The Hero Least Likely

by Darcy Burke

  “Three days? The thing is the size of a drawing room wall! The largest painting in the history of the Summer Exhibition, wasn’t it?”

  “When one is inspired,” Corinna said, “the image simply flows from the hand through the brush. I myself have completed a painting in a single day.” Once. One tiny painting, no more than eight inches square. Allegory of Shadow was eight feet by sixteen, at the very least. “Have you ever painted, Lady Hartshorn?”

  “No. No, I haven’t.”

  “I thought not,” Corinna said in a superior tone of voice that shut her up.

  Just then Lord Lincolnshire coughed. And coughed again.

  “Do you need something to drink, Uncle?” Sean took the back of his chair, looking not at all upset to have a route of escaping this conversation. “Let me bring you to the refreshment room.”

  Without the celebrated Mr. Hamilton as a point of focus, the gathering quickly dispersed. Shifting uneasily, Deirdre watched her brother wheel the earl off.

  “Would you like to go outside, Mrs. Hamilton?” Juliana asked her kindly. “Lord Billingsgate has a lovely garden.”

  “Oh, yes,” Deirdre said, sounding grateful. “I would like that very much.”

  “Why don’t you take her?” Juliana suggested to Corinna, her gaze straying to where her husband stood in a circle of men engaged in a heated argument. All members of Parliament, no doubt. “I think I shall rescue James by asking him for a dance.”

  Corinna nodded, taking Deirdre’s arm to steer her around the perimeter of the dance floor, toward French doors that opened to the terrace. “Thank you,” Sean’s sister breathed when they finally made it outside. “I’m thinking I don’t really belong in there, do I?”

  Corinna led her down a path where twinkling lanterns hung overhead. “Whyever would you say that?”

  “I’m a vicar’s daughter from a tiny village in Ireland. I’ve no place in London society.”

  “You’re married to John Hamilton.”

  “In name only,” Deirdre said darkly. “He hasn’t paid me any mind since…well, for a long time.”

  In all the time since Deirdre lost their baby, Corinna knew. Although Sean had told her little about himself, he’d spent much time explaining Deirdre’s situation and how it had led to the mess they were in now. She wasn’t surprised Deirdre didn’t wish to speak of it. “You have every right to be here. And at least you probably know more about art than your brother.”

  “I know less about my husband’s art than you might think. You did a grand job deflecting those questions. I can see why Sean admires you.”

  Sean had told her that? Corinna’s heart skipped at the thought. “I’m surprised to hear he said so.”

  “Not in so many words, mind you. But he told me all about you, and I know my little brother.”

  “He likes my paintings.”

  Deirdre laughed. “He doesn’t care a fig about art. But he likes that you aren’t afraid to have big dreams and work hard to achieve them. He’s the same himself, you know. Everyone in Kilburton thought he was daft to come to London. He told us all—this skinny sixteen-year-old who could barely even grow a mustache—he told us all he was going to ‘build an empire.’ And that’s exactly what he did.”

  Corinna was impressed. She’d had no idea Sean began his operation at sixteen. Why, he’d been younger than she was now! She hadn’t brought Deirdre out here for an interrogation, but since the topic had been introduced…

  “However did he manage it?” Corinna asked eagerly.

  Deirdre shrugged. “He says he has a knack.”

  “A knack?”

  “I don’t know what he means, exactly. All I can tell you is that right after I wed John, Sean left our village, Kilburton, with a small inheritance he’d received from our uncle.”

  “And?”

  “The next time I saw him, he owned several properties, including his own house. Eighteen years old, and he had his own house.” She shook her head disbelievingly. “I didn’t get to see Sean often, since John hates London. Once a year, maybe, if that. But the next time I saw Sean, he owned more property, and some manufactories, and any number of other businesses. Ships, too. And a bigger house. And, a couple years later, a bigger one still.”

  “Holy Hannah, he owns all of that? No wonder he’s so busy! He must work very hard,” Corinna marveled. “Tell me more.”

  Deirdre looked her up and down, her lips stretching into a wide, knowing smile. “I think you should ask him yourself.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  “Griffin,” Rachael said. “What are you doing here?”

