‘‘John Chase,’’ Rachael replied. ‘‘The Earl of Greystone.’’
And Lady Avonleigh suddenly came to life. ‘‘What did you say?’’
‘‘John Chase, the Earl—’’
‘‘Oh, my goodness!’’ she squealed, and then she rose from her chair and rushed over to the sofa and welcomed Rachael with open arms. Probably the most welcoming arms Rachael had ever felt. They clung together, and Rachael inhaled her grandmother’s gardenia perfume, remembering her mother smelling the same.
Griffin moved to Lady A’s chair so she could share the sofa with her granddaughter. Tears ran down both their faces, and they just held on to each other for a good long while. Until Lady B leaned over and tapped her older sister on the shoulder.
‘‘What convinced you?’’ she demanded.
‘‘My daughter was in love with John Chase,’’ Lady A said tearily. She released Rachael, but still held her hand tightly. ‘‘My husband and I wouldn’t let her marry him.’’
‘‘That’s right!’’ Lady C exclaimed. ‘‘I’d forgotten.’’
The whole story came out.
John Cartwright had been a second son. While a young man in the army before his marriage, a man named Thomas Grimstead had saved his life on a battlefield in Germany during the Seven Years’ War. Cartwright had granted the man a boon, and Grimstead wanted his newborn son married to the aristocrat’s firstborn daughter. After Cartwright’s older brother died, he’d sold out of the military and become the Earl of Avonleigh and married Aurelia. They’d had a daughter, Alice, who was promised to Grimstead’s son. And a son, who’d sadly drowned at twenty-one, and another daughter, Georgiana.
‘‘How did Georgiana end up married to Grimstead,’’ Griffin asked, ‘‘if Alice was promised to him?’’
‘‘Alice fell in love with her cousin,’’ Lady A explained. ‘‘Her father forbade her to marry him, but they eloped to Gretna Green. Then my husband cut her out of our lives. I’ve heard she eventually died, but I’ve never really known what happened to her—’’
‘‘I know!’’ Rachael said. ‘‘I knew Aunt Alice. We saw her all the time. I know what happened to her. She had a child before she died, a little boy named Edmund.’’ She wouldn’t tell Lady A that the child had been crippled and unable to talk. Not now, at least. ‘‘After that, Mama raised Edmund, but he, too, died a few years later.’’
Her grandmother’s eyes glazed with tears. ‘‘Was she happy in her marriage, my Alice?’’
‘‘I think so. I was young when she passed away, but she never seemed unhappy to me.’’ Even though having Edmund must have been heartbreaking. ‘‘She and Mama visited often. They loved each other very much. And I loved Aunt Alice, too.’’ She squeezed her grandmother’s hand. ‘‘Go on, please.’’
But it seemed Lady A couldn’t. ‘‘I’m so happy to know Alice and Georgiana were together,’’ she whispered, and waved her free hand toward her sisters.
With a teary smile, Lady C took over the story. ‘‘After Alice failed to follow through with the betrothal, Georgiana was next in line. When she turned eighteen, she begged for one London Season before marrying Grimstead—’’
‘‘I never had been able to deny her anything,’’ Lady A interrupted. ‘‘Georgiana was the sweetest child.’’
‘‘I’m sure she was,’’ Rachael said. Maybe Georgiana had lied to her—a lie by omission—but she’d loved Rachael and her siblings dearly. Georgiana had been a wonderful mother. In the past months, it seemed she’d forgotten that. ‘‘She loved you, too, Lady Avon—’’
‘‘Grandmama. Please call me Grandmama.’’
Rachael’s heart swelled. ‘‘She loved you, too, Grandmama. She always wore gardenia perfume. I think that must have been because she missed you. Did she meet my father that Season?’’
Her grandmother waved a hand again, overtaken by emotion.
‘‘That’s when she met John Chase, yes,’’ Lady B said. ‘‘She begged to marry him, but my sister’s husband wouldn’t hear of it. He’d made a promise and had no other daughters left to satisfy his debt to the man who had saved his life. Georgiana hadn’t seen her sister in seven years, and she didn’t want to disobey her parents and end up estranged like Alice. So she reluctantly agreed to go through with the ceremony.’’
‘‘That sounds like Mama,’’ Rachael said. ‘‘What happened then?’’
