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‘‘This won’t interrupt your routine,’’ Hamilton promised. ‘‘You’ll have to move to Lincolnshire’s Berkeley Square town house for a couple of weeks, but you need only sleep there at night. You can tell the old man you must paint during the day and go off to do your usual work. It shan’t affect Delaney and Company at all.’’
‘‘What if he wants to see your paintings?’’
‘‘You mean
your
paintings,’’ Hamilton said with a pointed smirk. He frowned a moment, then nodded. ‘‘I’ll leave you some money to lease studio space near the square—’’
‘‘I don’t want your money,’’ Sean growled. He’d come a long way in the ten years since that first fateful letter arrived. Having shrewdly invested his surprise inheritance, he thought he might now be the wealthiest twenty-eight-year-old self-made man in all of Britain. ‘‘And I don’t need to lease anything. I own half of Piccadilly Street.’’
Not to mention a good percentage of other property in and around London.
‘‘Do you, now? Well, that’s excellent. If you’ve a vacant garret nearby, that would be ideal. Something very private with north-facing windows. I’ve a few canvases in the apartments I’ve been renting. I shall fetch them posthaste and put them in there for you to show him.’’ He nodded again, more enthusiastically. ‘‘Perhaps I’ll lease the space from you permanently. Once I inherit the title, I’ll be forced to spend some time at Lincolnshire House, so I’ll need it when I return from Wales.’’
An awkward silence stretched between them while people walked in and out, asking the porter directions to find the Rosetta Stone or the Egyptian mummies.
‘‘You’ll do it, won’t you?’’ Hamilton pressed. ‘‘Otherwise—’’
‘‘I’ll do it,’’ Sean snapped. He knew what
otherwise
entailed: doom for Deirdre.
To avoid that, he’d sell himself to the devil.
Which he very probably just had.

 

Chapter Four
ORANGE BRANDY
Take a quart of Brandy, the peels of eight Oranges thin pared, keep them in the Brandy forty-eight hours in a closed pitcher, then take three pints of Water, put into it three-quarters of a pounde of loaf Sugar, boil it till half be consumed, and let it stand till cold, then mixe it with the Brandy.
This was served at my grandparents’ wedding breakfast, and their marriage was blessed with love and health. We have had it at family weddings ever since.
—Eleanor Chase, Marchioness of Cainewood, 1730
 
Lady Stafford and Lord Cavanaugh’s wedding was a modest affair, just family and a few friends in the gorgeous Painted Room at Stafford House. The chamber was a mite tight even for the small number of guests; the equally impressive Palm Room downstairs would have been more comfortable. But the Painted Room was perfect for the occasion, because its theme was marriage.
A famous Roman fresco was re-created on the chimneypiece, and other wedding scenes were painted directly on the plaster walls. Panels depicted music, drinking, and dancing. Cupid and Venus cavorted overhead, nymphs danced on the ceiling, lovers courted on gilt-framed canvas,and a frieze of rose wreaths and garlands of flowers went all around the cornice.
The house wasn’t actually Lady Stafford’s anymore. Cornelia had been the Dowager Lady Stafford for several years now, which meant Stafford House belonged to her son, James Trevor, the current Earl of Stafford. Who also happened to be Juliana’s husband.
While the minister droned on, Juliana leaned close to Corinna. ‘‘Your turn will come next.’’
‘‘I’m not concerned with having a turn,’’ Corinna whispered back. ‘‘My art is more important than love.’’
Her gaze shifted to Aunt Frances, hugely pregnant and wearing a sentimental, romantic smile. Love had recently saved Aunt Frances from the dreary life she’d been leading as a spinster in her mid-forties. And love had transformed Corinna’s sisters’ lives as well. Juliana and James had wed only last August, right after Frances and Lord Malmsey. Alexandra and Tristan had been married nearly two years and took joy in their infant son.
Although Corinna sometimes feared she’d fail to find true love for herself, she also worried she’d forever remain unrecognized for her talents. Of the two, she felt the art was more under her control. The thing that defined her, the thing that mattered most. She was happy for Aunt Frances and her sisters. It was wonderful that they’d all found love, but to Corinna’s mind, the three women had little else.
They
needed
love to complete them, but she had her art.