  In his cousins’ Lincoln’s Inn Fields town house, Griffin stopped pacing the drawing room and turned to see her leaning against the doorjamb. Even in a simple day dress, she looked utterly, unmistakably sultry. Her lips had a rosy-red sheen. Her dark hair fell in soft waves around her face. Her eyes looked large and luminous.

  And sad.

  “I’m waiting for you, as I suspect your butler told you. Why aren’t you at the Billingsgate ball?”

  “I didn’t feel like going,” she said.

  The look on her face was gut-wrenching, but Griffin welcomed the anxiety it sparked in him. Concern was much safer than lust. “You cannot withdraw from life, Rachael.”

  “I’m not.” She took in his evening clothes. “Why did you leave the Billingsgate ball?”

  “To fetch you.”

  “What if I don’t want to be fetched?”

  He shrugged and said nonchalantly, “Then I won’t tell you my news.”

  “What news?” she demanded, straightening and coming toward him. “Tell me.”

  “I’ll tell you on the way to the ball,” he promised her with a smile—the charming smile that worked on everyone.

  But it didn’t work on Rachael. Not tonight. “I don’t want to go to the ball.”

  “Then I don’t want to tell you my news. I’ll stop by again tomorrow.”

  “Griffin!” Moving closer, she laughingly punched him on the shoulder. “You cannot do this to me!”

  He was happy to see her more animated, but that wasn’t enough. He wanted her joyful. He wanted her socializing. He wanted to see her dancing with eligible gentlemen and getting on with her life.

  “Would you care to bet?” he asked, starting from the room.

  She grabbed his arm. “All right, I’ll go to the ball.”

  “Excellent.” With any luck, she’d meet a fellow this very night. Then it wouldn’t matter that she wasn’t his cousin, because she’d be taken anyway. “I’ll wait here while you change.”

  “Oh, no, you won’t.” Still holding his arm, she pulled him toward a sofa. “Tell me what you learned. Now.” With both hands, she pushed him to sit. “What in blazes are you waiting for?”

  “Has anyone ever told you you’re demanding?”

  “Most everyone.” She sat beside him and licked her lips. “Did the man you hired find my father’s parents?”

  “Hmm? Oh, right, the news.” He cleared his throat. “Grimbald’s mother is dead, but my man found his father. His name is Thomas, same as his son. Colonel Thomas Grimbald—he was a military man, too.”

  She nodded, looking vulnerable in a way that made him want to hug her. “Is he still living in Yorkshire?”

  “Not anymore. He’s living at the Royal Hospital in Chelsea.”

  “So close,” she murmured. The Royal Hospital wasn’t a hospital for the ill, but rather a government-funded home for pensioned soldiers. “I have a grandfather so close, and I never knew it.” She licked her lips again, making Griffin clench his teeth. “I want to see him. I want to meet him and find out if my father really committed treason.”

  “I’m glad,” he said. It was better to know than to stay in denial. “I’ll take you Monday. No, Tuesday. I’ve got a meeting with my solicitor on Monday. I’m sorry.”

  “You’re entitled to live your own life. I can wait. I’ve waited twenty-one years already.”

  “I guess
you have. Now I’ll wait while you change for the ball.”

  She sighed. “You’re not really going to hold me to that, are you? I don’t want to dance, so what’s the point in going? I don’t feel up to having men paw me.”

  “They wouldn’t dare. I’d issue a challenge on the spot.”

  “To a duel? Just what I need…your death on my head.”

  “You think I would lose? You wound me.” He playfully clutched his heart. “Get changed. You can dance with me,” he offered, vaguely wondering why on earth he was doing this to himself. “Nothing but innocent, cousinly dances.”

  And more teeth clenching.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  The Billingsgates had a rather impressive art collection, one Corinna had spent several happy hours viewing during the Billingsgates’ ball last season. But this year, although she once again found herself stationed in their picture gallery, she hadn’t the time to look at any paintings.

  She was too busy trying to keep Sean afloat.

  A pack of eager Hamilton admirers had managed to herd the poor fellow in here over many polite protests. To say he was unhappy with this turn of events would be an understatement—from the look on his face, you’d think he was having his teeth pulled out one by one. Corinna was frankly astonished he hadn’t yet bolted for the door.

