SEAN DIDN'T slam into the breakfast room Monday morning. He was much too drained, much too discouraged for so much emotion. At half past seven, he simply walked in and slowly sat down, feeling brittle, as though his bones might crack in the process.
Deirdre slid his cup of coffee toward him just as slowly. "No good news?"
"No news at all." He reached for the cup but didn't drink from it, just cradled its warmth between his palms. "No helpful news, at any rate. Maybe today."
She sipped her tea, watching him. "Lady Corinna came by to see you last night before you returned. Late, but I hadn't yet gone up to bed. She seemed rather…excited. Out of breath. I'm thinking she must have run all the way here from her house. She said she had something to tell you."
"Her painting must be finished," he said glumly. She'd completed it half a day early, which meant it must have gone well. But it also meant it was time to explain the facts.
"You don't sound happy for her. It's a good thing, isn't it?"
"Sure, and it's excellent." Now he could devastate the love of his life.
They both glanced over as the door opened. "Mr. Hamilton?"
A maid entered. The one who'd shown Sean upstairs the first day he arrived, the little bird of a middle-aged woman who'd informed him Lincolnshire was the most wonderful man in all of England.
Today she looked like an old woman, her face drawn in tight lines. "Nurse Skeffington asked me to fetch you," she said. "Your uncle is dying."
IN HER FAMILY'S Lincoln's Inn Fields town house, Rachael was going downstairs to have breakfast when her brother started up. "Oh, there you are," he said. "I was coming to look for you."
"You're up and about early." Pausing on the steps, she noted he was wearing shoes rather than boots, and a double-breasted tailcoat rather than a riding coat. "And isn't it Monday morning, Noah?"
"Of course it is, yes."
"I thought all you horse-mad young bucks met at Tattersall's on Mondays to settle your accounts. Or is Monday an auction day? Either way, you always seem to head for Tattersall's every Monday, but you're not dressed for that."
"Maybe I'm not horse-mad anymore," he suggested, a challenge in his blue eyes.
Hearing a challenge in his voice, too, she wondered if he could possibly be serious. "You're off to your club, then, I expect?"
"No, I'm not." Noah lifted his square chin. "I was hoping you'd come with me to Oxford Street. To Robert Gillow and Company, to be more precise, to pick out a new desk."
"Did you say a desk?" She must have heard him wrong. "What kind of a desk?"
"An oak one, I'm thinking. Something sturdy, in any case, with many drawers. The one in the study seems to be growing rather rickety."
"I imagine it's a hundred years old, at the very least. But however did you come to notice it's rickety?"
He raised his scarred brow. "I used it, Rachael. Is that such a surprise?"
"Frankly, yes." Surprise seemed too mild a word—she was positively shocked. First he'd asked for an inventory at Greystone, and now this. Could it be her younger brother was growing up? At twenty-two, he was looking like a man, but was he actually becoming one?
"Well?" he asked, still looking like a man, but one who was rather annoyed. "Will you come with me or not?"
"Oh, I wish I could." The sight of Noah inspecting desks rather than horseflesh was bound to be a spectacle. But she expected Griffin to arrive in half an hour. "I've other plans for today, I'm afraid, but let me talk to Claire and Elizabeth about going with you to Gillow's instead."
"LORD LINCOLNSHIRE!" Corinna called excitedly. "Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton!"
She hurried toward Lord Lincolnshire's bedroom, having been told at the front door that Sean and Deirdre were with him. She'd risen at the crack of dawn this morning and come before even eating breakfast, because she couldn't wait a moment longer to share her news.
"I finished my portrait!" she announced, stopping in the doorway. "I'm going to submit it this…"
The sentence trailed off when she saw her brother-in-law James by the bed, leaning over the earl with his stethoscope. All her excitement dissipated along with the words.
"… afternoon," she finished in a small voice. "How is he?"
Sean rose from where he sat by Deirdre. "I think Lord Stafford is just about finished and ready to tell us."
"I am, yes." James drew the covers up to the earl's chin and straightened, looking grim. "I fear the end is imminent. He may last the night, but not any longer. I don't believe he'll wake, either. He'll likely just continue like this until his breathing and his heart simply stop. I'm sorry," he concluded with a sigh. "We'll all miss him."
Corinna looked back to the huge crimson-draped bed where Lord Lincolnshire slumbered, propped upright against a dozen pillows. When the covers were down, she'd noticed his belly appeared swollen now, along with the rest of him. His skin looked tight and wet, as though it were weeping fluid. Gurgling noises came from his throat.
