FORTY-ONE

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"DID YOU NOT sleep well?" Deirdre asked solicitously when Sean slammed into the breakfast room again Sunday morning.

"I didn't sleep at all."

He'd spent the entire night alternating between worrying about his company and arguing with himself over whether to devastate Corinna now or allow her to paint in peace.

There was nothing he could do about the former that he wasn't already doing. He knew that. As for the latter, he also knew what was best for Corinna. But it didn't feel best for him.

The gravel had torn his insides to a pulp.

Still deliberating and ignoring Deirdre, he gulped down coffee and little else, then stomped upstairs to play nephew to Lincolnshire.

Coming to a halt in the earl's doorway, he listened to the man's ragged snores for a long minute, calming down somewhat. "How is he doing?" he finally asked Mrs. Skeffington quietly.

Sadness etched on her kind, plain face, the nurse shook her head.

The ragged snores ceased, making them both turn. "Cainewood?" Lincolnshire croaked.

"I'm here, Uncle." Sean walked closer and touched the man's hand, wincing when his fingers left indentations in the swollen flesh. "It's Sean."

Lincolnshire slitted his eyes, but just for a bare moment. "Cainewood?"

"He's not here, Uncle. But I am."

"Wake me…when…Cainewood…arrives," he wheezed again, and drifted off.

Sean looked to Mrs. Skeffington. "He thought I was Cainewood. Is he delirious, then?"

"Not delirious, but very tired. He was up quite late last night, closeted with his solicitor. And I fear…" She sighed and shook her head again. "I cannot say it."

Sean also feared the earl's end was near. "I cannot say it, either," he muttered, wondering why that should be so depressing. Life would be much easier when this was over. Maybe not happier, but surely easier. "Why would he want to see Cainewood?"

She shrugged. "Lord Lincolnshire asked for the marquess last night. Instructed Mr. Lawless to summon him first thing in the morning. I expect he wants to say good-bye. They've been neighbors for thirty years, after all, since the marquess was born." She forced a smile and patted Sean's hand with her own sturdy one. "I'll watch your uncle, Mr. Hamilton. You go paint. There's nothing you can do for him now."

"I cannot…well, perhaps I will." The earl didn't seem to want or need him right at the moment. He wouldn't paint, of course, but perhaps he would leave for a while. Go talk to Corinna or return to his offices. See if any reports had come in yet from outside London. "Please ask my wife to send for me if my uncle has need of me. She'll know where to find me."

He went downstairs and asked a footman to see that his curricle was brought around. As he headed for the door, the knocker banged, and Quincy opened it to reveal Corinna's brother.

Cainewood stood stiffly, his arms folded behind him. He looked impatient, or maybe furious. Sean didn't know him well enough to be sure which, but he was exhausted out of his mind—and he knew he'd taken liberties with the man's sister.

For one delusional moment, he imagined Cainewood was hiding a pistol behind his back.

"It won't happen again," he promised quickly. Stupidly.

Once had been more than enough.

Cainewood frowned and raised both his hands. Empty hands. "I beg your pardon?"

Sean blew out a breath, remembering Lincolnshire. "The earl has been asking for you."

"Yes, his solicitor summoned me. I don't know why. But I've another appointment this morning, so I'm hoping this won't take long."

"I think he just wants to say good-bye," Sean assured him, moving past him.

On the street, waiting for his curricle, he found his gaze drifting to the town house with the blue door on the west side of the square. As though drawn by unseen cords, he walked toward it, stopping on the pavement in front of the large window that fronted the drawing room.

Corinna wasn't in the drawing room, of course. It wasn't even ten o'clock, and she slept until noon unless someone offered her a kiss for getting up early. Her easel was visible, though, so he walked closer to have a look at how Lincolnshire's portrait was coming along. But it sat sideways, and the painting was covered by a crisp white sheet.

And it wasn't finished. He knew that. She'd use every minute she had left before it was due. It wouldn't be finished before tomorrow, which meant he couldn't devastate her until then. He couldn't wake her—that wouldn't be fair.

He needed to see this thing through the right way, he lectured himself, heading back to where his curricle waited. He'd known that all along. There had been no use losing sleep over a decision so obvious.

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LADY AVONLEIGH'S town house was near all of Oxford Street's many shops. As Griffin banged the knocker, Rachael couldn't help hoping that Lady A might invite her to visit often. They could go shopping and get to know each other. It would be such fun. She'd never had any living grandparents to spend time with—at least, not any she'd known of.

The butler who answered the door looked as old as Lady A and Lady B put together. "Yes?" he croaked.

"I've come to call on Lady Avonleigh," Rachael said.

He cleared his throat. "She's not here. She's left for Lady Hartley's breakfast."

"But it's not even one o'clock."

He shrugged his bony shoulders. "She doesn't like to be late for anything, my lady."

Her heart sinking, she swiveled to Griffin. "I told you we should have come first thing in the morning."

When he also shrugged, she couldn't help noticing his shoulders were much wider than the butler's. "I don't mind waiting," he said.

"Lady Hartley's breakfast will probably last until midnight! It's the event of the season."

"We'll change our clothes, then, and go to the breakfast."

"I've already sent my regrets. And it's in a garden, under a tent. There will be no place to talk privately."

"We could walk with Lady Avonleigh in the garden."

"Any number of people might be walking as well and overhear us."

"Then we could take her into Lady Hartley's house."

"You cannot go into someone's house during a garden party, Griffin. It's not polite to go where you're not invited."

"Juliana went into Lady Hartley's house during last year's breakfast," he pointed out.

"And look what happened! It was the scandal of the season!" When it came to the social niceties, men didn't know anything. She sighed. "We'll come back tomorrow. In the morning."