  And she wasn’t enjoying herself any more than he was. All she’d wanted was a few minutes alone with Sean—and his lips. She wanted to talk to him without everyone’s eyes on the two of them. She wanted him to look at her without it being a look of panic. Was that so much to ask?

  Apparently, it was, because they’d been stuck here for over an hour with no end in sight. Every excuse for escape that Sean and Corinna could think of had been brushed aside by his hangers-on. And Lord Lincolnshire was being equally uncooperative.

  “Wouldn’t you care for some air, Uncle?” Sean asked for the third time.

  “Oh, no. I’m…enjoying this conversation.”

  No doubt he was basking in the reflected glow of his nephew’s greatness. Well, good for him. But Corinna was beginning to run out of creative interpretations for Sean’s brilliant “insights.” Among other blunders, he’d mistaken a watercolor for an oil painting and described a William Hogarth piece as a “groundbreaking new work.”

  When Hogarth had been dead since 1764.

  “It was groundbreaking when it was a new work,” Corinna explained. Everyone nodded, their faces arranged into intelligent-looking expressions, as if they’d got his meaning all along and, incidentally, quite agreed.

  “Oh, I do adore mythology as the subject for a painting,” Lady Trevelyan said as they moved on to the next piece of art. “What do you think of this one by Kauffmann, Mr. Hamilton?”

  “Very detailed,” Sean said—a safe enough comment. But then he added, “I admire his—”

  “His?”

  “Joshua Reynolds, he means,” Corinna rushed to say. “Am I right, Mr. Hamilton? You were referring to Sir Joshua Reynolds, since Angelica Kauffmann was one of his protégées?”

  “Joshua Reynolds, yes.” He sent her a grateful smile. “As I was saying, I admire Reynolds for being open-minded enough to recognize a talented female artist.”

  “Indeed.” Corinna nodded, wondering if he might be talking about her. “Although, of course, Kauffmann was widely recognized as one of the founders of the Royal Academy. One of only two female Academicians in its history, in fact.”

  Sean’s smile widened. “I look forward to your being the third.”

  He really did want to see her succeed. She held his gaze. ”I appreciate your support,” she said softly.

  Drat. She was moony-eyed again, wasn’t she?

  She blinked the expression away fiercely.

  A gentleman cleared his throat. “Speaking of Reynolds,” he said, moving along to stand before two large portraits. “What do you think, Mr. Hamilton, of Reynolds’s work as compared to Gainsborough’s?”

  “Hmm.” Corinna saw Sean glance at the artists’ signatures. “This Gainsborough is rather sentimental, is it not, while the Reynolds here is, ah, more grand. Establishing the importance of the man portrayed rather than sympathy with the subject.”

  Though Sean looked rather proud of his analysis, the questioner frowned. “I meant in general, Mr. Hamilton, not these particular portraits. One man’s body of work juxtaposed against the other.”

  “I do not judge entire bodies of work, sir. I never seek signatures prior to evaluating a painting. Each work should stand on its own—the artist’s identity shouldn’t influence my opinion of any specific picture.”

  The gentleman was clearly taken aback. “I thought all artists studied the masters’ techniques.”

  Corinna didn’t quite know what to say to that, so she was relieved when Juliana stepped in. “Ah, there is your mistake, Lord Prescott,” she called out charmingly. “You suppose there are conventions that all artists conform to. But seeing as they’re known to be unconventional creatures, wouldn’t it be rather safer to suppose that whenever a particular approach becomes a convention, the artist will instantly cease employing it?”

  A round of laughter followed this speech, and the original question was quite forgotten.

  Thank goodness for sisters, Corinna thought. She smiled at Lord Lincolnshire, who was laughing as heartily as anyone. He blinked madly. And then he coughed. And coughed again. A bit of froth appeared on his lips.

  The laughter died down as, looking anxious, Sean dug out a handkerchief and dabbed at the earl’s mouth. “I really think you need some air, Uncle. I insist.”

  “Take me to the…doors, then. And…let me see…you dance”—gasping, he looked to Deirdre—“with your wife.”