Her landscapes and her still lifes, and most of all, her portraits. Her art ought to be enough. If only she could get one of her works accepted into the Summer Exhibition, her future would be bright even without a man in the picture.
No sooner had the minister announced that the Dowager Lady Stafford was now Lady Cavanaugh than Juliana began distributing glasses of orange brandy, a concoction some ancient ancestor had claimed was guaranteed to assure a lifetime of marital bliss. How her sisters believed such nonsense was something Corinna would never fathom. But she had to admit that Lord and Lady Cavanaugh looked very happy for now. Perched together on an amazing green silk sofa with gilt arms carved to look like winged lions, they both beamed as they accepted congratulations. Clearly Cornelia had found
her
Greek god, even if he was somewhat aged and silver-haired.
Her husband, James, in tow, Juliana returned. She handed Corinna the last glass with a satisfied sigh. ‘‘Oh, don’t the two of them look perfect together? I knew they’d end up married.’’
Juliana always knew what was best for everyone, and she never hesitated to announce it. Last Season she’d suggested her husband’s mother and Lord Cavanaugh share a dance, and now here they were, man and wife.
‘‘Her new title even begins with C,’’ Juliana added proudly.
Corinna sipped the sweet drink. ‘‘Why should that signify?’’
James laughed, slipping an arm around Juliana’s waist. ‘‘My aunts,’’ he reminded Corinna, ‘‘are Aurelia, Lady Avonleigh, and Bedelia, Lady Balmforth. But until today my mother—their sister—was Cornelia, Lady Stafford.’’
‘‘Now she’s Cornelia, Lady Cavanaugh, and the three sisters are Ladies A, B, and C,’’ Juliana pointed out.
‘‘Holy Hannah,’’ Corinna said as James laughed again and walked off.
She’d never understand how Juliana’s mind worked.
As though the conversation had summoned her, Lady A made her way over. ‘‘Wasn’t the ceremony beautiful? My baby sister, married again.’’ With a teary but happy little sniff, she tore her gaze from the new Lady C and focused on Corinna. ‘‘How are you doing these days, my dear?’’
‘‘Very well, thank you.’’
‘‘And your art?’’
‘‘I’ve been painting madly. I hope to see one of my pictures accepted for the Summer Exhibition this year.’’
‘‘Don’t forget, I promised to help.’’
‘‘Thank you,’’ Corinna said, although she had no idea how the kind, plump lady
could
help. But one of the woman’s daughters, who’d been artistic as well, had tragically ended her own life before the age of twenty when she’d jumped off the London Bridge, taking her unborn baby with her. And since Lady Avonleigh’s daughter had hoped to be elected to the Royal Academy herself, the woman had announced last year that she wished to see Corinna succeed in her daughter’s stead.
Unfortunately, wishing didn’t accomplish much, and Lady A had no connections to the art world. But Corinna knew the sweet lady’s heart was in the right place. ‘‘I appreciate your good intentions,’’ she told her sincerely.
‘‘I have a plan,’’ Lady Avonleigh announced.
Corinna couldn’t have been more surprised if the new Lady Cavanaugh had asked for an annulment. ‘‘Do you?’’
‘‘Yes, indeed. I’ve made a rather large donation to the Royal Academy, earmarked to provide yearly grants for deserving students to study abroad. A noble cause, do you not agree?’’
‘‘Very much so,’’ Corinna said. The Royal Academy had sponsored student travel years ago, but such grants had been in abeyance since the wars had begun, making journeys to the Continent impossible. Following Napoleon’s recent defeat at Waterloo, travel had once again resumed, and artists were now clamoring to go.
But Lady A’s grants would all go to men, of course, since women were barred from the Royal Academy schools.
Corinna sighed. ‘‘I would love to go study in Italy.’’
‘‘I’m sure you would, dear. My daughter always wanted to go, too.’’ Lady A rested a sympathetic hand on her arm. ‘‘I’ve made a stipulation that the yearly awards be titled the Lady Georgiana Cartwright Scholarships, in her honor. I do hope that seeing a lady’s name on the grant will encourage the Academy to consider admitting women in future. And in the meantime’’—she smiled, her soft blue eyes going a little hazy as she gazed off into space—‘‘it gives me pleasure to think of helping any art student achieve his dreams, no matter the recipient’s gender.’’
