The Hero Least Likely

by Darcy Burke

  “I didn’t think of it, either. I knew all along that Hamilton was risking his reputation as an artist by participating in the hoax. I even warned him of that, and I worried that if the truth came out, he’d retaliate against Deirdre. But I never considered how it would affect me. Or maybe I didn’t think it would matter. Not being part of society, I didn’t care what they thought of me—not until I fell in love with you.”

  I fell in love with you. She was so thrilled to hear those words that she leapt the small distance between them, wrapping her arms around him, burrowing her nose into the crook of his neck. “I love you, too,” she told him again, the words muffled against his skin. “I was waiting to tell you. Everything was so complicated. But now it’s over, and we’ll work this out. It will be difficult, but—”

  “Corinna. You don’t understand.” He unwrapped her arms and set her away, far enough to meet her eyes. “I cannot marry you. There isn’t anything I want more in the world, but it’s impossible.”

  “No.” That couldn’t be. “This wasn’t your fault. You didn’t even want to do it. You did it for your sister, and for Lincolnshire—you made him happy. You shouldn’t have to suffer—we shouldn’t have to suffer—because you did the right thing.”

  “I’m not saying I did the wrong thing. I did the only thing I could. But no one ever promised life would be fair. Your people aren’t ever going to forgive me for what I’ve done.”

  “I don’t care. I don’t need those people. I love you. I only need 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.”

  “You’re more important to me than the Royal Academy. I don’t care about that, either.”

  “I care.” He took her hands again. “And if you married me, Corinna, you and I aren’t the only ones who would be cut out of society. Your family would be ostracized as well.”

  A hole seemed to open up inside her.

  Alexandra and Juliana, Griffin and Rachael, Frances and the cousins…if she stayed with Sean and bore the consequences, they, too, would be rejected by all of society.

  She couldn’t do that to them.

  She was willing to give up everything she knew for Sean, to start over with him in a place she’d never seen. That would be rather artistic…wild, passionate, romantic. But she couldn’t take her family with her.

  That would make her more selfish than John Hamilton.

  Her heart cracked, and she could see in Sean’s eyes that his was already rent. His overwhelming sadness, his weariness, his battered appearance…she understood all of that now. She felt it herself.

  He gathered her into his arms, and they clutched each other, held each other close for a long, long time, while sobs racked her body.

  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, careful not to touch her.

  FIFTY-ONE

  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 chatter came from the entrance hall, where the crowd spilled out. Women very rarely attended funerals, so Sean had arranged the reception to allow the ladies 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.

  Being female, Corinna hadn’t witnessed that, of course, but she’d already heard all about it. The new Lord Lincolnshire had informed the astonished gentlemen at the funeral that his impostor’s name was Sean Delaney, and Sean’s reputation had been torn to shreds before the reception even began.

  Just as he’d predicted, she thought now with a heavyhearted sigh.

  For the past two days, lines from Minerva Press novels had been running 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, in Children of the Abbey, Amanda crying, 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 locked herself in her room and buried herself in her art. Fixing Lord Lincolnshire’s portrait had kept her from thinking too much and from having to face 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 been thrilled to receive 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 gazed 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 by the news. 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 was the only thing that mattered to her now. 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.”

  “I didn’t. I submitted something else.”

  “Really?” Sipping, he looked curious. “What?”

  A picture of the love of her life, the love 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!”

  He looked hurt. ”That’s not true, Corinna. All I’m concerned with is your happiness. I want to see you happy.”

  Seeing his hurt 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 and 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 annihilating Sean’s future—and hers.

  Their faces blurred as she charged toward 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 and 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.” She shook her head. “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’d make an excellent husband now, don’t you think?”

  “For someone else,” Rachael said warily.

  “For you. I think you two would get along splendidly 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 an illegitimate child when she married the Earl of Greystone. And while not being John Chase’s true 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, 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 tragic child like your cousin Edmund, and that was your issue, wasn’t it? 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. He’d fascinated her, she recalled. The reckless, gangly youth she’d remembered had grown tall, dark, and broad-shouldered, and she’d been surprised to find herself attracted to him. 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, drat,” she finally said softly. “I’ve been such a blazing 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.

  FIFTY-TWO

  “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 earl, 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.”

  “Have you received 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 pronounced with an abundance 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 female 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 awkwardly patted her shoulder. “Maybe you should sign a man’s name next time.”

  She rolled over, and the glare she gave him made it clear this 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 the worst brother on earth. He’d known her art was important to her, but he honestly hadn’t known it meant so much that she’d be completely crushed by a temporary setback. He couldn’t remember her ever being this upset before, not even the two times he’d come home, taking short leaves from the cavalry, to mourn their father and mother.

  “I know this is important to you,” he said carefully, “and I’m sorry if I’ve ignored your art while trying to find you a husband. That wasn’t my intention. I’ve just been a little…focused. Too focused, apparently. I promise not to do that from now on, all right? I won’t push suitors on you. When you see someone you’re interested in, just let me know, and—”

  “Leave me alone, Griffin,” she snapped.

  “But—”

  “Now.”

  “Very well.” He rose and backed away, his hands held up defensively. “I’m sorry, Corinna, truly I am. But I wish you would believe me when I say I want to see you happy.”

  Rolling to face away from him again, she said, “I know that,” in a wan little voice.

  He supposed it was the best he could expect for now.

  He’d done all he could, he told himself as he left, softly closing the door between them. Too bad it wasn’t good enough. Turning to face the door, he banged his forehead against the polished wood, pressing hard.

  He would never understand girls.

  He felt bad that he’d made light of Corinna’s art, and he would pay more attention in the future. Make more of an effort to show her he cared and help advance her career, if he could think of a way to do that. But he still felt that finding her a husband to love would make her happier.

  Or at the very least, make someone else responsible for her happiness.

  He banged his head against the wood again.

  “Griffin, are you all right?” said a voice behind him.

  A sultry voice.

  He st
raightened and turned to see its owner, standing there in a modest black dress that should have made her look drab, or at least less alluring than usual. But it didn’t. It had a wide neckline, and it rustled as she moved closer, the bodice clinging to her figure. Her hair had been done up formally for the reception at Lincolnshire House, leaving just a few loose chestnut tendrils that fell in soft waves around her face.

  He swallowed hard and took an uneasy step back, bumping against Corinna’s door.

  “May I have a word with you?” Rachael glanced around the corridor. “In private?”

  He nodded and led the way to his study, aware all the while of her heady, floral scent following behind him. Would she never leave him in peace? He’d found her grandmother, hadn’t he? He’d tracked her mysterious origins, discovered what had become of her father. What more did she want from him? Why wasn’t she with Lady Avonleigh over at Lincolnshire House, together with her happy new family?

  After ushering her into the study, he shut the door and turned to her. “What do you want, Rachael?”

  She blinked, no doubt taken aback by his unintended harshness. But she recovered her composure quickly. “I want you to kiss me.”

  His pulse seemed to stutter. He definitely stopped breathing.

  She licked her lips.

  “Corinna?”

  A knock sounded on her closed door.

  “Are you all right?” Juliana called.

  Corinna might have ignored anyone else, but there was no putting off Juliana. “I’ll live,” she muttered, rolling over and levering herself to sit on the edge of the bed. Realizing she was clutching the claddagh necklace, she shoved it under her pillow, then mopped the last of the tears off her face with the back of her hand. “Come in.”

  Juliana did, holding up a piece of heavy cream-colored paper with a large, broken red seal. “A letter came for you.”

  Just what she needed now, the news of her rejection. Well, at least the suspense would be over. “From the Royal Academy?”