Rachael took an iced cake from the plate Juliana offered. ‘‘I expect the nurse sees to the baby’s needs?’’
‘‘True,’’ Frances said wryly. ‘‘The monthly nurse 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 may be that way, too. May I hold her?’’
‘‘Of course.’’ Frances held out the baby. ‘‘Support her head.’’
‘‘I know,’’ Juliana said, taking Belinda like an expert. ‘‘I learned that with Harry.’’
Watching her sister, Alexandra smiled and cuddled her son. ‘‘Does she make you want one of your own?’’
‘‘I’m going to have one of my own,’’ Juliana said quietly. ‘‘In the winter.’’
A hush fell over the room while all of the ladies absorbed that information. 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 a hug.
Except for Corinna, who seemed riveted in place.
She was happy for her sister, but suddenly she wanted a baby of her own more than she’d thought possible.
Regardless of her protests the day Belinda was born, she’d never considered that she might not ever have a child. She’d always planned on marrying someday, after she made her mark on the art world. And while she’d never shared her brother’s urgency regarding the matter, because her art came first, now she was thinking there might have been another reason, too. It had been difficult to feel urgency when she’d never had any mental picture of the man who would father her children.
But now she did.
The man in the mental picture had dark hair and fathomless, deep green eyes. Square, masculine hands. A firm, defined chest. Rippling muscles, a disarming grin, a charming Irish accent. And Sean Delaney’s face.
She wanted Sean’s baby. He was so honorable. He would make such a wonderful 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, and she was certain no one else ever would.
Marriage to him would be unbelievably exciting. He was going to pose for her again this afternoon, and now, as she imagined him disrobing, a shimmering heat seemed to shudder through her—
‘‘Are you all right?’’ Juliana asked, interrupting her reverie. She stood in front of Corinna, looking concerned. Sometime in all the commotion, she must have handed the baby back to Frances. ‘‘You don’t look very excited.’’
Odd, considering she’d certainly felt excited at the thought of seeing Sean later. But Corinna wasn’t about to confide that to her sister. And in the back of her mind, she felt disturbed somehow, as though something bad might happen.
‘‘Of course I’m excited. And I’m thrilled for you and James and, oh, all of us.’’ Corinna forced a smile, deciding she must be more worried about fixing Lord Lincolnshire’s portrait than she’d thought. She rose and gave her sister a heartfelt hug, then sat down again. ‘‘I’m just being selfish as usual. Worrying 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 female proved 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 the kind woman had done for her, she wouldn’t think of denying her this pleasure. ‘‘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 is nothing to worry about.’’ She 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 give her such recognition,’’ she added with a sigh.
Corinna didn’t know whether Lady A’s sigh indicated happiness for her prospects or sadness for her own daughter’s failed dream. 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 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 her brother would be hovering over her all weekend, badgering her to leave the house and meet more men. ‘‘I wish I could find somewhere peaceful to paint.’’
‘‘Chelsea Physic Garden is very peaceful.’’ Juliana rubbed her belly, even though it was still flat as a canvas. ‘‘Only physicians and apothecaries can generally gain entrance, but James could obtain a ticket for you.’’
‘‘I was just in Chelsea yesterday,’’ Rachael commented rather absently. ‘‘At the Royal Hospital.’’
Corinna still felt disturbed. Maybe it would be better to change the subject. ‘‘Why is that?’’ she asked.
When Rachael looked flustered and hesitated, Claire slanted her sister a glance and then answered for her. ‘‘It was a charitable visit. Rachael 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 started toward the teapot to pour. ‘‘My younger daughter’s father-in-law is a Chelsea Pensioner. But I haven’t seen 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.’’
‘‘Brilliant observation,’’ 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 accidently 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’s wearing. Mama always loved gardenia perfume.’’ She smiled, but the expression was sad. ‘‘I think I’ll go help her pour tea.’’
As their cousin went off, Corinna nudged Juliana. ‘‘I think Lady A smells as much of camphor as gardenias.’’
‘‘I agree.’’ They shared a smile. ‘‘But as Rachael has been suffering from dampened spirits of late,’’ 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 continued feeling disturbed. As she went up to her bedroom to ready herself before meeting Sean, she told herself things weren’t that bad.
Sean was still willing to kiss her. 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 only 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.
She plopped onto her bed, suddenly realizing why she felt disturbed.
She wanted Sean’s baby more than anything. She wanted to marry him. But what if she had to elope with him in order to accomplish that?
She hoped Griffin would agree to their marriage, but what if he didn’t? Sean wasn’t anything like the men 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 aristocratic. Griffin’s saying he admired Sean and wanted his advice did not equate to an endorsement of 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 was certain of that. He was too honorable.
Now that she’d figured out why she felt disturbed, the disturbance grew. The iced cakes she’d eaten felt like they were congealing in her stomach. The tea she’d sipped was threatening to come back up.
How could she persuade Griffin to allow them to marry if he disapproved? She didn’t know. All she knew was that unless she came up with a plan, her future with Sean was very uncertain. And should Griffin discover she was meeting Sean, 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. In the interim, she wanted more of Sean’s kisses. And she couldn’t afford to be nervous about sketching him this time. If she were to have a prayer of fixing Lord Lincolnshire’s portrait, she needed to study Sean.
All
of him.
Her stomach churning with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation and who knew what else, she felt more disturbed than ever. Thinking she needed what she’d sometimes heard referred to as ‘‘Dutch courage,’’ she grabbed a bottle of her brother’s first vintage on her way out.
Chapter Thirty-five
They met in the afternoon this time, so Sean didn’t bother lighting any candles. ‘‘I’m thinking we don’t need them with all of this light,’’ he told Corinna. ‘‘Hamilton chose this place because of the north-facing windows.’’
‘‘I’ll be able to see you fine without candles,’’ she said softly. ‘‘
All
of you, I’m hoping.’’
Sweet Jesus, he was in trouble.
How on God’s green earth was he going to take off all his clothes without the two of them ending up tangled together on the sofa? It had been a close thing yesterday. Never had he come so near to going against everything he believed. And he’d removed only his shirt last time.
Now she wanted to see
all
of him.
‘‘I’m thinking you won’t see all of me at once, though,’’ he said, noticing she’d brought two glasses and a bottle of wine with her. He would have to make sure he didn’t drink much. ‘‘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 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, telling himself he needed to keep a clear head. He took a tiny sip, just to be polite.
She drank down nearly half of her own large glass. ‘‘Don’t you like the wine?’’
‘‘I like it fine. But I don’t drink very much, so I’ve never built up a tolerance.’’
‘‘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 maternal grandfather drink himself into the grave. An effective advertisement for moderation.’’
She touched his hand, a brief contact that left him wanting more. ‘‘I’m sorry.’’
He’d felt the warmth of her skin, and now he smelled her sweet floral fragrance and the slight hint of paint underneath it. He had come to love that hint of paint, because it was uniquely Corinna and he loved
her
. To keep himself from reaching for her, he abruptly sat and sipped again. ‘‘He was a happy drunk, but he never made anything of himself.’’
‘‘You’ve made a lot of yourself,’’ she said, moving to sit across from him. After draining the rest of her glass and setting it on the floor, she reached for her sketchbook. ‘‘You’re the best man I know, Sean.’’