She quivered. But not with nervousness now, because he was right: There was always next year, and at the moment this give and take, this lingering caress, seemed so much more important. She lost herself in him, lost herself in the magic of love and all of its promise.
A knock came at the door, and they jerked apart. Sean whirled and opened it. "Deirdre."
His sister blinked, looking between them. "I'm sorry. I wasn't meaning to interrupt."
"No, no." He drew her inside. "Lady Corinna was just showing me her finished picture."
Corinna feared the other woman could see the truth on her face—or rather her lips, which were tingling and felt thoroughly kissed. But if Deirdre could tell, she didn't let on. Her own lips curved in a faint smile as she walked toward the painting.
"Oh, Lady Corinna, this is absolutely lovely. Tell me about it, will you?"
Behind Deirdre's back, Corinna shared one last, lingering glance with Sean, feeling so much better about everything. She was in love, and she knew that mattered more than any painting.
Hugging her new secret to herself, she went to join his sister.
TWENTY-SEVEN
ALMOND CAKES
Grinde halfe a pound of Almonds and mixe with halfe a pound of Sugar and Orange or Lemon Water. To this add ten Yolks of Egges beaten and the boiled skins of two Oranges or Lemons grounde fine. Mixe together with stiff Egge Whites and melted Butter gone cold and bake it all in a good Crust.
Good for nibbling during nervous occasions, such as when my daughter brought my first grandchild into the world earlier this year. Oh, my, what a day and night. I think I'd much rather give birth myself!
—Elizabeth, Countess of Greystone, 1736
AS WAS customary, the furniture in Aunt Frances's Hanover Square home had been rearranged to prepare for the birth of her child.
On the ground floor of Malmsey House, a room had been designated as the lying-in chamber, and a portable folding bed had been brought in for the occasion. A larger connecting room provided a gathering place for relations during the labor, and more rooms across the corridor had been outfitted to house the accoucheur—the obstetrical doctor—and the monthly nurse, called such because she not only assisted the accoucheur and attended the mother during the birth, but stayed for a month afterward to care for the baby.
The accoucheur and monthly nurse had arrived yesterday in anticipation of Aunt Frances's due date a week hence. But apparently Dr. Holmes had reckoned incorrectly, because today, while Corinna and her family nibbled on the almond cakes Juliana had baked and brought, Frances was laboring in the inner chamber.
As she had been for half a day already.
Corinna had been forced to rush this morning to get her paintings sent to Lady A's house before coming here to be with Aunt Frances. Along with the portrait, she'd chosen all her best landscapes and a few of her favorite still lifes. At least waiting for the birth was keeping her from fretting over whether she'd made the right selections.
Well, a little bit, anyway.
Hearing more moans and murmurs through the door, she winced. "How long is this going to take?"
"It hasn't been that long." Alexandra smiled down at her infant son. "If you'd attended Harry's birth, you'd know that."
Alexandra had delivered in the wintertime, at Hawkridge House in the countryside. Two weeks early, a full week before her sisters had planned to arrive. Her accoucheur had miscalculated, too, and at the moment, Corinna was grateful for that. The thought of Alexandra groaning like Aunt Frances made her want to groan herself.
"Oh, damn," Griffin suddenly said.
"What is it?" Corinna asked. Had he heard something through the door that she hadn't? Something bad? Something dire?
"It's nothing," he said. "I just forgot something." He rose and went over to a little desk in a corner of the room, where he started pulling drawers open. "I need to send a message."
Juliana rose, too, and found paper and quill for him. "It seems this is taking forever," she said, looking rather pale as she returned to her seat. "James, maybe you should help."
"I don't deliver babies," her physician husband said for the fifth time. "But there's no need to fret. Dr. Holmes is the best."
"He could take some measures," Griffin muttered as he scribbled.
"It's usually better not to intervene as long as the labor is making progress. What would you have him do?"
"Bloodletting, perhaps."
"James doesn't believe in bleeding," Juliana said quickly. Juliana hated the sight of blood. She said it made her sick to her stomach.
Griffin folded his letter and began scribbling again, adding the direction to the outside. "Then maybe forceps."
"The use of forceps," James said, "can result in tearing the mother."
"I don't want to hear this," Corinna said. The sight of blood didn't bother her, but her stomach was turning anyway with all of this talk. She didn't want to see Aunt Frances bled, and the thought of forceps was equally upsetting. But something needed to be done, because she didn't think she could listen to what was coming from behind the closed door a moment longer.
"Are you all right?" Juliana asked her.
"I'm fine. I just never want to give birth."
Everyone laughed. But this was no laughing matter. She was never going to tell Sean she loved him, because what if he wanted to get married? And though Griffin probably wouldn't assent, what if he did? She could end up wedded and bedded and moaning and groaning behind a birthing room door herself.
A particularly piercing scream came from the room beyond, and she felt the blood drain from her face.
"It's worth it," Alexandra said softly, still smiling down at her child.
"I think I'll stick to producing pictures," Corinna muttered.
"Your husband may
