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Her heart sank even lower. ‘‘He must be suffering so. That sounds dreadful.’’
‘‘He sounds like that because his lungs are filling,’’ James explained gently. ‘‘But he’s sleeping. I don’t think he’s really suffering in the sense you imagine.’’ He dropped the stethoscope in his leather bag and snapped it closed, looking to Sean. ‘‘I can stay if you wish, but there isn’t anything I can do. It’s only a matter of time now.’’
‘‘I understand,’’ Sean said. ‘‘We’ll not be needing you to stay, though I appreciate the offer. I’ll be with him.’’
‘‘I’ll stay with him, too,’’ Deirdre added softly. ‘‘And Nurse Skeffington will be back within the hour.’’
‘‘All right, then.’’ James moved to Corinna and lightly kissed her cheek. ‘‘I’m sorry,’’ he said again, and left.
For a moment, Corinna just stared at Lord Lincolnshire. Hot tears pricked her eyes. Deirdre rose and came to place a hand on her shoulder. ‘‘I’m sure he knows you finished his portrait.’’
Guilt flooded her. She
hadn’t
finished it. But she would. She’d promised to paint his final portrait, and she’d follow through with that. She had only to fix the underlying anatomy, and she knew how to do that now. His portrait wouldn’t be exhibited at the Royal Academy, but it would hang here at Lincolnshire House.
Which would be John Hamilton’s house, unfortunately. At that thought, a rush of anger tempered her guilt. But it would be Deirdre’s house, too, at least until she got her divorce, and that thought was a little mollifying.
She raised a hand to touch Deirdre’s on her shoulder. ‘‘Thank you for saying that.’’
‘‘Which other pictures will you submit along with the portrait today?’’ Sean asked.
‘‘I’m not submitting any other pictures,’’ she told him, turning to him. ‘‘I’ve decided to submit the portrait alone.’’ She neglected to mention it wasn’t the one he expected. ‘‘It’s my best work, the painting I wish to exhibit as my debut. Should it not be chosen, I’ll try again next year.’’
‘‘ ’Tis pleased I am to hear you’re that happy with the way it turned out,’’ he said.
But he didn’t look pleased. Or sound pleased. At all.
‘‘I’m sorry you’re losing Lord Lincolnshire,’’ she said, her heart breaking for him. ‘‘I know you’ve grown close.’’
He nodded. ‘‘I need to talk to you about something. Something important. Not here, though,’’ he said, slanting a glance to his sister. ‘‘Later.’’
‘‘Take her out of the room,’’ Deirdre said. ‘‘I’ll stay with Lord Lincolnshire.’’ When he hesitated, she added, ‘‘Go,’’ and waved a hand. ‘‘Lord Stafford said he might last the whole night. Nothing will be happening in a few minutes.’’
After hesitating a moment more, Sean took Corinna’s arm and drew her out and down the corridor. But when he turned to her, he didn’t say anything. He just looked at her, his heart in his deep green eyes.
‘‘What is it?’’ she asked. Remembering he’d called her
sweetheart
and
my heart
and
my love
, she raised a hand to his cheek. ‘‘You look so sad.’’
‘‘I am sad.’’ Turning his face, he raised his own hand to hold hers to his mouth and pressed a warm kiss to her palm before releasing it. ‘‘I’m very sad, Corinna. I cannot do this standing outside Lincolnshire’s bedroom. Will you meet me at Hamilton’s studio one last time?’’
‘‘Of course.’’ She’d soothe his sadness then, show him how much she loved him. She’d kiss him and more, and . . . He was right: None of that could happen here. But sad as she was herself at losing Lord Lincolnshire, her heart started galloping at the thought of meeting him. ‘‘What time?’’
‘‘In an hour,’’ he said, and then: ‘‘No. I need to stay with Lincolnshire right now. I’d never forgive myself if he—’’
‘‘I understand.’’ He looked tortured. ‘‘James said Lord Lincolnshire wouldn’t last the night, and you need to be with him until then. And I need to submit my portrait later this afternoon. How about tomorrow?’’
‘‘That’s too long . . . but all right.’’
‘‘I don’t want to wait that long, either.’’ It seemed so very long since they’d last been together. Only two and a half days since he’d last held her in his arms, but it felt like forever.
‘‘Shall we say ten o’clock?’’ he asked.
‘‘All the ladies are visiting Aunt Frances tomorrow at eleven, but I can—’’
‘‘Let’s make it in the afternoon, then.’’ He shut his eyes briefly, then opened them with a sigh. ‘‘This will probably be best,’’ he said as though trying to convince himself. ‘‘I’ll spend the morning making arrangements for Lincolnshire’s funeral.’’
‘‘But you won’t need to play his nephew once he’s gone,’’ she said, then clapped a hand over her mouth.
He glanced quickly around, but fortunately no servants had overheard. Looking relieved, he ran his hands slowly down her arms, then linked his fingers with hers, lacing them together. ‘‘I owe him that, Corinna,’’ he said softly. ‘‘And who else is going to do it?’’
He was such a good man. And he looked even more tortured. The rush of happiness she’d felt at the thought of spending time with him seemed suddenly overshadowed by his distress.
She couldn’t kiss him here outside Lincolnshire’s bedroom,but she threw her arms around him, holding him tight. ‘‘This will all be over soon,’’ she murmured against his chest, thinking much better times lay ahead.
‘‘Yes,’’ he said in a flat tone. ‘‘It will.’’