‘‘Tell her the rest,’’ Juliana prompted.
‘‘Ah, yes.’’ Lady A nodded, coming back from wherever she’d drifted off. ‘‘Next month I shall hold an afternoon reception in my home, to which I shall invite the members of the Summer Exhibition Selection Committee. Thanks to my generous patronage, I am certain they will all feel obligated to attend. And, of course, I shall invite you too, Lady Corinna, giving you the opportunity to show them some of your work and, more important, charm them and influence their decision.’’
Corinna doubted her ability to charm. Her sisters accused her of being sarcastic much more often than they lauded her more feminine virtues. But as she was unknown in the art world—and that would be a mark against her in the judging—she was thrilled to have the opportunity to meet the committee. And flabbergasted that Lady A would go to such lengths to help her. ‘‘Thank you so much. I shall make the most of this chance, I assure you.’’
‘‘I must give credit where credit is due,’’ Lady A said. ‘‘The whole scheme was your sister’s idea.’’
‘‘It was
your
money,’’ Juliana hastened to point out. ‘‘And your decision where it should be allocated.’’
‘‘I was pleased to do it. My dear daughter would have approved. I shall be even more pleased when your sister becomes the first female elected to the Royal Academy in the last forty-nine years, and honored to have had a hand in it.’’ She took a sip of her orange brandy and looked back to Corinna. ‘‘Of course, your talent will be the determining factor, my dear. I’ve no doubt you’ll eventually find yourself elected with or without my help.’’
Corinna wished she could be so sure.
‘‘Have you need of assistance with the planning?’’ Juliana asked Lady A.
‘‘I could use a hand with the invitations,’’ the older woman admitted. ‘‘My penmanship is not what it used to be.’’
‘‘I’d be pleased to assist,’’ Juliana assured her—no surprise, since Juliana loved to have her hand in everything. ‘‘Perhaps we can have a little invitation party here next week. Friday afternoon would work well. I’ll invite Alexandra and our cousins. You remember Rachael, Claire, and Elizabeth?’’
‘‘Of course,’’ Lady A said. ‘‘It was a pleasure chatting with them during your many sewing parties.’’ Last year, Juliana had offered to make baby clothes for the Foundling Hospital, and she’d needed a
lot
of assistance. ‘‘I would be grateful for your cousins’ help. And now . . .’’ Lady A gestured to the new Lady Cavanaugh. ‘‘I must congratulate my sister before the wedding supper.’’
After she left, Juliana drew Corinna toward three of their dark-haired cousins. At twenty and twenty-one, Elizabeth and Claire Chase were both pretty as pictures. Their tall brother, Noah, the Earl of Greystone, was a year older and would have been pretty too—but Corinna thought a small scar that slashed through his left eyebrow made him look a little dangerous instead.
He had an equally dangerous smile, which he flashed as she and Juliana approached. ‘‘I’m going to find Rachael,’’ he said, referring to his elder sister. ‘‘If you’ll excuse me.’’
As he ambled away, Juliana turned to Elizabeth and Claire. ‘‘We’re helping Lady Avonleigh with the reception she’s planning to launch Corinna’s art career. I’m hoping you’ll both come to a little invitation-making party here next Friday. And I hope Rachael will come as well, of course. Where has she gone off to?’’
‘‘The terrace. She’s just staring out over Green Park.’’ Claire looked worried. ‘‘She hasn’t been herself for a long while.’’
‘‘I’ve noticed,’’ Juliana said. All the time Corinna’s brother, Griffin, had been busy trying to marry off his three sisters, Juliana had been trying to match him with Rachael. But Rachael had neglected to attend many events this Season and last. ‘‘Rachael has always been so enthusiastic. What do you suppose has dampened her spirits?’’
‘‘She’s not yet got over finding that letter,’’ Elizabeth said.
Claire elbowed her younger sister in the ribs.
‘‘What?’’ Juliana looked between them. ‘‘What letter?’’
‘‘Now you’ve done it,’’ Claire accused, her unusual amethyst eyes glaring into her sister’s green ones. ‘‘Rachael’s kept mum on the subject deliberately, you know.’’

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