The Hero Least Likely

by Darcy Burke

  “Then he goes in the for column,” Juliana said firmly, being the type to always look on the bright side.

  Corinna wished she could be half so optimistic. But maybe Juliana was right, and there was still John James Chalon.

  The crowd seemed to be thinning out. Spotting Lady A, who was looking rather flustered, Corinna made her way over, her sisters following in her wake.

  “Did you talk to Mr. Chalon? Did he say he was willing to meet me?”

  “I couldn’t find him,” Lady A said. “It seems he’s left.”

  “Oh, no. He was the last committee member.” Her final opportunity to convince herself she still had a chance. “Now I won’t know if he liked my portrait.”

  “It’s all right, dear.” Lady A beamed. “Everyone loved your landscapes. This all went brilliantly, don’t you think?”

  Corinna nodded, for Lady A’s sake.

  But that was the best she could manage.

  Juliana jumped in to save her once again. “Yes, Auntie, it was an absolute triumph! Well done! Corinna was just telling us how overwhelmed she’s feeling. We’re all so very grateful to you for taking her under your wing.”

  Corinna nodded again. She was incredibly grateful, and happy to see her kindly benefactress flushed with pride and confidence.

  But she feared that if she opened her mouth, all that would come out would be a sob or a scream.

  “Have another rout cake,” Alexandra said.

  THIRTY

  The earl’s health had taken a decided turn for the worse.

  Lord Lincolnshire hadn’t left his bedroom in two days…two days during which he wanted his nephew nearby. Stuck in the house for hour upon hour, Sean was at his wit’s end. He had so much he should be accomplishing, so much that wasn’t getting done.

  And he missed Corinna.

  He’d become used to having her at Lincolnshire House. For an entire week she’d been there, painting in the salon, morning to evening. Though he hadn’t been there with her very often, he’d liked examining her portrait every night, checking her progress. He’d liked thinking that if he wanted to see her, he knew exactly where to find her.

  She’d been a fixture. A comfort.

  But since she’d finished the portrait, all her time had been spent with her aunt and new baby cousin, or with Lady Avonleigh. Now that he was here at the house, she was gone. He didn’t know when he might see her next. And the house felt empty.

  Yesterday Sean had finally accepted he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, and asked Higginbotham to have his art supplies fetched from the studio on Piccadilly Street. Thinking it was what the weasel would do himself, he’d set everything up in the drawing room that had Hamilton’s pictures all over the walls. Then he’d summoned his secretary, Mr. Sykes.

  Sykes had been working with Sean for nearly seven years. He was a short, dark fellow with round gold spectacles, a quick, precise mind, and an encyclopedic knowledge of Sean’s many and varied enterprises. During the hours the earl slept, the two of them worked quietly behind closed doors in the drawing room. The staff had been told that Sykes was Sean’s assistant, there to mix paint for him and such. In reality, they were allocating positions for all of Lincolnshire’s many servants.

  Sean was thankful that was now done. He’d begun notifying each member of the staff of their final assignments. Were it not for the melancholy of Lincolnshire’s failing health, he reckoned many of them might be singing as they worked. They were obviously looking forward to what lay ahead. And very relieved overall.

  But Sean was neither of those things. In fact, he was the exact opposite.

  His life was a disaster. Days—weeks—behind on his work, his affairs were in complete disarray. And it would probably all be for naught, once Hamilton found out Sean had defied his wishes by appearing as him in public. And he’d managed to get himself into a truly dreadful romantic quandary, on top of everything else.

  Great work, Delaney. Just grand.

  After days of not seeing Corinna, he was only just beginning to realize how hard he’d fallen for her. Lately he’d found himself wondering if maybe—somehow—he could stay with her. Marry her. He kept thinking about how Cainewood apparently thought him a decent fellow, and attaching way too much significance to that.

  This had to stop.

  When she showed up unexpectedly Thursday morning, he was far too happy to see her.

  “How is he?” she asked quietly, poking her head into the earl’s room.

