurst, or maybe Lord Brickhaven. Something to do with building materials.’’ Corinna watched the man walk away, expecting Griffin to bring another one by at any moment. ‘‘And no, I didn’t kiss him,’’ she added under her breath. ‘‘I just met him, for heaven’s sake.’’
‘‘Tonight?’’ Juliana’s smile was a tad too innocent. ‘‘Then I expect you’ll make him wait a week?’’
‘‘At least,’’ Corinna confirmed, tilting her chin up into the air. She’d once told her sister she never let gentlemen kiss her right after meeting them; she made them wait at least a week. But the truth was that since her first kiss with Sean, she’d had no interest whatsoever in kissing anyone else.
Unfortunately, she’d received no kisses in the last three days. Lord Lincolnshire was so anxious to see his portrait finished before he passed on that he’d been ready and waiting when she arrived each morning at nine, making it impossible to sneak a kiss. And although the earl tired easily and went up to bed every afternoon, Sean never returned before it was time for Corinna to go home.
Lord Lincolnshire had taken his rest extra early today, because he was bringing Sean and Deirdre here tonight. He’d told Corinna he wanted to see his nephew ‘‘dance with his lovely wife.’’ Corinna was very much looking forward to their arrival, not least because she hoped to get Sean alone for a kiss or two.
The lack of kisses certainly hadn’t made her want to kiss another man instead. It seemed she belonged to Sean in a sense, or he to her. Or both. It was a very mild relationship, and a very innocent one, but it was also wonderful, thrilling, and just illicit enough to make her feel like a true, free-spirited artist. Yet it was disconcerting, too. She felt like Pamela had when she’d bemoaned,
I shall never be able to think of anybody in the world but him!
And she couldn’t marry him. Or could she? She was no longer sure. She still knew very little about him, really. But yesterday she’d casually asked Griffin what he thought of Sean—well, she’d called him Mr. Delaney, of course—and he’d said he was impressed with the man’s business sense and was hoping to buttonhole him sometime soon to ask him for advice regarding property management.
In other words, he hadn’t sounded at all disapproving.
Thinking of her brother made her realize he seemed to have abandoned the Billingsgate ballroom. For now, at least, he wasn’t shoving another man at her. She relaxed a little bit. ‘‘Do you know where Griffin went off to?’’
‘‘I don’t. Who is that woman?’’ Juliana indicated the direction with a flick of her dark blond head. ‘‘The one who just came in with Lord Lincolnshire and Mr. Del— um . . . Mr. Hamilton.’’
They were here! And fortunately no one was nearby to hear Juliana’s slip of the tongue. Discretion was important. ‘‘That’s Deirdre,’’ Corinna whispered. ‘‘His sister. We were introduced earlier this week, but I didn’t have a chance to actually talk to her. She never seems to be around in the daytimes when I’m at Lincolnshire House painting.’’
‘‘Let’s talk to her now,’’ Juliana said.
Corinna wasn’t sure how wise that would be, considering Sean feared his sister might give them away. But she had no choice. In her usual decisive manner, Juliana was already heading Lord Lincolnshire’s way.
‘‘Lady Corinna!’’ he wheezed when they arrived, grinning up at her from his wheelchair. He looked to Juliana. ‘‘And Lady Stafford. Please . . . allow me to introduce Mrs. Hamilton, the next . . . Countess of Lincolnshire.’’
Behind him, Sean shifted uncomfortably. But Deirdre
was
Mrs. Hamilton, after all. And she
would
be the next Countess of Lincolnshire—at least until she managed to secure the divorce she was seeking.
‘‘It’s a pleasure to meet you,’’ Juliana told Deirdre.
‘‘ ’Tis my pleasure to meet you. I’ve been hearing so much about your family, especially your sister.’’
Corinna flushed, wondering what Sean might have told Deirdre. But then she realized it was probably Lord Lincolnshire who’d done the talking. She was painting him, after all, and he was rather pleased by that.
‘‘Mr. Hamilton!’’ Lady Ainsworth, a tall woman who looked even taller wearing a golden turban, bustled over. ‘‘What a delight to see you again! What are you painting these days, if I might ask?’’
‘‘A landscape,’’ Sean said.
‘‘A landscape!’’ Lady Ainsworth’s loud laugh had more people coming to join them. Evidently Sean’s celebrity had yet to wear off. ‘‘Have you ever painted anything that
wasn’t
a landscape, Mr. Hamilton?’’
