"Something like that." He tapped his quill on the notebook. "As for your future, Mr. Higginbotham…"
The man sat forward, apprehension crossing his long face. "I assumed I'd remain here. If I may say so, Mr. Hamilton, you're going to require a minimum of staff at the least."
Sean wouldn't think of leaving such a fine man at the mercy of Deirdre's husband. "Your efficiency has impressed me. I know of a factory in Surrey in need of a foreman. If you're amenable, I'd like to see you in that position."
Higginbotham's eyes widened. "A factory?"
"They manufacture lamps, the new gaslights. As it's a growing industry, it's a very large factory indeed, with upwards of three hundred employees."
The steward squared his shoulders. "I have managed a sizable staff here."
"More than a hundred, by my estimate." Sean felt like he'd interviewed a thousand. "You'll have to relocate outside London, of course, but compensation will include a foreman's house and the staff to manage it, leaving you free to focus on the factory's needs."
"I'm to have my own servants?"
"You'll need them. The factory is a major responsibility."
The man's eyes filled with determination, perhaps tempered by a touch of excitement. A house steward was a respectable position, but managing a factory was something else altogether. Rather than a glorified servant, he'd be a man of industry, a man of business. "I'm up to it, sir, I assure you."
"I've no doubt." Sean snapped the notebook closed. "We're agreed, then, and I'm finished here. Let Lord Lincolnshire know, if you please. I'm off to…paint."
Lincoln's Inn Fields, Tuesday 13 May
My dear Cousin,
It should have been better had you notified me of your delay sooner than four hours after I expected you. You seem to have forgotten that Lady A is holding her reception tomorrow, possibly the most important day of your sister's life. As I plan to attend, Thursday afternoon will be more agreeable for Chelsea.
Yours very sincerely,
Rachael
P.S. I wish Lady Malmsey the best.
TWENTY-NINE
ROUT CAKES
Take Flour and mix with Butter and Sugar and Currants clean and dry. Make into a paste with Eggs and Orange Flower Water, Rose-water, sweet Wine, and Brandy. Drop on a floured tin-plate and bake them for a very short time.
My mother said these cakes bring luck, and indeed, I fed them to my husband the day he proposed! Serve to ensure the success of your rout or any other event you'd like to see turn out well.
—Katherine, Countess of Greystone, 1765
FINALLY, THE day of the reception dawned. Corinna arrived at Lady Avonleigh's town house, where an ancient butler ushered her inside. Her knees were shaking. Lady Balmforth, who shared the house with her sister, came over to greet her and bring her to the drawing room.
"Welcome, my dear. Where is Mr. Hamilton?"
"He…ah…he couldn't come," she said, which was the truth. Mr. Hamilton couldn't come, as he was in Wales, and Sean couldn't come in his place, either. "I haven't seen him the past few days, Lady B. Apparently he's very busy."
That was true, too. She hadn't seen Sean since she'd finished the portrait.
"Well." The older woman huffed, sucking in her already thin cheeks. Lady B was as skinny as Lady A was plump. "My sister is not going to be happy about this."
Some of the ladies' friends were already there, exclaiming over Corinna's paintings. Lady A and Lady B had taken all the other pictures off their peach-painted walls and hung Corinna's art there instead.
Everything in their house seemed to be peach. The color unfortunately clashed with some of Corinna's work, but there was nothing she could do about that. Nothing but cross her fingers and hope that the artists would like what they saw when they arrived.
Alexandra showed up next, a platter in her hands. "Rout cakes," she explained. "They're supposed to ensure the success of your rout."
"It isn't my rout. In fact, it isn't a rout at all. It's a reception."
"It's a fashionable gathering, and as Lady A's home isn't overly large, it's bound to be a crush. That's a rout in my book." Alexandra leaned to kiss her sister's cheek. "You look nervous."
A sarcastic retort hung on the tip of Corinna's tongue, but she felt too frazzled to make jests. "I am," she admitted instead. She abruptly realized that, other than the rout cakes, Alexandra held…nothing. And there was a decided lack of squeaky wheels. "You left Harry at home."
"Babies don't belong at routs." Alexandra set the platter on a side table of mahogany inlaid with lighter, peach-colored wood. "Show me your newest painting."
But before Corinna could do so, Juliana walked in. Then Rachael and Claire and Elizabeth. Then more of Lady A's and B's friends, and their other sister, Lady Cavanaugh, and the first of the artist judges.
Suddenly, it was a rout.
Corinna could barely move among all the people. Lady A pushed through the crowd to give her a hug, enveloping her in camphor and gardenias. "Our honored guest! Where is Mr. Hamilton, my dear?"
"He couldn't come."
"Well. I…well. I never—" More guests were arriving, cramming the drawing room. Her plump cheeks quivering with indignation, she turned to the nearest new arrival. "Have you heard, Mr. West, that Mr. Hamilton isn't coming?"
Benjamin West! The president of the Royal Academy! Corinna found herself speechless with terror, which was not a good thing, considering the man looked mightily confused.
"I'm sorry to hear that, madam, but it's hardly a surprise, considering he's currently in Wales."
"When did he leave for Wales?"
"Last month, I do believe."
"Last month? I think not." Lady A looked even more confused than he did. "Lady Rachael," she called, motioning her over. "Did we not see Mr. Hamilton last Saturday at the Billingsgate ball?"
"Why—"
"No," Corinna cut in, sending her cousin a pitiful, pleading look. Although Rachael didn't know the truth, surely she'd respond to such obvious silent begging. "That was Sean Hamilton, remember? Sean, not John." Before Rachael could