  “The same.” Sean waved her to the chair next to him beside the towering bed, where Lincolnshire slumbered upright, his back propped against a dozen pillows. It seemed the only way the earl could sleep these days, the only way he could breathe.

  “You look upset.”

  “It’s not pleasant,” he said with a shrug, “but it cannot last much longer.” He looked closer at her, noticing her tense jaw and a certain wildness in her eyes. “You look upset, too.”

  Lowering herself to the chair, she sighed. “Lady Avonleigh’s reception didn’t go well.”

  “What happened?”

  “She kept asking why you weren’t there,” she said, keeping her voice low. “Or rather, why Mr. Hamilton wasn’t there.” She winced and flicked a wary glance at Lincolnshire, apparently worried he might have overheard. “Sorry.”

  “He’s asleep. Though we should be careful.”

  She nodded. “The committee members were mystified, since they believe Mr. Hamilton to be in Wales. Lady A and her sisters and my cousins and others all kept saying he’d been seen at various social events, and the artists kept saying that was impossible…” She clenched her hands together in her lap. “It was a mess, Sean.”

  “It’s sorry I am about that.” Not that there was anything he could have done. But it was his fault. He tried to put it out of his mind. ”How about the rest? Did the committee members like your new painting?”

  She sighed again. “A couple of them liked it. The rest, not really.”

  “Why not?” he demanded, outraged. Who was running that Academy she was so enamored of, anyway? Because whoever they were, they sounded like idiots. “It’s brilliant!”

  “It isn’t.” To stifle his protests, she unclenched her hands and laid one on his arm. “They liked Lord Lincolnshire’s expression well enough. William Mulready said I captured the essence of the man.” A hint of a smile transformed her face; she’d obviously liked hearing that. “And they admired the textures and the techniques.”

  “But…?” All of that sounded sensational. Which meant there had to be a but.

  “But they claimed Lord Lincolnshire’s form doesn’t seem real beneath his clothes. He looks stiff and unnatural.”

  “Did they?” Sean blinked. He hadn’t noticed any such thing. But then, he hadn’t known to look for any such thing. He’d been impressed with the quality and detail of Lincolnshire’s face, and aye, his clothes and the background. Even color-blind, he could see all of that was exquisite. But he’d paid no attention to the earl’s body.

  Hurting for her, he tried for a positive angle. “It doesn’t sound all that bad. They had lots of good things to say.”

  “One of them really loved my work—”

  “One?”

  “Yes, one. Or rather, only one had no reservations about it. Martin Archer Shee, that was.”

  “How about the rest?”

  “Benjamin West liked my basic technique but didn’t have anything else good to say. William Mulready and James Northcote both think I paint excellent landscapes, but they weren’t so enthusiastic about the portrait.”

  He didn’t know any of those names, but he wasn’t about to tell her so. He tried to commit them to memory so he could look them up later. “That’s four out of how many?”

  “Eight, not counting Mr. Hamilton. Two were hopeless. William Owen and William Beechey. They don’t approve of girls painting portraits. I have no idea what the last two thought. I found Henry Fuseli’s comments completely indecipherable, an
d John James Chalon left before I could hear his opinion.”

  “They might approve, then, the both of them.”

  “They might. But they might not. Or they might, like some of the others, like my landscapes but not my portrait.”

  “You can submit landscapes, then, can’t you? Or landscapes along with your portrait? How many paintings are you allowed to turn in?”

  “Three. Non-Academicians are allowed to submit three…”

  She trailed off with yet another sigh, though she looked as if she wanted to say more.

  And she looked wretched, which seemed to make his heart squeeze in his chest. He wanted to hold her, but he couldn’t do that in Lincolnshire’s bedroom. He curled his hands into fists to keep from reaching for her. “What is it, cuisle mo chroí?”

  Now she looked puzzled instead of wretched. “Cooshla-macree? Whatever does that mean?”

  “Nothing,” he said quickly. “Just nonsense. It just slipped out.” Heat rose in his cheeks.

