"I'm not gazing. I'm drawing." Corinna sketched another line, following the curve of a muscled male thigh. "And in case you haven't noticed, the Elgin Marbles aren't all statues. This particular panel is part of a frieze from the illustrious Parthenon in Greece. Even more important, the figures are anatomically correct."
Which was why she was here, of course. Why she'd been willing to drag herself out of bed at an ungodly hour to sketch. Corinna wanted nothing more than to study human anatomy. Unfortunately, the anatomy classes at the Royal Academy of Arts were entirely forbidden to women.
Entirely.
Forbidden.
It was infuriating. Corinna's fondest wish was to be elected to the Royal Academy, an honor no woman had attained since 1768. Though she harbored no dreams of accomplishing this goal at her current age of twenty-two—for one thing, Academicians had to be at least twenty-four years old—getting nominated and eventually elected was a long, involved process, and she hoped to take her first step within a matter of weeks, by getting one of her paintings accepted for the Royal Academy's Summer Exhibition.
That was something women did accomplish on a regular basis, although not usually with portraits. Traditionally, ladies painted only landscapes and still lifes—painting people was considered fast and unseemly. Regardless, Corinna's heart lay in painting portraits. She was drawn to the human form, compelled to render personalities in oil on canvas.
But how was a female supposed to accurately paint people if she wasn't allowed to attend anatomy classes?
"We cannot stay much longer," Juliana said. "I need to make sure everything's in place for Cornelia's wedding." Cornelia, Juliana's mother-in-law, was marrying Lord Cavanaugh at her home later that evening. "And I want to see the Rosetta Stone," she added for the fourth time.
"So go see it."
"And I want to see the gems and minerals," Alexandra said. "And the jeweled—"
"Go see it all. Go see everything in the museum." Corinna flipped a page, refocusing on the nude form of the gorgeous Greek god before her. "I'll be right here."
"That would take an hour or more." Squeak. Squeak. "We cannot leave you here in the Elgin Gallery alone."
"I'm not alone. There are people everywhere." Too many people, constantly jostling her and blocking her view.
"The Rosetta Stone is in the main building."
"It's perfectly proper for two married ladies to cross the museum grounds together." Unlike Corinna, who was known as a bit of a rebel, her sisters were always concerned with being proper. "I knew I should have brought Aunt Frances along instead. She's more patient than either of you."
"She's also nine months gone with child." Alexandra sighed. "We'll be back in an hour."
"Make that two or three," Corinna muttered as they left. Hearing the pram squeak-squeak toward the door, she smiled and licked her lips. She and the Greek god were alone at last.
Holy Hannah, he was magnificent.
MAJOR CHANGES in Sean Delaney's life always seemed to be heralded by a letter.
The first had been the letter informing him of his unexpected inheritance, of course, but more letters had followed. A year later, a letter had told him his parents had perished of smallpox. He'd received numerous letters each time he'd established a new company, each time he'd bought an ongoing concern, each time he'd purchased a piece of property. More recently, six short months ago, a letter had arrived from his sister, Deirdre, confessing the failure of her marriage and advising Sean she would soon arrive to move in with him.
Nevertheless, when his butler brought him a letter this fine spring morning in Hampstead, he broke the seal without a second thought. Opened it. Scanned the scrawled message quickly.
Then crumpled it into a ball and hurled it into his library's fancy white marble-manteled fireplace.
"Who was it from?" Deirdre asked from the plush blue velvet chair where she sat reading a book.
He turned to her, thinking she looked prettier than ever. He wouldn't have said the same when she'd first arrived. Following a decade of trying her best to make her ill-fated marriage work, Deirdre had looked haggard when she'd shown up on Sean's doorstep. Only twenty-five years old, she'd appeared middle-aged, run-down, and desperate.
After being forced to marry her, John Hamilton had treated her like dirt. Or less than dirt, considering one usually noticed dirt and did something about it. In contrast, Hamilton had ignored her completely while he'd concentrated on one painting after another, coming up for air only to indulge himself with a series of paramours, some of whom he carried on with right under Deirdre's nose.
Tragically, Deirdre had miscarried three months into their marriage, and the two hadn't shared a bed in all the years since. Deirdre remained childless, while Hamilton, now a highly acclaimed landscape artist, had bastards all over Great Britain.
Sean glanced at the paper ball in the empty fireplace, wishing it weren't such a warm, sunny day. Had there been a proper blaze burning on the hearth, the damn letter would have been ashes by now. "It was from Hamilton. Your husband." He all but choked on the final word.
"From John? What did he say?" She shook her head and sighed. "Never mind. I don't want to know. I'm done with him."
Sean wished she were done with him. The reason Deirdre looked so much better these days was she'd met another man and fallen head-over-heels in love. She wanted nothing more than to marry Daniel Raleigh, and Raleigh—a respectable merchant Sean sometimes did business with—wished to marry her. But despite many impassioned pleas, Hamilton had denied her the divorce she sought.
Unfortunately, it was impossible for a woman to sue for divorce. Only a man could do that, and Hamilton refused to cooperate. Apparently he liked being married. Probably because it saved him from being pressured to commit to any of his lovers.
"He wants me to meet with him at noon," Sean told her. "At the British Museum. He claims he has 'something important' to discuss."
Hope leapt into her eyes. "My
