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Elizabeth’s hands flew up to slap her own cheeks. ‘‘Oh, fiddlesticks!’’

‘‘What letter?’’ Juliana repeated.

Although the Painted Room was filled with the babel of conversation, Claire and Elizabeth’s silence was noticeable. ‘‘Whatever it is,’’ Corinna said for them, ‘‘Rachael wants it kept a secret.’’

‘‘Surely she didn’t mean from us,’’ Juliana said. ‘‘We’re her cousins.’’

‘‘No, you aren’t,’’ Elizabeth said, then clapped a hand over her mouth.

‘‘What?’’ Juliana and Corinna burst out together.

Claire glared at her sister again, then sighed. ‘‘When Rachael cleared out our parents’ suite at Greystone for Noah, she found a letter that revealed she had a different father than ours. It seems our mother was married before and carrying Rachael when she was widowed. Then she married our father before giving birth.’’

Juliana looked astonished. ‘‘Who was her real father, then?’’

‘‘She doesn’t know.’’ Claire shook her head sadly. ‘‘The letter didn’t say, and there’s no one to ask. We have no living grandparents, and Mama’s only sister died when we were young. Rachael went through all of our mother’s belongings, searching for clues to who her first husband might have been, but she found nothing.’’

‘‘Is she still looking?’’ Corinna asked, concerned.

‘‘She cannot think of anywhere else to look,’’ Elizabeth said. ‘‘Griffin even helped her go through everything again last year, in case she missed something.’’

Now Juliana looked intrigued. ‘‘Griffin knows about this?’’

‘‘He’s the only one besides us,’’ Claire said. ‘‘Please don’t tell Rachael you know now, too. She’d be mortified.’’

‘‘Why?’’ Corinna asked. ‘‘Her parentage is certainly no fault of hers. Does she think so little of us that she believes it would change our feelings toward her?’’

‘‘I fear she’s not thinking at all these days.’’ Claire crossed her arms over her violet satin bodice and leveled another stare at her sister. ‘‘Much like Elizabeth.’’

‘‘I’m sorry,’’ Elizabeth squeaked.

Claire sighed. ‘‘I don’t think Rachael even realizes you’re not her cousins. She’s so upset at not knowing who her father is that she hasn’t thought past that. Or maybe she’s blocked the truth from her mind, because she can’t stand the thought of losing all the family she knows.’’

‘‘She still has you two,’’ Corinna said. ‘‘And Noah.’’

‘‘But that’s all. Please just let her work it out for herself in her own good time. I don’t think she could take hearing anything more now.’’

‘‘We promise not to tell a soul.’’ Corinna turned to Juliana. ‘‘Don’t we?’’

‘‘Of course we do.’’ Juliana reached to touch both her cousins’ arms reassuringly. ‘‘I’m sorry to hear Rachael is so upset over this discovery, but I assure you that no one—including her—will hear about it from either of us. We love Rachael, and we don’t find it upsetting at all.’’

To the contrary, Corinna suspected Juliana was personally thrilled to hear this news. Rachael’s main objection to marrying Griffin had always been that he was a cousin. That obstacle was now gone. Rachael had confided in Griffin, and Griffin had tried to help her and kept her secret. Add all of that together, and it seemed another of Juliana’s constant projects was well on its way to success.

And if she actually managed to pull it off, she was going to be smug beyond belief.

Chapter Five

Few people were strolling in Green Park this Thursday evening. The undulating landscape was shadowed by the setting sun, and the gardens were very tranquil.

But Rachael wasn’t.

Gripping the terrace’s rail, she stared out over grassland and trees, telling herself it was time to let go of these feelings. She was never going to learn who had fathered her, and she had to come to grips with that. She’d allowed Griffin to help her as he’d wanted, and they’d found nothing—just as she’d expected. That had been months ago, months spent in a melancholy haze.

The man who had raised her had cared for her, so it shouldn’t matter that they hadn’t shared a blood bond, should it? And how long could she remain angry with her mother for withholding the facts? The woman was dead, for God’s sake. The anger was pointless, and she had to get on with her life.

‘‘Rachael.’’