  He shouldn’t be calling her that. Not as a slip of the tongue or anything else.

  The wretched look had returned to her eyes. “What is it?” he repeated, without the stupid Gaelic this time. “What has you so troubled?”

  “I don’t know how to explain it,” she said slowly, her gaze focused on the canopy above the earl’s bed. “I don’t quite understand it myself. As the reception wore on, it became more and more obvious that one of my landscapes would surely be accepted. Which has been my goal all these years, hasn’t it? Yet it seemed the more they said they liked my landscapes, the more I wanted to submit a portrait. Only a portrait.” She lowered her gaze, finally meeting his eyes. “I want to be known as a portrait painter. I’m going to try to fix Lord Lincolnshire’s portrait.”

  “Can you do that?”

  “I hope so. I think so. I have four days before the submission is due. I painted him into the scene in a week, so I should be able to fix him in a shorter time.”

  “That sounds hopeful.” It made sense. But she still didn’t look very sure of herself. “Well then, is there another problem?”

  “There is.” The two wee words sounded so despondent. “Even should I fix it, two of the committee members will refuse to vote for it just on the grounds that I’m female. And I cannot count on all six of the other members, either. If it’s better—if it’s brilliant—I imagine some of them may come around. But others may not. I’m counting on Mr. Hamilton to be the deciding vote, but that will work only if three others besides Mr. Shee vote for me, too. So I was wondering…”

  “Wondering what?”

  She glanced toward the bed uneasily. ”When he gets here, before the vote, do you think you could ask him to talk to the committee?” she whispered in a rush. “I don’t want my painting selected if it doesn’t merit the honor, but if he could just ask them to seriously reconsider it even though they’ve seen it before, to give the revised version a fair look even though I haven’t made a name for myself yet. Do you expect he might be willing to talk to them, as a favor? After all, you and I have done him a big favor by caring for his uncle.”

  Sean couldn’t believe she’d said that in the earl’s bedroom, even in a whisper. He slanted a nervous glance toward Lincolnshire, but the man was snoring peacefully. Or at least as peacefully as a dying man could.

  Their secret was still safe.

  But he wasn’t at all sure Hamilton would vote for Corinna’s portrait, let alone encourage others to do the same. I seriously doubt I will vote for that girl’s painting, he remembered Hamilton saying. I’m certain her paintings won’t be good, because she’s never studied anatomy. Sketching statues is not going to help her learn anything.

  “I’m not sure,” he said fretfully. “Hamilton isn’t known for being cooperative.”

  “But we saved his inheritance.”

  Darting another glance toward Lincolnshire, he rose. “Let’s discuss this somewhere else, shall we?”

  “We cannot leave him alone.”

  “I told Mrs. Skeffington to take a rest, but I’m sure she wouldn’t mind returning.”

  Fortunately, Mrs. Skeffington was coming down the corridor when Sean peeked out. He thanked his lucky stars she hadn’t returned a minute earlier and overheard Corinna. After seeing the nurse settled by Lincolnshire’s side, he guided Corinna downstairs and into the salon.

  He closed the door behind them both. Took a seat on a blue-and-gold sofa. Smoothed his palms against his thighs.

  Cleared his throat.

  Corinna settled beside him, closer than he would have liked. Well, he liked it, but he needed to keep a clear head for this conversation.

  “I’m sorry I said that out loud,” she began. “It was foolish.”

  “No harm done.” He drew and released a breath. “I have an idea.”

  “For what?”

  “For helping you fix the earl’s portrait.”

  “Helping me? How can you possibly help with that? I only want you to have a talk with Mr. Hamilton.”

  “You need to learn anatomy, don’t you? Since you’re wanting to make him look more natural?”

  She looked perplexed. “That’s why I sketched all those Elgin Marbles.”

  “But that wasn’t good enough, was it?”

  Begorrah, he couldn’t believe what he was about to say. He’d spent the last two days thinking about how he’d let himself get too close to her, and this would make it even harder to keep away. But he saw no other way to help her win Hamilton’s vote. No other way to repay her for everything she’d done for him.

