"I doubt it." Hamilton was too selfish to set Deirdre free. "It sounded more like a favor. What makes him think I'd do him a favor? Me, of all people?"
She squared her shoulders. "It doesn't signify. I've no need of a divorce. Daniel wants me to come live in his home, and I have told him I will."
Raleigh had a fine house and could provide well for Deirdre. He was a steady man of good character. Sean liked him, and he treated Deirdre like a queen.
But all of that was beside the point. "Without the benefit of marriage?"
"I made a mistake, Sean. I'll be the first to admit that. But should I suffer for it forever? John's had a hold on me long enough. I'd prefer to marry Daniel than live with him unwed, but sadly that isn't an option. He's willing to take me anyway, and it's time I lived again."
"What would Ma say? And Da?" For the first time ever, Sean was almost happy they'd died. They'd both have been mortified. Though Deirdre had always been a wild one, this went beyond improper. It was all but unthinkable. "At some point, you have to grow up. You've got a chance for a fresh start here in London. If you want to be well thought of, you need to stop defying society's expectations."
"I'm not part of society, Sean."
"I'm not meaning in the sense of the upper crust, and well you know it. The public in general, Deirdre, the respectable people. Someday you'll have children. Don't you want them to be accepted?"
"You're one to speak! As though you've never shared a woman's bed even though you've yet to wed. You've had mistresses yourself, if you don't remember."
"It's different for men." She opened her mouth to protest, but he rushed on. "That may not be fair, but it's a fact. And I've never taken a woman's innocence, nor slept with one who expected marriage. Who expected anything more than some pretty baubles and fancy new clothes."
His mistresses—and he'd indeed kept a few of them—had been actresses and opera dancers all. He'd admit to having gone a wee bit wild himself after escaping Kilburton and his upbringing, but he'd been young, after all, and randy, and there were only so many hours a man could spend building his fortune. He'd often worked late and on a Sunday, but past a certain hour there was really nothing much he could accomplish and no one around with whom to accomplish it.
London had proved dazzling those first few years. Huge and vital and seductive. He'd enjoyed the theater, and yes, he'd found himself attracted to some women up on the stage. Since he wasn't a man who liked to share, he'd provided them housing, made them his mistresses in exchange for temporary fidelity. But it had been years—two years or more, he suddenly realized—since he'd had that sort of arrangement. He'd lost his taste for that life, for those shallow, unemotional relationships.
He'd grown up. And it was time Deirdre did, too.
Rising, he strode to the fireplace, snatched out the crumpled paper, and smoothed it on his rosewood desk. "I'll meet with Hamilton. We'll work this out. There's just enough time to get to the British Museum by noon—"
"No. Don't." His sister leapt from her chair to grab his arm. "You've other plans for today."
"Nothing that matters as much as this."
"I won't have you begging on my behalf. It's pointless and humiliating."
"While your living in sin won't be?" Sean shook his arm to dislodge her hand. "I'm going, Deirdre. You cannot stop me."
Gritting his teeth, he summoned his curricle and headed for the city…praying that, instead of a favor, "something important" would turn out to be the divorce that would solve his sister's problem.
TWO
"I HAVE A problem," Hamilton announced without preamble when Sean stepped into the museum's lobby. "I wish your help with it. I wish to view the newly arrived Elgin Marbles."
"That presents no problem at all," Sean said dryly, gesturing toward the back of Montagu House. "We need only to walk through here and outside towards the temporary Elgin Gallery."
Never one to respond to humor, the artist slanted him a peeved glance as he fell into step beside him. "My uncle, Samuel Hamilton, the Earl of Lincolnshire, is dying."
"My condolences," Sean said automatically before wondering if the man even cared. Hamilton looked cheerful enough, considering his usual bad temper. In contrast to Sean's own black suit and white shirt, he was dressed in a colorful, flamboyant style. Though his cravat appeared brown, Sean suspected it was bright red or green. "And your problem is?"
"I'm Lincolnshire's heir, and he hasn't seen me for many years. Not since I was a babe in arms, in fact. He wishes to get to know the man who is about to inherit his title and estates."
"I don't find that surprising," Sean said as they stepped outdoors.
Hamilton's failure to see his uncle despite regular visits to London was no surprise, either. Deirdre's husband was nothing if not reclusive. Although the man's paintings commanded outrageous sums, few collectors had actually met him. Once a year he slipped into town, served as a judge on the Royal Academy committee that chose the pieces to be displayed in the annual Summer Exhibition, renewed his ties with colleagues, and slipped out again—without ever pandering to his patrons.
He claimed that keeping to himself—with the exception of female companionship, one should understand—was necessary in order to maintain his artistic vision. But Sean attributed this behavior to temperament: a combination of sheer orneriness and a twisted delight the man took in concealing himself from the public.
"And the problem with that is?" he repeated as they trod the path toward the new building, which Sean's experienced eye told him was nothing but a large, prefabricated shed. "Go see the man if that's what he wants."
"He doesn't want to just see me. He's demanded I stay with him through his final