Turning to see her brother step out on the terrace, she forced a smile. ‘‘Noah. You arrived so late I had no chance to talk to you before the wedding.’’ His priorities never had been with family or the earldom. ‘‘Did you get the new racehorse settled in at Greystone?’’

‘‘Horses,’’ he corrected. ‘‘I bought two. And they’re both doing well, yes. I’m hoping for a good showing at Ascot. While I was home I asked for an inventory to be taken—’’

‘‘An inventory of what?’’ Since when did Noah care about anything at Greystone Castle?

‘‘Of everything. While dining there alone, I noticed that old portrait of the first earl over the fireplace and got to thinking about what might have accumulated in the hundred and fifty years since he was granted the title and lands. The servants aren’t yet finished—I expect it will take them weeks to catalog all they find. But one thing they discovered was an old trunk in the attic with Mama’s wedding dress and a few other items. Nothing important—’’

‘‘I want to see it.’’

‘‘I knew you would,’’ he said with a wry smile. ‘‘That’s why I’m telling you they found it. I had it brought down and put in my room so you can go through it after the Season.’’

‘‘I want to see it now. Can we go to Greystone tomorrow?’’

‘‘I just got back from Greystone, and the Jockey Club meets tomorrow. Besides, I told you nothing in it is important. You can wait a few weeks.’’

‘‘No, I can’t, Noah.’’ He didn’t know what was important. The trunk might have something in it that would reveal her father’s identity. ‘‘I’m going tomorrow.’’

‘‘I’m not going with you, and you cannot travel that far alone or with Claire or Elizabeth. It wouldn’t be safe.’’

‘‘I know that.’’ But she knew another man who might be willing to accompany her in his place. ‘‘When you go back inside, will you ask Griffin to step out here a moment?’’

‘‘Can you come for me at seven?’’ Rachael asked, a few loose tendrils of her hair blowing in the breeze that crossed the terrace.

‘‘That anxious, are you?’’ Griffin’s sisters were never ready to leave the house so early in the morning, but none of them were nearly as focused as Rachael. ‘‘That will be fine. Will one or both of your sisters come along, too?’’

‘‘I think not.’’

‘‘Hmm. Aunt Frances is too far gone with child, so I guess I’ll ask one of my sisters to join us.’’

‘‘Why?’’

‘‘As a chaperone, of course.’’

‘‘We don’t need a chaperone, Griffin.’’

He sipped orange brandy, watching her warily over the rim of the glass. ‘‘It’s a long journey.’’

‘‘Only half a day each direction. We won’t be gone overnight. Other than you and my siblings, no one knows about my true parentage, and I want to keep it that way, at least for now. Besides,’’ she added, ‘‘you’re my cousin. Would I require a chaperone to go visiting with Noah?’’

‘‘I’m not Noah,’’ Griffin pointed out. ‘‘A cousin is not the same as a brother.’’ But he didn’t point out that he wasn’t, in the strictest sense, her cousin. Not by blood anyway, not since it had been established that John Chase hadn’t been her father. He didn’t want to upset her, and more to the point, he’d just as soon have her think of him as a cousin.

‘‘You’re
practically
my brother,’’ she insisted.

Maybe having her think of him as a brother was even better. ‘‘Very well,’’ he said. ‘‘I’ll come for you at seven.’’

‘‘Thank you!’’ she exclaimed, looking happier than he’d seen her since that disappointing day when they’d gone through her mother’s belongings and found nothing. As he watched her glide back into Stafford House, her luscious derriere swaying as she went, he gritted his teeth.

Griffin remembered Rachael as an awkward adolescent, a tomboyish playmate, all skinny arms and gangly legs. At fourteen, she’d had a silly dent in her chin, wild, curly dark hair, and sky blue eyes that seemed much too big for her face. But then he’d left home for Oxford and later joined the cavalry. And during the years he’d spent away, the tomboy had transformed into a woman.

A very sultry one.

Those cerulean eyes were now alluring, those limbs long and graceful, that body anything but awkward. The dent in her chin no longer looked silly—it looked provocative instead. Her hair was sleek and tamed, excepting those few chestnut tendrils that always seemed to come loose. Or maybe she left them loose deliberately. Either way, they caressed the sides of her face in a way that made him wish his hands were there in their place.

