‘‘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, 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 will 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 . . . understanding 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.
Chapter Forty-nine
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 started.
Just as he’d predicted, she thought now with a heavy-hearted sigh.
For the past two days, lines 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!
But although she’d known Sean was right and there was no way they could be together, some small part of her must have been holding out hope, because somehow she’d managed to get through those two days without completely falling apart. She’d buried herself in her art, locked herself in her room, and fixed Lord Lincolnshire’s portrait. That had kept her from thinking too much and from facing her brother or anyone else. The picture was finished, and she’d brought it over this morning while Griffin was away at the funeral.
Lord Lincolnshire’s house steward, Mr. Higginbotham, had praised the portrait mightily and promised to find somewhere to hang it immediately. Unaware at the time of the trouble brewing in Westminster Abbey, he’d also praised ‘‘Mr. Hamilton,’’ telling her each of the staff had received letters that morning with details of their new assignments, to begin Monday.
After she’d left, Mr. Higginbotham had hung the portrait in the yellow drawing room, on the wall behind the armchair where Lord Lincolnshire had been sitting when Corinna first offered to paint it. She stared at it now, thinking it seemed the right place for it. Above the chair like that, it almost seemed as though the dear earl were still sitting there. The portrait was mounted beside a Rembrandt, and it should have been a thrill to see one of her own paintings next to an old master.
But she hadn’t the capacity to feel thrilled when everything else had gone so very wrong.
Even Mr. Higginbotham was scandalized now. A few minutes earlier, when she’d asked him where to find the painting, he’d been sputtering with indignation. From this day forward, Sean would be shunned by society, and that meant she could never see him again without ruining her family. That seemed the only thing that mattered. She didn’t know yet whether her picture had been accepted for the Summer Exhibition, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.
‘‘Corinna?’’
Hearing footsteps behind her, she turned to see Griffin enter the room, holding a glass of liquor the color of raw sienna pigment.
‘‘What are you doing in here all alone?’’ He came to a stop before her, his gaze drifting up to the painting over her head. ‘‘Isn’t that the portrait you did of Lord Lincolnshire?’’ When she didn’t answer, he looked back down to her. ‘‘I thought you submitted it for the Summer Exhibition.’’
‘‘Obviously I didn’t. I submitted something else.’’
‘‘Really?’’ Sipping, he looked curious. ‘‘What?’’
A picture of the man she loved, the man she’d lost. That thought brought a flood of pain. As she couldn’t tell her brother she loved Sean, instead she lashed out at him. ‘‘Why should you care what I submitted? All you’re concerned with is getting me married off!’’
‘‘That’s not true, Corinna. All I’m concerned with is your happiness. I want to see you happy.’’
He looked hurt, and that made her hurt even more. ‘‘Well, you have an odd way of showing it,’’ she cried, tears flooding her eyes. She couldn’t take this anymore.
Not any of it.
Pushing past him, she ran from the room, out into the entrance hall. The grand, pillared area was crowded with people dressed in black—people gossiping—people drinking up the contents of Lord Lincolnshire’s liquor cabinet while vilifying the man she loved.
Their faces blurred as she headed for the front door, her brother at her heels.
‘‘Griffin!’’ Rachael said as he shoved a glass at her. ‘‘Where are you going?’’
‘‘After my sister!’’ Having passed Rachael already, he wove through the mass of guests. ‘‘I’m going home,’’ he called back.
Rachael watched him follow Corinna at a run, then just stood there for a moment, feeling a bit dazed. She raised the glass to her lips and took a sip, hoping whatever was in it would be bracing.
Brandy. It burned a path down her throat, felt warm in her stomach. She sipped again.
Juliana walked up. ‘‘Where did Griffin go off to?’’
‘‘He went after Corinna. I believe he was concerned for her well-being. He seems more responsible than I remember.’’
Her cousin smiled. ‘‘You seem to like him much more than you used to.’’
Rachael shrugged a shoulder—casually, she hoped. ‘‘I guess he’s changed over the years.’’
‘‘Yes, he has. He would make an excellent husband now, don’t you think?’’
‘‘For someone else,’’ she said warily.
‘‘For you. I think you two would rub along wonderfully together.’’
‘‘He’s my cousin. You know I won’t marry a cousin.’’
‘‘Rachael . . .’’
Juliana glanced away, her gaze sweeping the thronged entrance hall. Her husband was talking to Alexandra and Tristan, and Rachael’s sisters and Noah were in the salon. Apparently satisfied that no one important was watching, she took Rachael’s arm and drew her into the room Griffin and Corinna had vacated.