  He drew another deep breath. “I’m thinking I can pose for you.”

  “What?”

  THIRTY-ONE

  Holy Hannah.

  Corinna couldn’t seem to close her mouth.

  “I can pose for you,” Sean repeated. “You’ll practice painting me, and that will help you learn anatomy so you can fix the portrait.”

  There was a long pause, during which Corinna struggled to gather up the pieces of her mind from where they’d splattered all over the walls.

  “You want to pose for me,” she finally said. “So I can learn anatomy.”

  His chin jutted out. “I said so, aye.”

  Aye. Sean never said aye. “You do realize…”

  Though his green eyes looked apprehensive, a corner of his mouth turned up in a half smile. “That I shall have to take off my clothes?”

  She glanced away, heat rushing into her cheeks. It was the most scandalous thing she’d ever heard. But she recognized a good opportunity when she saw one. She needed to fix Lord Lincolnshire’s portrait, make his body look more realistic, and sketching marble gods clearly hadn’t taught her enough.

  And here was the chance to sketch a real Greek god instead.

  She would never have asked him to pose for her. Never. Not even after a hundred more kisses. The very idea was unthinkable. But now that he’d offered…

  Well, how could she possibly refuse?

  She glanced furtively over her shoulder, as if Griffin might somehow be standing there, ready to box her ears for even considering such a thing.

  But this could be her one and only chance to study male anatomy. And it was certainly her only chance before this year’s Summer Exhibition. There’d be no time for more than a session or two, of course. But if there was any chance it’d be enough to make the difference, how could she not at least try?

  Though she was staring through the large windows that overlooked the garden, she wasn’t seeing trees and flowers and blue sky. Instead she was imagining the sofa where Lincolnshire had sat for her…with Sean on it instead.

  Naked as the day he was born.

  She swallowed hard. Her heart thumped unevenly. She flushed even hotter.

  Biting her lip, she met his gaze again. “You won’t have to take off all of your clothes.”

  “Will I not?” He raised a brow. “Lord Lincolnshire’s portrait isn’t just head and shoulders. His body wouldn’t look ‘stiff and unn
atural’ had it not been shown, would it?”

  “But there’s no need to sketch all of you at once. I can do parts.”

  “Parts?” The corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement.

  “A part at a time. You can undress just a little bit.”

  “If you say so.” He looked dubious, but also distinctly relieved. “Where shall we do it?”

  “Not here. And not in my brother’s drawing room.”

  Heaven forbid.

  “In the square, then? Where the painting is set?” At her look of shock, he released a shaky laugh. “I was jesting, mo chroí. We can use Hamilton’s studio.”

  Macree again…what did that mean? “That sounds good. When shall we meet?”

  “Time is of the essence, is it not?”

  “I have four days to fix the painting. I’d best not sketch more than two.”

  “We shan’t delay, then. I’ll meet you there in an hour.”

  “So soon?” Time might be of the essence, but she wasn’t at all sure she was ready for this. “Can you leave Lord Lincolnshire? I thought he wanted you to stay here.”

  “Let’s make it in the evening, then. Lincolnshire’s been falling asleep early these days. And if he doesn’t, I’ll come up with an excuse.”

  “What excuse can I give Griffin to leave the house alone in the evening?” She preferred, of course, to be honest with her brother, but she could hardly tell him she was going out to sketch a nude man.

  “Tell him Lincolnshire’s invited you for dinner. I’ll come for you, and we’ll walk to the studio together.” Sean grabbed her by the shoulders and pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “It’ll be fine, Corinna. Don’t worry. This plan is going to work.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  Her grandfather was here somewhere.

  Nervously smoothing the lavender dress she’d chosen to wear—after trying and rejecting six others—Rachael gazed down the length of the Royal Hospital’s great hall. The black-and-white marble floor seemed to stretch forever. “Which one is Colonel Thomas Grimbald?” she asked the guard at the door.