Her grandmother was recovered enough to continue. ‘‘Grimstead took a leave of absence to wed her, and got her with child right away. Then he went back to his regiment, and Georgiana came home to London to live with us.’’ Her voice dropped. ‘‘She didn’t love him, so she didn’t mind, really, and she was so looking forward to having her baby.’’
‘‘Me,’’ Rachael whispered.
‘‘Yes. And then she received a letter saying her husband had been executed for treason. No details. She was furious with us, I’m afraid, for making her abandon her love and wed a traitor. She wrote a suicide note and jumped off the London Bridge, taking her baby with her. Her body was never found.’’
‘‘Because she didn’t jump off the London Bridge,’’ Griffin said, ‘‘no matter that the note said she would. She ran to the countryside and married John Chase instead.’’
They could only guess what had happened after that. She hadn’t wanted her child to grow up as the son or daughter of a traitor. She’d claimed she was Georgiana Woodby, a commoner, and stayed far away from London in order to avoid ever seeing her parents. Far away from any social situation, to avoid running into anyone she might have known in her previous life.
‘‘Did she have asthma?’’ Rachael asked.
‘‘Not at all,’’ Lady Avonleigh said. ‘‘She was the healthiest of all my children.’’
‘‘I thought so,’’ Rachael said with a sigh. ‘‘So no one ever learned what had become of my real father. How he came to be labeled a traitor.’’ She sighed again, but supposed it wasn’t all that important. She’d been making much too much of the whole thing. Her mother had only wanted to protect her from being tainted by her father’s shame, and she had new family now, and—
‘‘Oh, I know what happened,’’ her grandmother said. ‘‘After my younger daughter’s death, I paid a visit to Grimstead’s father.’’
‘‘My grandfather? I met him at the Royal Hospital. But—’’
‘‘He’s lost his mind, poor man, yes. But I talked to him a long time before that.’’ Lady Avonleigh— Grandmama—shifted on the sofa to face Rachael and took her other hand. ‘‘It wasn’t all that bad, my dear. If Georgiana had known, she might have forgiven him. Although I suspect she would never have loved him. She was in love with John Chase.’’
Rachael’s parents—the two she’d grown up with—had been very much in love. No matter how angry she’d been with her mother, she’d never forgotten that. ‘‘What did Grimstead do?’’ she asked. ‘‘What did he do that wasn’t so bad?’’
‘‘It was during the war against the colonies in North America, just six years after Georgiana was born. He was much older than she was, you see—probably another reason she preferred Chase. In any event, he and a fellow soldier, one William Smith, killed a British officer to keep him from murdering a number of American civilians. They managed to convince the authorities that the man was shot by a revolutionary. And all was well for twelve years, until Smith fell ill in 1792 and revealed in a deathbed confession that the two of them had killed the officer.’’
‘‘But if they killed him to save innocent people,’’ Rachael said, looking to Griffin, ‘‘the officer might have been a bad man. They might have done a good thing.’’
‘‘That officer probably was a bad man,’’ Griffin said sympathetically. ‘‘But that wouldn’t matter. If Grimstead killed a superior, he’d have been arrested, court- martialed, and convicted—regardless of how bad the man had been.’’
‘‘It doesn’t signify,’’ Lady A said. ‘‘Not now. Instead of being sorry for everything that happened, let’s just be glad we’ve found each other.’’ She squeezed Rachael’s hands, and her smile reminded Rachael of her mother. ‘‘I have a granddaughter.’’
‘‘You have three granddaughters,’’ Rachael said. ‘‘Don’t forget Claire and Elizabeth. They’re Georgiana’s daughters, too.’’ Watching her grandmother’s soft blue eyes widen, she added, ‘‘And you’ve a grandson as well. Our brother, Noah.’’ Lady A was holding her hands so tightly, her own were beginning to hurt. But she didn’t care. Her mother had only wanted to protect her, and her father most likely hadn’t really done wrong, and Grandmama had welcomed her with open arms.
‘‘I cannot wait to see your sisters and brother again.’’ Lady B’s smile resembled Georgiana’s, too. Rachael wondered how she’d never noticed. ‘‘I’m their aunt, you know,’’ Lady B added. ‘‘And yours. And so is Cornelia.’’
Lady C, being the youngest, looked closest to her mother of all. ‘‘I never had a daughter,’’ she said. ‘‘I’m so happy that now I’ll have nieces again. And a nephew, too. Oh, my.’’
