Sean had forgotten Hamilton's parents were dead and he'd had no siblings. Sweet Jesus, whatever had made him think he could pull this off? Warning himself to tread more carefully, he ignored the first questions and answered the last. "Surely you know I was raised in Ireland."
"But you're an Englishman, after all. I made certain you always had English tutors. Paid the enormous bills myself."
Sean shrugged—casually, he hoped. "Everyone else around me was Irish. I expect I picked up a bit of an accent anyway."
"A bit?"
In all honesty, Sean had thought he'd lost most of it. Or at least he'd tried to. He was very careful to always say yes rather than aye, and my rather than me. Yes, that's my best suit, instead of Aye, that's me best suit.
He knew the Irish had a less than sterling reputation in London.
"Ah, well, I suppose it doesn't signify," Lincolnshire added kindly. "I'll call you Sean if that pleases you. I'm just glad to have you here. Been lonely since your aunt passed on."
Hamilton's aunt, Lincolnshire's wife. Guilt was a fist around Sean's heart. "You must miss her."
"I surely do. After all our children died, at least we still had each other. Rather disconcerting to find oneself alone."
"You seem to be surrounded by staff, sir. Uncle." An understatement of great proportions. The nurse still puttered in the shadows, and two more maids had come and gone in the past few minutes, delivering a glass of water, fussing with the curtains, seeing to the man's comfort.
"Ah, yes, that I am." The earl smiled a bit sheepishly, revealing straight but tea-stained teeth. "Mrs. Skeffington takes excellent care of me," he said, indicating the nurse, "but she does have some help. More than a hundred servants altogether, and I cannot bring myself to dismiss a single one. My family has employed all of them for years."
"All of them?"
"And their folk before them, generations back. My forebears housed many relations, you see. As did I, in the past." A sigh escaped his lips, a wheezy sort of sound. "While my family shrank, the families of the servants continued to grow. After so many years of loyal service, I cannot find it in myself to turn them out. It's no simple matter to find good positions these days, even with a letter of good character."
While keeping such a large staff bordered on absurd, Sean found the sentiment touching, which ratcheted his guilt up a level. No wonder the maid had described Lincolnshire as the most wonderful employer in all of England.
Sean's breakfast felt as though it were congealing in his gut. An iron collar seemed to be squeezing around his throat. How could he do this to such a nice man? Clearly Lincolnshire wasn't the blackguard Hamilton had described. And neither was he "incapacitated." Perhaps he was knocking on death's door, but for now, at least, the man was fully alert.
Lincolnshire leaned to pat Sean's hand. "I'm so glad you're here, John," he repeated gratefully.
"Sean," Sean choked out.
"Sean, yes. I shall have to grow accustomed to that." He smiled again, a fond smile that spiked Sean's guilt to new heights. "Lady Partridge is holding a ball tomorrow night. I've already sent my regrets, but I've a sudden hankering to see all my friends one last time. To show off my famous nephew. I'll have my secretary send her a note, if it wouldn't be too much trouble for you to accompany me."
Trouble?
Guilt transformed to a panic that trouble didn't even begin to describe.
Should Sean appear in society as Lincolnshire's nephew, the truth would be revealed when Hamilton later appeared as himself. And then where would they all be? Hamilton would lose his art career if not his inheritance. He'd kill Sean, or, at the very least, refuse Deirdre her divorce. Sean's sister would go on to live in sin, and he'd be proved worse than a knotheaded fool—a complete failure as a brother and a man.
"I'd prefer not to be 'shown off,'" he explained carefully. "I'm rather a mystery to the public. That secrecy adds to my cachet, and—"
"Your mysterious ways are legend. Very well, then." Lincolnshire looked resigned, and Sean was relieved—for approximately two seconds. "I won't tell anyone you're John Hamilton. I'll simply introduce you as my nephew Sean."
"Surely people know who your heir is…"
"I'll tell them you're my long-lost other nephew. For now. They'll learn the truth, of course, when you inherit. It will be our little secret." For a moment the earl's eyes danced with merry amusement, but he quickly sobered. "I'd…well…" The old man cleared his throat, looking embarrassed. "I'd given up living, Sean. I didn't want to see anyone. But now… having you here…it makes me want to live again. I've a short time left. With you by my side, I wish to say my good-byes." A sheen of tears glazed his eyes. "Please, nephew, do me this favor."
How could Sean deny such a fine, upstanding fellow? How could he possibly refuse? How could he disappoint the most wonderful man in all of England?
He gazed up at the exquisite painted ceiling, where the Goddess of Dawn chased the Goddess of Night. Hamilton had been so wrong about his uncle, in so very many ways. And being introduced as Lincolnshire's other nephew should carry no risk. Their ruse would never come to light. Sean had no connections with high society. Before Lincolnshire, he'd never met any member of the ton. No one should suspect he was anything but what Lincolnshire said, and after all of this was over, he'd never see any of them ever again.
"Very well," he said at last, lowering his gaze to meet the earl's eyes. "I'll accompany you. Just remember to call me Sean."
SEVEN
GRIFFIN SPENT all of Friday morning seated across from Rachael in his blasted carriage, breathing her come-hither scent and watching her lick her lips so many times his jaw ached from clenching his teeth.