In short, he found Rachael Chase entirely too attractive. Which was why he was happy she thought of him as nothing more than a cousin.

Although cousins often wed, Rachael’s aunt had married a cousin, then sadly given birth to a crippled, feeble-minded child. A doctor had said the family relationship might be to blame, and as a result, Rachael was dead-set against marrying any cousin, no matter how distant. And that suited Griffin just fine, since he had no intention of marrying her.

He had no intention of marrying anyone, for that matter.

At least, not in the foreseeable future.

His sisters and Cainewood kept him occupied quite enough, thank you very much. The last thing he needed was an additional distraction, or yet another responsibility. For God’s sake, he was only thirty, he thought as he downed the rest of the orange brandy and went back inside.

There were years and years left before he had to worry about taking on a wife.

Chapter Six

The homes on the east and west sides of Berkeley Square were close to the street and built cheek by jowl against one another, but Lincolnshire House stood alone on the north end, behind a high, imposing wall. Friday morning, the guard at the massive wooden gate scowled at the portmanteau Sean carried.

‘‘Peddlers are not welcome.’’

Sean’s hand clenched on the handle of the simple leather bag. ‘‘I’m the earl’s nephew,’’ he said, all but choking on the words.

A little gasp burst from the man’s mouth. ‘‘Pardon me, Mr. Hamilton. I’m sorry; truly I am.’’ Babbling, he swung open the gate. ‘‘Do come in, and please accept my sincerest apologies.’’

Sean was more than willing to do so, but he was struck dumb at sight of the house.

His own house in Hampstead was sizable and impressive. Originally built in the seventeenth century, it had been extended and remodeled some fifty years ago by the notable architect Robert Adam, for a chief justice who worked in the City but wanted to live in the suburbs. It sat in acres of gardens and ancient woodland, with a stunning view out over London. Deirdre had gasped the first time she saw it.

But it seemed a hovel in comparison to the Earl of Lincolnshire’s enormous mansion in Berkeley Square.

A rather plain Palladian-style brick building, it was quite simply the largest house Sean had ever seen. Five gardeners labored industriously in the lavishly landscaped courtyard. After banging the knocker, he shifted uncomfortably on the front steps beneath the portico, wishing he’d never consented to what he was about to do.

Deirdre certainly hadn’t agreed that it was worthwhile to secure her divorce. Last night’s disbelieving cry— ‘‘You promised to do
what
?’’—still rang in his head. ‘‘That’s ridiculous!’’ she’d railed—and Irishwomen were nothing if not expert railers. ‘‘You fool! You knothead! I don’t need you to play the martyr for me. I’ll be happy together with Daniel whether we’re married or not.’’

Well, maybe
she
would be happy, but Sean wouldn’t. Not if the two hadn’t exchanged vows. But although he’d been tempted to tell her Hamilton was threatening to make her move back in with him, he’d resisted that temptation. He didn’t want to be the martyr; he didn’t want her to feel indebted or burdened with guilt. Better she think her brother a knotheaded fool.

That
was nothing new, anyway.

A butler opened the door. His dark suit was starched and pressed. His features looked as rigid as his clothing, his round face seemingly frozen.

‘‘May I help you, sir?’’

‘‘I’ve come to see my uncle, the Earl of Lincolnshire.’’

‘‘Your uncle? You must be Mr. Hamilton, then.’’ As though he’d suddenly melted, the man’s entire demeanor changed. ‘‘Come in, come in,’’ he said, ushering Sean through the door. ‘‘I’m Quincy, and the earl is going to be so pleased to hear you’ve arrived. I shall inform Mr. Higginbotham, his house steward, that you are here so he can make certain your room is ready.’’ He eyed the portmanteau. ‘‘That cannot be all you brought along.’’

‘‘My manservant will bring in my trunks after he sees to my curricle.’’

‘‘Good, good. I shall send an underfootman to assist him. The earl has been asking after you since he opened his eyes this morning. In truth, since last night when he received your note. He’s abed, so I shall fetch a maid to show you upstairs posthaste.’’

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