 

Chapter Forty-two
Half an hour later, Griffin found himself on Lady Avonleigh’s doorstep again. In the
morning
.
The ancient butler opened the door. ‘‘Yes?’’ he croaked.
‘‘I’ve come to call on Lady Avonleigh,’’ Rachael said.
He cleared his throat. ‘‘She’s left the house, milady.’’
‘‘I don’t believe this!’’ She turned to Griffin. ‘‘We should have come earlier.’’
He’d picked her up at nine o’clock, and now it was half past. ‘‘How much earlier could we have come?’’ He’d been sure they’d be dragging poor Lady A from her bed. In his experience, ladies slept until at least ten. Except Corinna, who slept until at least noon. ‘‘What time does Lady Avonleigh rise?’’ he asked the old geezer at the door.
‘‘Six o’clock,’’ Lady Balmforth said, apparently having overheard them and come to see what was up. She looked curious. ‘‘When you get to a certain age, dearie, you won’t sleep late in the morning, either.’’
‘‘Good morning, Lady Balmforth,’’ Rachael said before swinging to him again. ‘‘I told you we should have come earlier.’’
‘‘We’ll come earlier tomorrow.’’ With any luck, he wouldn’t receive another surprise summons from Lincolnshire.
‘‘I’m not waiting until tomorrow. We’ll wait here today.’’
Yesterday he’d been willing to wait, and she hadn’t wanted to. Today he’d assumed she wanted to leave, but she wanted to wait. He would never understand women. ‘‘Fine,’’ he said, ‘‘we’ll wait.’’
‘‘Well, maybe we shouldn’t wait.’’ She turned to Lady B. ‘‘When will Lady Avonleigh be back?’’
‘‘It was Aurelia’s turn to assist our James today at his Institute,’’ Lady B said. ‘‘Then she’s accompanying Lady Corinna to the Royal Academy this afternoon.’’
‘‘Oh, damn,’’ Rachael said softly, making the older woman’s eyes widen at her language. ‘‘I’d forgotten about that. The two of them planned that right in front of me, too, when we were visiting Lady Malmsey and the new baby.’’
Lady B briefly touched Rachael’s hand. ‘‘My sister will be at home for a short while in between. She told our nephew she had to leave before luncheon.’’ The skinny lady leaned closer. ‘‘Aurelia never likes to miss her luncheon.’’
Griffin had guessed as much.
‘‘What did you want to talk to my sister about?’’ Lady B asked, looking very curious. ‘‘Is it important?’’
Rachael nodded. ‘‘Very. But I . . . well . . . you’re welcome to listen, but I’d rather wait until Lady Avonleigh is here to talk about it.’’
Lady Balmforth looked even more curious. ‘‘If it’s that important, perhaps you ought to send Lady Corinna a note, saying she should find someone else to accompany her to Somerset House.’’
‘‘That’s an excellent idea,’’ Rachael said, ‘‘but I think
you
need to write the note. That way Corinna won’t be suspicious about what I’m doing with Lady Avonleigh.’’
‘‘She’s not going to be suspicious,’’ Griffin said.
‘‘Yes, she is. Your sisters aren’t stupid, Griffin.’’
‘‘Why don’t you just tell them the truth?’’
‘‘I’m still not ready,’’ Rachael said.
And Lady Balmforth looked very, very curious. ‘‘I think we’d better send for Cornelia, too,’’ she said.
 