‘‘My sisters are out with Noah at present,’’ Rachael told her new family. ‘‘They’re helping him choose a new desk. But they should be at home later, so we can all go tell them our good news.’’
There were numerous murmurs of agreement to that plan.
‘‘Maybe we’ll all go shopping,’’ Grandmama suggested. ‘‘I want to spoil my grandchildren. But first, let’s have luncheon.’’
Chapter Forty-four
Corinna paced the foyer, watching the clock tick toward the hour when it would be too late to submit her painting. Two hours earlier, the messenger she’d dispatched to Alexandra’s house had returned with the news that her eldest sister wasn’t at home. Corinna had then sent a desperate note to Juliana and another to Rachael, Claire, and Elizabeth.
Since then she’d heard nothing. Nothing. Nothing at all.
‘‘What is taking them all so long?’’
‘‘Pardon, my lady?’’
‘‘Nothing, Adamson.’’ She paused midpace. ‘‘No, not nothing,’’ she revised, glancing at the tall-case clock once again. It was four o’clock, and she had to get to Somerset House by five, or she’d have to wait a whole year for another chance to submit to the Summer Exhibition. ‘‘Hail a hackney, now, please. I shall have to take a footman. I cannot wait any longer.’’
Adamson opened his mouth to protest, but the knocker banged once again. He opened the door to reveal another messenger with a note—and Juliana out in the street, just alighting from the Stafford carriage.
‘‘Thank God,’’ Corinna breathed. ‘‘I won’t need a hackney after all. Adamson, do please see my painting put in the Stafford carriage immediately. And carefully. The paper shouldn’t be allowed to touch the paint, because it’s still not dry.’’
The butler handed her the note. ‘‘It’s for you, Lady Corinna. Do you not want to read it?’’
‘‘Oh, very well.’’ She broke the seal and scanned it as Juliana joined her on the doorstep. ‘‘None of the cousins are at home, either,’’ she said with little surprise.
‘‘Either?’’ Juliana echoed.
‘‘Alexandra wasn’t home, and neither is Griffin. And Lady A and Lady B are both busy this afternoon. And apparently Rachael, Claire, and Elizabeth are all busy, too. I’m grateful you could accompany me. Let’s go.’’
‘‘Everyone else was busy? Everyone? Dear heavens, what are the odds of such a coincidence?’’
‘‘I don’t know, but I can’t think about that now. We’ll find out tomorrow when we all visit Aunt Frances and the baby.’’ She ushered her sister toward the carriage, where the painting was already tucked inside. ‘‘I must get to the Royal Academy before five o’clock.’’
They settled against the squabs, side by side facing forward, with the painting leaning against the other seat. As the carriage lurched into traffic, Juliana patted her sister’s knee. ‘‘You aren’t nervous, are you?’’
‘‘No,’’ Corinna lied. ‘‘Just rushed. I feared no one would get here in time to accompany me. You weren’t arriving, and the cousins live all the way in Lincoln’s Inn—’’
‘‘Mr. Delaney is right nearby. Did you think to ask him?’’
‘‘I couldn’t.’’
‘‘Why is that?’’
‘‘Lord Lincolnshire is dying, and he has to stay with him. And besides, I couldn’t let him see the painting.’’
‘‘Why is that?’’
Holy Hannah, why had she said
that
? The frustrating afternoon had evidently robbed her ability to think straight.
‘‘Why?’’ Juliana demanded. ‘‘You’re hiding something, Corinna; I can tell.’’
There was nothing for it. Her sister would never give up badgering her, and if her painting was accepted, everyone was going to see it in the Summer Exhibition, anyway.
Corinna drew and held a breath. ‘‘Have a look,’’ she finally said, reaching across to tear off the brown paper. Or rather, to tear a corner. She seemed to have trouble doing any more. ‘‘It’s not varnished,’’ she said.
Juliana shrugged. ‘‘Is it not?’’
‘‘If it’s accepted, if it is hung, I’ll get a chance to make last minute changes and then varnish it right there on the wall.’’
‘‘All right.’’ Juliana nodded. ‘‘So . . . ?’’
‘‘Very well,’’ Corinna said, and ripped the rest of the paper off.
Juliana’s eyes widened. ‘‘Oh, my goodness.’’
‘‘Is that all you have to say?’’
‘‘It’s . . . well, it’s different.’’ She stared at the painting. ‘‘Nudes of women are fairly common, of course, but not of men.’’