Her heart sank even lower. "That sounds dreadful. He must be suffering so."
"He sounds like that because his lungs are filling," James explained gently. "But he's sleeping. I don't think he's really suffering in the sense you imagine." He dropped the stethoscope in his leather bag and snapped it closed, looking to Sean. "I can stay if you wish, but there isn't anything I can do. It's only a matter of time now."
"I understand," Sean said. "We won't be needing you to stay, though I appreciate the offer. I'll be with him."
"I'll stay with him, too," Deirdre added softly. "And Nurse Skeffington will be back within the hour."
"All right, then." James moved to Corinna and lightly kissed her cheek. "I'm sorry," he said again, and left.
For a moment, Corinna just gazed at Lord Lincolnshire. Hot tears pricked her eyes. Deirdre rose and came to place a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure he knows you finished his portrait."
Guilt flooded her. She hadn't finished it. But she would. She'd promised to paint his final portrait, and she'd follow through with that. She had only to fix the underlying anatomy, and she knew how to do that now. His portrait wouldn't be exhibited at the Royal Academy, but it would hang here at Lincolnshire House.
Which would be John Hamilton's house, unfortunately. At that thought, a rush of anger tempered her guilt. But it would be Deirdre's house, too, at least until she got her divorce, and that thought was a little mollifying.
She raised a hand to touch Deirdre's on her shoulder. "Thank you for saying that."
"Which other pictures will you submit along with the portrait today?" Sean asked.
"I'm not submitting any other pictures," she told him, turning to him. "I've decided to submit the portrait alone." She neglected to mention it wasn't the one he expected. "It's my best work, the painting I wish to exhibit as my debut. Should it not be chosen, I'll try again next year."
"It's pleased I am to hear you're that happy with the way it turned out," he said.
But he didn't look pleased. Or sound pleased.
At all.
"I'm sorry you're losing Lord Lincolnshire," she said, her heart breaking for him. "I know you've grown close."
He nodded. "I need to talk to you about something. Something important. Not here, though," he said, slanting a glance to his sister. "Later."
"Take her out of the room," Deirdre said. "I'll stay with Lord Lincolnshire." When he hesitated, she added, "Go," and waved a hand. "Lord Stafford said he might last the whole night. Nothing will be happening in a few minutes."
After hesitating a moment more, Sean took Corinna's arm and drew her out and down the corridor. But when he turned to her, he didn't say anything. He just looked at her, his heart in his deep green eyes.
"What is it?" she asked. Remembering he'd called her sweetheart and my heart and my love, she raised a hand to his cheek. "You look so sad."
"I am sad." Turning his face, he raised his own hand to hold hers to his mouth and pressed a warm kiss to her palm before releasing it. "I'm very sad, Corinna. I cannot do this standing outside Lincolnshire's bedroom. Will you meet me at Hamilton's studio one last time?"
"Of course." She'd soothe his sadness then, show him how much she loved him. She'd kiss him and more, and…he was right: None of that could happen here. But sad as she was herself at losing Lord Lincolnshire, her heart started galloping at the thought of meeting him. "What time?"
"In an hour," he said, and then: "No. I need to stay with Lincolnshire right now. I'd never forgive myself if he—"
"I understand." He looked tortured. "James said Lord Lincolnshire wouldn't last the night, and you need to be with him until then. And I need to submit my portrait later this afternoon. How about tomorrow?"
"That's too long…but all right."
"I don't want to wait that long, either." It seemed so very long since they'd last been together. Only two and a half days since he'd last held her in his arms, but it felt like forever.
"Shall we say ten o'clock?" he asked.
"All the ladies are visiting Aunt Frances tomorrow at eleven, but I can—"
"Let's make it in the afternoon, then." He shut his eyes briefly, then opened them with a sigh. "This will probably be best," he said as though trying to convince himself. "I'll spend the morning making arrangements for Lincolnshire's funeral."
"But you won't need to play his nephew once he's gone," she said, then clapped a hand over her mouth.
He glanced quickly around, but fortunately no servants had overheard. Looking relieved, he ran his hands slowly down her arms, then linked his fingers with hers, lacing them together. "I owe him that, Corinna," he said softly. "And who else is going to do it?"
He was such a good man. And he looked even more tortured. The rush of happiness she'd felt at the thought of spending time with him seemed suddenly overshadowed by his distress.
She couldn't kiss him here outside Lincolnshire's bedroom, but she threw her arms around him, holding him tight. "This will all be over soon," she murmured against his chest, thinking much better times lay ahead.
"Yes," he said in a flat tone. "It will."