by Darcy Burke
“You will. I’ll find them all employment.”
“Better positions?”
“Better positions than they have now.”
“Before I’m gone?”
“Before you’re gone, Uncle. This I promise.”
One promise he could keep. One promise he would keep.
The man nodded, apparently satisfied. “Now, as to you two.”
Deirdre’s eyes widened again. “What now?”
“I want to see you dance…at the Billingsgate ball…on Saturday.”
TWENTY-ONE
APPLE PUFFS
Pare the fruit and bake them. When cold, mixe the pulp of the Apple with Sugar and lemon-peel shred fine, taking as little of the Apple-juice as you can. Orange marmalade is a great improvement. Put in paste with a little Sugar inside and on top. Bake in a quick oven a quarter hour until browne.
The homely apple is always dependable. Serve at family gatherings to assure harmony.
—Helena, Countess of Greystone, 1776
“A lovely first vintage.” Lamplight glinted off deep ruby as Alexandra held up her glass on Tuesday night, toasting her brother during their family dinner at his Berkeley Square town house. “You did it, Griffin.”
Her husband smiled. “A toast to England’s newest wine producer.”
“I don’t know that wine producer is an appropriate description.” Griffin grinned at his brother-in-law. Tristan had helped him save Cainewood’s ailing vineyard. “Doesn’t that imply producing enough wine that we could actually sell some of it? We’ll probably polish off this year’s entire production within a week. Perhaps tonight.”
Alexandra laughed. “You’ll make more next year, and still more the year after that. Eventually there will be enough to sell.”
“Charles would be proud,” Juliana said.
Charles, their eldest brother, had planted the vines when he was the marquess. But he hadn’t lived to see them bear fruit. Two years ago, when Charles died of consumption, Griffin had been forced to leave the cavalry. To come home to take Charles’s place. To accept Charles’s title. He’d also found himself saddled with the care of three unmarried sisters, a hodgepodge of mainly unprofitable properties, and a field full of dying grapevines.
Today the vines were thriving, he’d overhauled the family estate, and two of his sisters were happily wed. Not bad, Griffin thought, relishing a sip of the wine he’d helped create.
One by one, all of the pieces of his life were falling into place. Now he had only to find a husband for Corinna and puzzle out the mystery of Rachael’s parenthood. He was making good progress on the latter. Having heard from his man today, he looked forward to giving Rachael the news when he saw her at the Billingsgate ball on Saturday.
Corinna, however, was another matter altogether.
Paint, paint, paint…all she ever wanted to do was paint. She clearly had little interest in finding a husband. He’d introduced her to countless fine young men, and though on the surface she seemed to cooperate, she always danced and smiled and moved on, never giving any of them a second thought.
All he wanted was her happiness. And girls were happier married, weren’t they? But lately it seemed Corinna paid attention to just one gentleman. He’d be decent husband material, Griffin supposed—a little old, but wealthy, single, and kind…
If only he were expected to last out the week.
“Corinna has been spending a lot of time with Lord Lincolnshire,” he commented as Juliana served the apple puffs Alexandra had brought for dessert.
“I’m painting Lord Lincolnshire’s portrait. I hope to submit it for the Summer Exhibition.”
Juliana put another puff on a plate and moved to bring it to her husband, James. “How is the poor dear?” she asked.
“Well enough, under the circumstances. He seems to be holding his own.” Corinna paused for a sip of wine. “He’s very happy to have his nephew keeping him company.”
“His nephew?” James asked.
“Yes, his nephew,” Corinna said pointedly.
“Hmm?” James frowned, but then his face cleared. “Oh, you mean Mr. Delaney.”
Griffin cocked his head. “Who is Mr. Delaney?”
Juliana paused with the plate hovering over James, apparently torn between setting it before him or dropping it on his head. “That was a secret,” she said between gritted teeth.
“Oh.” He winced. “You didn’t tell me.”
Corinna glared daggers at her sister. “Why on earth did you tell him?”
“We don’t keep secrets.” Juliana wrung her hands with remorse. “We promised before our wedding.”
“Well, when you tell a secret, you could at least tell that it is a secret!”
“I’m sorry,” Juliana squeaked.
“Who is Mr. Delaney?” Griffin demanded.
Everyone else exchanged glances with each other, their expressions showing various levels of panic.
Corinna looked most anxious of all, so Griffin settled on her. ”What the devil is this about?”
She gulped. “Well…the gentleman you met at Lady Partridge’s ball—the one introduced to you as John Hamilton—is actually Mr. Hamilton’s brother-in-law, Sean Delaney. Mr. Hamilton asked him—”
“Blackmailed him,” Alexandra interrupted.
“Well, yes. He blackmailed him into posing as himself. As John Hamilton, I mean. Lord Lincolnshire’s nephew. But now he’s having second thoughts, even though it’s the right thing, and—”
“I beg your pardon?” Griffin cut in.
None of this made sense. The name, Sean Delaney, seemed familiar. Yet the gentleman introduced as John Hamilton at Lady Partridge’s ball hadn’t seemed familiar at all. In fact, Griffin was certain he’d never set eyes on that fellow before in his life.
More confused than ever, he swung toward his old friend Tristan. “Did you know about this, too?”
“Not all of it.” Looking down, Tristan speared a bite. “And only for a short while.”
“A short while,” Griffin growled.
“You told your husband, too?” Corinna turned her glare on Alexandra.
Alexandra released an exasperated sigh. “The apple puffs aren’t working.”
“Come again?” Tristan asked.
