The Hero Least Likely

by Darcy Burke

  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 sixteen, she begged for one London season before marrying Grimbald—”

  “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 Mama had lied to her—a lie by omission—but she’d loved Rachael and her siblings dearly. She’d 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. “Like his father, Grimbald was an army man. He took a leave of absence to wed Georgiana and got her with child right away. Then he went back to his regiment, and she 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 baby to grow up as the child 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 Grimbald’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 the Earl of Greystone.”

  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 Grimbald do?” she asked. “What did he do that wasn’t so bad?”

  “It was during the war against the colonies in North America, just three years after Georgiana was born. He was much older than she was, you see—probably another reason she preferred the earl. 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 fifteen years, until Smith fell ill in 1795 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 Grimbald 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 Rachael’s 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 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 until Juliana,” 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 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.”

  FORTY-SIX

  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 heavens,” Corinna breathed. “I won’t need a hackn
ey 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 isn’t dry yet.”

  The butler handed her the note. “It’s for you, Lady Corinna. Surely you 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 reported 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 what everyone was doing 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, along with his sister. Did you think to ask them?”

  “I couldn’t.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Lord Lincolnshire is fading, and they have to stay with him. And besides, I couldn’t let them see the painting.”

  “Why is that?”

  Holy Hannah, Corinna thought, why had she blurted that out? She really needed to practice thinking before she spoke.

  “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. But she paused mid-tear. She couldn’t do it.

  ”It’s not varnished,” she hedged.

  Juliana shrugged. “All right.”

  “If it’s accepted—if it’s hung—I’ll get a chance to make last minute changes and then varnish it right there on the wall.”

  “All right,” Juliana repeated, and then, when Corinna failed to respond, she added, “So…?”

  “Very well,” Corinna said, and ripped the rest of the paper off, quickly, before she could change her mind.

  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. “I’ve heard of men painting nude women, but never…”

  “He’s not nude,” Corinna pointed out, feeling a bit queasy. “He’s wearing trousers.”

  “True,” her sister agreed. “He’s absolutely…” She blinked. “Faith, don’t you just want to take a bite out of him?”

  Well, yes, as a matter of fact…but Corinna wasn’t sure she liked to hear her sister speaking speaking that way about Sean. Not that Juliana knew it was Sean she was speaking of.

  “He’s compelling,” Juliana murmured. “I cannot seem to take my eyes off of him.” But she did, finally, meeting Corinna’s. “It’s magnificent. You’ve always been good, but this time you’ve outdone yourself.”

  Corinna’s breath went out in a rush. “Do you really think so?”

  “I know so. It’s remarkable.” She shifted her gaze back to the painting. “Why didn’t you want Mr. Delaney to see it?”

  “Does it perhaps…remind you of anyone you know?”

  Juliana tilted her head. “Blond hair and brown eyes. That’s an unusual combination, isn’t it? I don’t think so.”

  Corinna had counted on no one looking past the coloring, but she must not have been completely confident, because relief flooded through her now. “I feared Mr. Delaney would find it shocking, that’s all. His father was a vicar, you know.”

  “Really? I suppose I know very little about him.”

  “I don’t know much about him, either,” Corinna said, averting her gaze.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  In the wee hours, the earl died.

  He slipped off peacefully, leaving the world in his sleep as Lord Stafford had said he would. One instant his breathing rattled noisily; the next he went eerily silent.

  Sean and Deirdre both held their breaths for a tense moment, then turned to each other, embracing and holding tight. Deirdre’s tears wet her brother’s shirtfront, but they were quiet tears. Tears born of grief mixed with relief.

  Sean felt exactly the same.

  He sat by the earl’s side the balance of the night, because it seemed like the right thing to do. And because he wasn’t ready to begin what he needed to do next. Because eventually he would finish with that.

  And then…

  Dawn was a faint glow through the bedroom window when the household stirred to life. Mrs. Skeffington appeared on the threshold, holding an ewer of fresh water. “Is he…?”

  “With the angels,” Sean said quietly.