‘‘I suppose I haven’t.’’
‘‘You suppose?’’ Lady Ainsworth’s laugh was really quite annoying. ‘‘What is it a landscape
of
?’’ she asked.
‘‘It’s a meadow scene,’’ Corinna said.
Lady Hartshorn turned to her. She was a short, round woman who had very wide eyes at the moment. ‘‘You’ve
seen
it?’’
‘‘I have.’’ Corinna smiled, thinking Lady Hartshorn looked rather envious. ‘‘The trees are exquisite, their shadows most intriguing.’’
‘‘Speaking of intriguing shadows,’’ a gentleman said, looking to Sean, ‘‘I’ve been wondering about
Allegory of Shadow
.’’
‘‘I beg your pardon?’’
‘‘
Allegory of Shadow
. Your most famous painting?’’
‘‘Oh, yes.’’ Sean’s own laugh sounded rather forced. ‘‘Of course. I was still thinking about my new painting, I fear. Once I finish a piece, I quite put it out of my mind.’’
‘‘May I ask what inspired you? What made you decide to focus so on the shadows?’’
‘‘The, ah . . . the trees. I’ve always found trees very inspiring. Lush trees of the English countryside that grow from wee acorns to cast large shadows—’’
‘‘But Mr. Hamilton,’’ Lady Ainsworth interrupted, her turban bobbing as though it were as indignant as she. ‘‘I don’t recall seeing any trees in
Allegory of Shadow
. It portrays a stone circle, does it not? And not in England, but in Ireland, I do believe?’’
‘‘Well, I was raised in Ireland—’’
‘‘Exactly,’’ Corinna cut in. ‘‘Allegories are symbolic representations, as you know. If one looks closely, one will see that the shadows cast by the standing stones resemble trees. English trees.’’
‘‘Oh,’’ the woman said.
‘‘I cannot believe you didn’t know that,’’ Lady Hartshorn scoffed. ‘‘It’s brilliant, Mr. Hamilton. Simply brilliant. How long did you take to paint it?’’
‘‘Three days, my lady.’’
‘‘Three
days
? The thing is the size of a drawing room wall! The largest painting in the history of the Summer Exhibition, was it not?’’
‘‘When one is inspired,’’ Corinna said, ‘‘the image simply flows from the hand through the brush. I myself have completed a painting in a single day.’’ Once. One tiny painting, no more than eight inches square.
Allegory of Shadow
was eight feet by sixteen, at the very least. ‘‘Have you ever painted, Lady Hartshorn?’’
‘‘No. No, I haven’t.’’
‘‘I thought not,’’ Corinna said in a superior tone of voice.
Just then Lord Lincolnshire coughed. And coughed again.
‘‘Do you need something to drink, Uncle?’’ Sean took the back of his chair, looking not at all unpleased to have a plausible excuse to escape the conversation. ‘‘Let me bring you to the refreshment room.’’
Without the celebrated Mr. Hamilton as a point of focus, the gathering quickly dispersed. Shifting uneasily, Deirdre watched her brother wheel the earl off.
‘‘Would you like to go outside?’’ Juliana asked her kindly. ‘‘Lord Billingsgate has a lovely garden.’’
‘‘Oh, yes,’’ Deirdre said, sounding grateful. ‘‘I would like that very much.’’
‘‘Why don’t you take her?’’ Juliana suggested to Corinna, her gaze straying to where James stood in a circle of men engaged in a heated argument. All members of Parliament, no doubt. ‘‘I’ve a mind to rescue my husband by asking him for a dance.’’
Corinna nodded, taking Deirdre’s arm to steer her around the perimeter of the dance floor, toward French doors that opened to the terrace. ‘‘Thank you,’’ Sean’s sister breathed when they finally made it outside. ‘‘I’m thinking I don’t really belong in there, do I?’’
Corinna led her down a path where twinkling lanterns hung overhead. ‘‘Whyever would you say that?’’
‘‘I’m a simple country girl, a vicar’s daughter from a village in Ireland. I’ve no place in London society.’’
‘‘You’re married to John Hamilton.’’
‘‘In name only,’’ Deirdre said darkly. ‘‘He’s not paid me any mind since . . . well, for a long time.’’

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