“They’re supposed to assure harmonious family gatherings.”
Tristan and James both looked amused. Griffin wasn’t. “Would someone please explain—”
“Excuse me a moment,” Juliana interrupted. “And don’t you dare discuss anything in my absence. I’ll be right back.”
While she was visiting the water closet, or wherever else she might have rushed off to—Juliana was a girl, so her brother didn’t dare inquire—Griffin shoveled apple puff into his mouth and fumed.
Everyone seemed to know what was going on except for him.
“Explain,” he demanded when she returned. “And don’t leave anything out.”
Between them, with much jumbled 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 threaten his sister’s divorce, but it would also upset poor Lord Lincolnshire.”
“I don’t know,” Griffin grated out. His sisters’ hearts seemed in the right place, but none of this sat quite right with him. “I don’t like tricking that kindly old man.”
“You’re not the one tricking him,” Juliana said. “You’re only allowing someone else to trick him.”
“Which is nearly as bad. And certainly not honorable.”
Alexandra shook her head. “Caring for Lord Lincolnshire’s happiness is the very definition of honor.”
“It’s lying,” Griffin said flatly.
Now Corinna shook her head. “It’s only failing to reveal the truth.”
Girls and their illogical logic.
Griffin was opening
his mouth to say as much when a footman stepped into the dining room. “A caller, my lord. A Mr. Sean Delaney.”
“What a coincidence,” Griffin said. “Show him in.”
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’s something we need to discuss.”
“So that’s what you were doing when you went off.” Tristan said. “I wondered.”
James shrugged. “I thought she was visiting the water closet.”
“We should have guessed,” Griffin muttered. “It’s Juliana, after all.”
Both his brothers-in-law nodded in agreement. They well knew Juliana.
When Mr. Delaney walked in, Corinna motioned to a footman to fetch him a chair, then scooted over so it could be placed beside her own.
A tall young 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, my lord.”
The fellow had a distinct Irish accent, and Griffin hadn’t come across 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.” Now Griffin remembered seeing the name on the contract. “A tumbledown boardinghouse near Lincoln’s Inn Fields, it was. 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 were holding back a grin. Or a smirk. ”That tumbledown boardinghouse is now a beautifully restored 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 persuade 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 thought him a quick-witted fellow. 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 stubborn Chase ladies against two hapless gentlemen was nowhere near a fair match.
TWENTY-TWO
“Very handsome gentleman,” Juliana commented as Corinna came off the Billingsgates’ dance floor Saturday night. “Who is he? Have you kissed him?”
“I cannot remember his name. Lord Stonehurst, or maybe Lord Brickhaven? Something to do with building materials.” Corinna watched the young man walk away, expecting Griffin to bring another one by at any moment. “And no, I didn’t kiss him,” she added. “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. 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 awful truth was that since she’d started kissing Sean, she hadn’t wanted to kiss anyone else.
Which meant that for the last three days, she’d been rudely deprived of kissing altogether. 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, thwarting her usual morning 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 and make up for lost time.
The odd thing was, normally when one of her favorites was making himself scarce, she’d lose interest and move on to someone else. But tonight she couldn’t seem to muster even a thimbleful of admiration for any other gentleman. It seemed she belonged to Sean in a sense, or he to her.
For now.
It was just a bit of harmless fun, after all.
But perhaps that was what made it so thrilling—the illicit and fleeting nature of their relationship made her feel like a true, free-spirited artist. All this passion and yearning was sure to enhance her work! Hopefully it was already serving to improve Lord Lincolnshire’s portrait.
Although, she couldn’t say she’d been feeling particularly passionate while painting it. But maybe it wasn’t a conscious thing?
In any case, she felt just like a Minerva Press heroine caught up in a torrid affair, and she was enjoying herself immensely. Especially now that the danger of the moony eyes had passed. She hadn’t mooned even once since that day in the salon. She was completely in control.
And even if she wasn’t…
Well, yesterday she’d casually—just out of curiosity—asked Griffin what he thought of Mr. Delaney, and he’d said he was impressed with the fellow’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.
Which didn’t mean she wanted to marry Sean. She didn’t. It just meant that she maybe could. If, one day—after she’d accomplished everything she’d set out to do with her art—she happened to change her mind.
It was just nice to have options, that was all.
Thinking of her brother made her realize he seemed to have abandoned the Billingsgate ballroom. For now, at least, he wasn’t shoving any potential suitors at her. She relaxed a little bit. “Do you know where Griffin went off to?” she asked her sister.
“I don’t. Who is that woman?” Juliana gestured 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 stumble. “That’s Deirdre,” Corinna whispered. “His sister. We were introduced earlier this week, but I haven’t found 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 that was a good idea, since Sean feared his sister might slip up and give them away in front of Lord Lincolnshire. But she had no choice. In her usual decisive manner, Juliana was already heading their way.
“Lady Corinna!” he wheezed when they arrived, grinning up at her from his wheelchair. “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 her divorce.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Juliana told Deirdre.
“It’s 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 his sister about her. But then she realized it was probably Lord Lincolnshire who’d done the talking. She was painting him, after all, and he was rather thrilled about 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 a
sk?”
“A landscape,” Sean said.
“A landscape!” Lady Ainsworth’s loud guffaw drew more people to their circle. Apparently 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 arched brows at the moment. “You’ve seen it?”
“I have.” Corinna smiled at Lady Hartshorn’s obvious envy. “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 tend to 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 indignantly. “I don’t recall seeing any trees in Allegory of Shadow. Its central subject is a stone circle, isn’t it? 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.”