  A sound of sorrow escaped her throat, and she turned and fled, returning a few minutes later with Higginbotham.

  “My lord,” the steward said, “what shall we do?”

  For a moment Sean was nonplussed. He wasn’t a lord; he didn’t belong here. But Higginbotham didn’t know that, of course, and no one else at Lincolnshire House did, either. The lot of them wandered at loose ends, passing by the earl’s chamber as though they were all ghosts themselves.

  When Sean failed to respond, Higginbotham released a shuddering breath. “There must needs be funeral arrangements, and—”

  “I’ll see to everything,” Sean assured him.

  It would be a busy morning.

  And then…

  “Thank you, my lord earl.” Higginbotham forced a wan half smile of gratitude. “I fear I am…numb.”

  Sean wished he could say the same. He wasn’t numb. He was in agony. He had to force himself to move, to do what needed to be done.

  And then…

  Then his empty life stretched ahead.

  Seemingly forever.

  FORTY-EIGHT

  ORANGE CUSTARD

  Boil a pint of Cream with a little sack. When it be cold, take four Yolks and two whites of Eggs, a little juice of Orange and peel of Orange and Sugar to your palate. Mix them well together, and bake them in cups. Before serving, put your cups on ice.

  This custard tastes lovely, and it brings love as well. My sisters and I each made this when we were looking for love, and we all found it.

  —Anne, Marchioness of Cainewood, 1772

  Excitement still simmered in Corinna on Tuesday when she arrived to visit Frances and the new baby. Her submission had gone even better than she’d hoped. Though she’d half expected to be asked what made her think she, seventeen-year-old Corinna Chase, was worthy of submitting to the Summer Exhibition, nothing of the like had occurred. No one had looked askance. Not only had her painting been accepted for consideration, but Henry Fuseli, who’d taken possession of it, had exclaimed loudly over its brilliance.

  She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised that a man who painted weird, daring fantasies might approve a portrait like hers.

  And she was very much looking forward to this afternoon, when she would meet Sean at Hamilton’s studio. She wasn’t sure whether Lord Lincolnshire had passed away yet or not, but she knew he probably had, and that was the only thing that marred her happiness.

  When she entered Aunt Frances’s drawing room, Ladies A, B, and C were the only ones there, and they were chattering enthusiastically.
Corinna wondered what they were so excited about it, but when they noticed her in the doorway they all fell silent. She saw the three of them exchange meaningful glances before Lady Avonleigh met her gaze.

  “Oh, my dear!” she cried. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t accompany you to Somerset House yesterday. Did the submission go all right?”

  “Yes, it did,” Corinna assured her. She was eager to relay Mr. Fuseli’s reaction, but then Aunt Frances came slowly downstairs, supported by her maid and a footman, followed by a nurse with the baby. It took quite some time for her to get settled on her chaise longue with Belinda in her arms. Then Alexandra arrived with her baby, and Juliana showed up with a huge, flat basket filled with cups of orange custard, which she claimed would assist Corinna in finding love with a “certain someone.”

  “Which will make my sister’s life complete,” she added with a smile, handing the basket to a maid so the cups could be taken down to the basement kitchen and put on ice, “because her new portrait, which I have had the pleasure of seeing, is going to be the sensation of the Summer Exhibition.”

  “I cannot wait to see it,” Lady A declared, which made Corinna a little nervous. She was grateful when the talk turned to Belinda’s first smile—which Alexandra claimed could be caused only by indigestion—and on to Juliana’s burgeoning belly. Not that Juliana’s belly was actually protruding yet, but she kept rubbing it as though she could feel the baby inside.

  Corinna wondered how long it would be before Griffin talked to Sean, before she could broach the subject of their marriage. Her stomach fluttered at the thought, with both anticipation and a touch of nerves.

  Soon Rachael arrived with her sisters, the three of them chattering enthusiastically as they made their way through the foyer. Corinna wondered what they were so excited about, but at the drawing room’s doorway they all fell silent. She saw the three of them exchange meaningful glances before Lady A exchanged meaningful glances with her sisters…