  Corinna was anxious, too. “He cannot even get three syllables out before needing a breath,” she said to Juliana as they followed Sean, Deirdre, and Lord Lincolnshire into the ballroom. “Maybe you should ask James to have a look at him.” Besides being an earl, Juliana’s husband was also a physician.

  “I’m sure Lord Lincolnshire has his own doctors.”

  “But he’s getting worse.”

  “He’s dying,” her sister reminded her gently.

  “But he might die before I finish his portrait, and he really wants to see it completed.”

  Juliana sighed. “All right. I’ll ask James.”

  “Thank you,” Corinna said.

  They watched Sean wheel Lord Lincolnshire over to the open French doors, then turn to Deirdre and reluctantly escort her to the dance floor. The musicians struck up a country tune.

  Corinna breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness it isn’t a waltz.”

  “Why is that?” Juliana asked.

  “Sean cannot waltz to save his life.”

  “Sean?”

  “Mr. Delaney,” Corinna corrected quickly. “And thank you for stepping in to save him. With any luck, that was the last in our long series of close calls.”

  A slow smile curved her sister’s lips. “Our, hmm?”

  “Yes, our. You, me, Mr. Delaney, Alexandra, Griffin. We’re all in this together. All of us who know the secret.”

  Juliana’s smile remained. “Our could also mean just you and Sean—I mean, Mr. Delaney.” Now her smile widened at her own deliberate mistake. “The two of you belong together, you know. Anyone can see it.”

  “We do not.” The last thing Corinna wanted was her meddlesome sister interfering. “He’s not from our world, Juliana. Griffin would never agree.”

  “Griffin has nothing against the gentleman. In fact, he said he admires him. I asked him what he thought of Mr. Delaney earlier this evening, before he left and came back with Rachael.”

  Rachael and Griffin were dancing together now. Of course, Juliana was looking rather smug about that relationship’s progress. And Corinna wasn’t at all surprised to hear her sister had questioned Griffin about Sean, either. “Mr. Delaney is color-blind. He cannot even appreciate my paintings.”

  “There’s somet
hing between the two of you,” Juliana insisted.

  “A mutual desire to see Lord Lincolnshire happily through his last days, that’s all.”

  Her sister shrugged. “If you say so,” she said agreeably, without sounding like she really agreed at all.

  “Holy Hannah,” Corinna muttered. “Go dance with your husband, will you? And don’t forget to ask him to have a look at Lord Lincolnshire.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Sean had decided that the day he’d brought Lincolnshire to Hamilton’s studio hadn’t been the longest one of his life, after all.

  This blasted ball felt at least a week longer.

  Escorting Deirdre off the dance floor, he noticed Corinna standing by the open French doors. She caught his eye, motioning her head toward the Billingsgates’ garden before slipping outside.

  Sean brought Deirdre in the same direction, walking her back to Lincolnshire. “Are you enjoying the fresh air, Uncle?”

  “Very much. And…I enjoyed…seeing you dance.”

  “We enjoyed the dance, too.” For the earl’s benefit, Sean smiled at his sister and kissed her on the cheek. “I’m feeling a wee bit overheated, though. Would you mind keeping my wife company while I step outdoors for a moment?”

  “Not at all,” Lincolnshire said, reaching for Deirdre’s hand.

  Leaving the two of them, Sean entered the garden, knowing he definitely shouldn’t, and immediately spotted Corinna on a path lit with twinkling lanterns. Beckoning for him to follow, she disappeared.

  He considered turning back, but having come this far, he didn’t think it fair to leave her waiting. Following the sound of her light, running footsteps, he found her quite a distance down the path and off to the side, in the darkness of a small stand of trees. Though the area was shadowed, he could see the outline of a familiar, shapely figure in a slim, high-waisted dress. He walked closer, telling himself he shouldn’t touch her, knowing he would anyway.

  Her scent drifted to him through the starlit night, flowery and sweet, with that barest trace of astringent that reminded him she wasn’t just a normal girl. She was an artist, a talented young woman who went her own way. But beneath that, she was also an aristocrat, sheltered and immaculate, a girl who had never wanted for anything. Like a bright, shiny new coin, her perfection drew him. She was part of a world that was so high above him, so out of reach.