‘‘I know your secret,’’ she said in a low voice.
Feeling blindsided, Rachael struggled to look normal while she sipped more brandy. ‘‘What secret?’’
‘‘I know John Chase wasn’t your father,’’ Juliana said gently. ‘‘And I know you’re Lady A’s granddaughter.’’
Rachael relaxed a little, and not just due to the brandy. Apparently her cousin
didn’t
know her real father had committed treason, or surely she would have mentioned that, too, because if there was one thing Juliana loved, it was a juicy secret like that.
And she supposed it wasn’t all that dreadful for people to know the rest. Her mother had been married when Rachael was conceived, after all—it wasn’t as though Georgiana had been carrying a bastard child when she married the Earl of Greystone. And while not being John Chase’s blood daughter was a disappointment, being Lady A’s granddaughter was a joy.
Still and all, it
had
been a secret. ‘‘Who told you?’’ she asked.
‘‘It doesn’t signify. It was an accident, not intentional, and the person I learned it from wished you no harm. But, Rachael, I . . . well, I realize you wanted it kept secret, but I thought it best to reveal I know, because there’s something you apparently
don’t
know. Or haven’t realized yet.’’
Juliana paused for effect, or maybe to give Rachael a moment to absorb what she’d already said. Because what she said next seemed somewhat confusing.
‘‘You’re not Griffin’s cousin.’’
Rachael hadn’t thought much about that, but it was true, of course. ‘‘I know we’re not blood related, since I’m not really a Chase, but . . .’’
‘‘But what?’’
‘‘He’s still family. Griffin is Griffin. My cousin. We grew up together.’’
‘‘Why should that matter? There would be no risk of you two conceiving a damaged child like your cousin Edmund, and that was your issue, was it not? You wouldn’t have to worry about having a child like that with Griffin.’’
She’d never thought about that, either. Two years ago, when Griffin had first come home from the cavalry, she’d found herself stunned by how much he had changed.
Handsome as sin personified,
she recalled thinking. The reckless, gangly youth she’d remembered had grown tall, dark, and sleekly muscled, and she’d been shaken by the sudden force of attraction she’d felt. But she’d told herself he was her cousin—not knowing any different at the time—and that had been that.
That
wasn’t
that, though, was it?
‘‘Oh, damn,’’ she finally said softly. ‘‘I’ve been such a bloody idiot.’’
‘‘We all are sometimes,’’ Juliana soothed.
But Rachael wasn’t listening. She’d shoved the glass at Juliana, her black skirts rustling as she ran from the room.
Chapter Fifty
‘‘Can I not just be sad over the loss of Lord Lincolnshire?’’
‘‘Not this sad. You’ve been hiding in this room since Tuesday.’’ Griffin gazed down at his sister lying on her bed, her back to him. Her knees were hugged to her chest. He couldn’t see her face, but she didn’t strike him as sad.
More like devastated.
‘‘I’ll miss the old man, too,’’ he added, ‘‘but it has to be more than that.’’
She heaved a sigh so pathetic it broke his heart. ‘‘All right, it’s more than that,’’ she admitted, tears in her voice. ‘‘The Summer Exhibition committee did the judging on Tuesday, and my painting wasn’t accepted.’’
‘‘Did you receive a letter saying so?’’
‘‘No. Not yet. The Exhibition won’t open until the first Monday in June, and until the Hanging Committee has finished arranging all the selections on the walls, a few pieces may be in question. So I wouldn’t expect a letter yet.’’
‘‘That’s good news, then,’’ he told her, trying to cheer her. ‘‘Acceptance must at least be a possibility. Surely they’d have sent a letter by now if the answer were a definite no.’’
‘‘You don’t know that. And I’ve heard that Mr. Hamilton—I mean,
Lord Lincolnshire
’’—this pronouncedwith a plethora of disgust—‘‘didn’t vote for any portraits.’’
‘‘He’s not the only man on the committee.’’
‘‘No, there are eight others, two of whom abhor women painters. Another three didn’t like my portrait of Lord Lincolnshire, and two more gave me no opinion at all.’’
‘‘So you’ll try again next year.’’ Griffin sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed her back. ‘‘Maybe you should sign a man’s name next time.’’
She rolled over, and the glare she gave him convinced him it had been a poor time to jest.
‘‘I’m sorry,’’ he muttered quickly.
Now that he could see it, her tear-streaked face made him feel like a complete failure as a brother. He’d known her art was important to her, but he honestly hadn’t known it meant so much that she’d be so crushed by a temporary setback. He couldn’t remember her ever being this distressed before, not even the two times he’d taken short leaves and come home when their parents had died.