But after that, he was going to leave Ireland.
He was going to London.
He was going to make a life for himself, something better than he'd ever imagined growing up in wee Kilburton.
It wasn't going to be easy to leave kinfolk and friends, to strike out on his own. He knew that. His heart seemed both heavy and light as he turned away from the village, crossed the harvested fields, wandered the age-old riverbank. Touching the precious letter beneath his cloak, he alternately laughed, pondering his immense luck, and trembled, wondering what lay ahead.
Three hours passed—three tense, exhilarating hours—before he took a deep breath and started home. It had stopped raining. When he reentered the village, the sun was setting low on the horizon, its last rays fighting through the cloud cover as he trod the lane toward the vicarage. Just before he reached the squat house, two figures came out of it, dark shadows against the silvery glow.
"You have no choice." The Honorable Mr. William Hamilton's voice came low and angry through the gloom. An imposing man if not a tall one, he was the same height as the son he pulled toward their fancy carriage. "Not this time."
Wondering what was going on but not wanting to be seen, Sean hid himself behind a tree.
"You paid off that village girl without any repercussions." Young John Hamilton sounded sullen, furious. "And that maid—"
"Two. Two lowly maids." His father pushed him up the carriage's steps. "She's not some servant's get, you idiot," he muttered, following his son inside. "I'd lose face should you not—"
The door shut, and Sean heard nothing else. As the carriage rumbled off, he stepped from behind the tree and hurried into the house.
It was warm, welcoming, filled with the soft light of oil lamps and redolent with the scent of the whiskey cake his mother had baked earlier for her guests. A good home, simple but clean and cared for. Sean had a fine family, a sister three years his junior and parents who had always been there for both of them, giving of their hearts although they'd never had much to give materially.
He felt sad, knowing he'd soon be leaving all of this, and also excited about his new life. But mostly, he was mighty curious to learn what had made the Hamiltons leave their huge manor house to pay a call at the modest vicarage.
Hearing voices from the sitting room, he headed there. And stopped short when his sister turned to him with a grin. "I'm marrying John Hamilton."
Sean gaped at fifteen-year-old Deirdre. He couldn't have heard her right. "What did you just say?"
Her golden hair gleaming in the firelight, she lifted her chin. "Mr. Hamilton told John he'd have to marry me."
"But why?" His gaze shot from his father's bloodless face to his mother's eyes, swollen from weeping. There could be only one reason they looked like that, one reason John Hamilton might be forced to wed Deirdre. "Don't tell me you're…" As he looked back to his sister, the rest of the sentence stuck in his throat.
Her grin widened as she folded her hands over her deceivingly flat middle. "I'm with child, aye. And I'll be the wife of John Hamilton, the handsomest, richest unmarried man in all of Kilburton."
In all of the county, more like. The Hamiltons' lofty new manor house sat in the shadow of their ancestral home, centuries-old Kilburton Castle. John Hamilton's father was the younger brother of the Earl of Lincolnshire, sent years ago to oversee Kilburton, one of the earl's many lesser estates.
Growing up, Sean and Deirdre had been educated in a chilly one-room schoolhouse, while John had a parade of private English tutors. The boy had always been temperamental, and Sean had thought him haughty, unfeeling, and selfish. But the two had been born the same year, and since there were no other lads their age in Kilburton, Sean's mother had told him to play with John anyway. After all, she'd often said—all too often, in Sean's estimation—it was the Christian thing to do.
Being a biddable sort of son, Sean had done what he was told and played with the fellow more times than he could count. But Hamilton had always wanted to stay inside and fiddle with paste and paint, while Sean preferred outdoor pursuits like fishing and building forts. He'd never really liked John Hamilton.
Deirdre, on the other hand, a rather wild girl and the bane of her parents' existence, obviously liked John Hamilton just fine.
Fine enough to let John ruin her.
Still and all, Sean loved his sister. She was pretty and fun, the best of companions, always ready with a smile and a plan for mischief. Looking at her now, her eyes dancing, Sean clenched his fists.
He no longer disliked John Hamilton…he hated the rotter.
For life.
ONE
Ten years later
The British Museum, London
April 1817
"WE WANT TO see the Rosetta Stone," two feminine voices chorused.
For the third time in the last quarter hour.
"Just a few more minutes," Lady Corinna Chase promised her sisters, her gaze focused on her sketchbook.
"A few is three," Alexandra, the oldest, pointed out. "Or maybe five. But certainly not thirty. You said 'a few more minutes' half an hour ago."
"And half an hour before that," Juliana, the middle sister, added.
The squeak of wheels threatened Corinna's concentration. Alexandra was rolling a perambulator back and forth in hopes of soothing Harold, her infant son. Though it was all but unheard-of for ladies to cart their babies around town—most aristocratic mothers happily left their children in the care of wet nurses and nannies—Alexandra had insisted on buying one of the newfangled contraptions, because she rarely let little Harry out of her sight.
Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. "How can