At one o’clock, Corinna came downstairs with a footman trailing behind carrying her painting, which she’d framed—by borrowing one off a family portrait—and wrapped in brown paper. ‘‘I need a hackney coach,’’ she told Adamson, their butler. ‘‘My brother took the carriage, and I must pick up Lady Avonleigh.’’
Adamson was a very short man, but he prided himself on being quite dignified and proper. ‘‘I don’t know if that is wise, Lady Corinna.’’
‘‘It is necessary. Please hail a hackney.’’
‘‘Lord Cainewood has been gone since the morning. It is likely he will be home soon.’’
She was early, true. It wouldn’t take an hour to reach Lady A’s house, and the woman had said two o’clock. But she was too anxious to wait. ‘‘Hail a hackney,’’ she repeated, and paused before adding, ‘‘now.’’
He hemmed and hawed and clucked his tongue, clearly reluctant to put Lord Cainewood’s sister in a hackney coach. Corinna crossed her arms, knowing he would eventually comply. But before that happened, the knocker banged, and Adamson opened the door to reveal a messenger with a letter.
‘‘Ah,’’ the butler said, looking not at all displeased to have an excuse to put off hailing a cab. ‘‘It’s directed to you, Lady Corinna.’’
She grabbed it and broke the seal, swiftly scanning the missive.
 
My Dear Lady Corinna,
I am sorry to inform you that circumstances prevent my sister, Lady Avonleigh, from accompanying you to the Royal Academy this afternoon. Unfortunately, I cannotdo so in her place. Please accept my sincerest apologies.
Yours sincerely,
Lady Balmforth
 
‘‘Circumstances? What is that supposed to mean?’’ Corinna sighed. ‘‘It seems I need paper instead of a hackney. I must send a note to Alexandra.’’

 

Chapter Forty-three
‘‘I don’t really know where to begin, Lady Avonleigh.’’ Rachael hadn’t expected to be nervous. But now that Lady A was finally home and they were all seated in her peach drawing room, she didn’t know what to say.
Sitting across from her in a peach wing chair, Lady A gave her a kind smile. ‘‘Through the years I’ve learned what’s important. Both my sisters are here, and I just came from seeing James, which means all the people I love most are healthy. I cannot imagine anything you could tell me that could be so terribly bad.’’
‘‘Oh, it isn’t bad.’’ Rachael clenched her hands in her lap. ‘‘At least, I’m hoping you won’t think it’s bad. I’m hoping you’ll think—’’
‘‘Say it already,’’ Griffin interjected, sitting on the sofa beside her. He’d seemed a bit annoyed that they’d had to wait so long, but that was his fault; if they’d come early, as she’d wanted to, they wouldn’t have had to wait at all. ‘‘Good God, I’ve never seen you so flustered. You’re always so levelheaded and composed.’’
Was that what he thought? She’d never felt that way inside. But she rather liked him having that opinion of her. And he was right: She needed to just say it.
‘‘You’re my grandmother,’’ she told Lady Avonleigh in a rush. ‘‘I’m Georgiana’s daughter.’’
Lady A looked at her. Her face went rather white, and from across the room she just looked at Rachael, making her feel very uneasy. It was rather awkward, really. She’d been picturing Lady Avonleigh welcoming her with open arms. She’d been picturing them shopping together.
Griffin leaned closer. ‘‘Maybe she’s a bit peeved because she hasn’t had her luncheon yet,’’ he whispered.
Rachael was about to elbow him when Lady Balmforth finally broke the silence. ‘‘You cannot be Georgiana’s daughter,’’ she said, not unkindly. ‘‘Our Georgiana jumped off the London Bridge.’’
‘‘She must have just pretended to jump off the London Bridge and then run away and married my father. I mean, not my real father, but the man who raised me.’’
The awkward silence resumed. Rachael looked back to Lady A, but her grandmother was still just looking at her. No matter how much she wanted to be welcomed with open arms, it was clear that wasn’t going to happen. Griffin wrapped one of his own arms around her shoulders, and she leaned into him, taking the comfort he offered, forgiving him for being annoyed and saying the stupid things men often said.
‘‘Who is that, dear?’’ Lady Cavanaugh asked. ‘‘Who was the father who raised you?’’

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