"I thought all you horse-mad young bucks met at Tattersall's on Mondays to settle your accounts. Or is Monday an auction day? Either way, you always seem to head for Tattersall's every Monday, but you're not dressed for that."
"Maybe I'm not horse-mad anymore," he suggested, a challenge in his blue eyes.
Hearing a challenge in his voice, too, she wondered if he could possibly be serious. "You're off to your club, then, I expect?"
"No, I'm not." Noah lifted his square chin. "I was hoping you'd come with me to Oxford Street. To Robert Gillow and Company, to be more precise, to pick out a new desk."
"Did you say a desk?" She must have heard him wrong. "What kind of a desk?"
"An oak one, I'm thinking. Something sturdy, in any case, with many drawers. The one in the study seems to be growing rather rickety."
"I imagine it's a hundred years old, at the very least. But however did you come to notice it's rickety?"
He raised his scarred brow. "I used it, Rachael. Is that such a surprise?"
"Frankly, yes." Surprise seemed too mild a word—she was positively shocked. First he'd asked for an inventory at Greystone, and now this. Could it be her younger brother was growing up? At twenty-two, he was looking like a man, but was he actually becoming one?
"Well?" he asked, still looking like a man, but one who was rather annoyed. "Will you come with me or not?"
"Oh, I wish I could." The sight of Noah inspecting desks rather than horseflesh was bound to be a spectacle. But she expected Griffin to arrive in half an hour. "I've other plans for today, I'm afraid, but let me talk to Claire and Elizabeth about going with you to Gillow's instead."
"LORD LINCOLNSHIRE!" Corinna called excitedly. "Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton!"
She hurried toward Lord Lincolnshire's bedroom, having been told at the front door that Sean and Deirdre were with him. She'd risen at the crack of dawn this morning and come before even eating breakfast, because she couldn't wait a moment longer to share her news.
"I finished my portrait!" she announced, stopping in the doorway. "I'm going to submit it this…"
The sentence trailed off when she saw her brother-in-law James by the bed, leaning over the earl with his stethoscope. All her excitement dissipated along with the words.
"… afternoon," she finished in a small voice. "How is he?"
Sean rose from where he sat by Deirdre. "I think Lord Stafford is just about finished and ready to tell us."
"I am, yes." James drew the covers up to the earl's chin and straightened, looking grim. "I fear the end is imminent. He may last the night, but not any longer. I don't believe he'll wake, either. He'll likely just continue like this until his breathing and his heart simply stop. I'm sorry," he concluded with a sigh. "We'll all miss him."
Corinna looked back to the huge crimson-draped bed where Lord Lincolnshire slumbered, propped upright against a dozen pillows. When the covers were down, she'd noticed his belly appeared swollen now, along with the rest of him. His skin looked tight and wet, as though it were weeping fluid. Gurgling noises came from his throat.
Her heart sank even lower. "That sounds dreadful. He must be suffering so."
"He sounds like that because his lungs are filling," James explained gently. "But he's sleeping. I don't think he's really suffering in the sense you imagine." He dropped the stethoscope in his leather bag and snapped it closed, looking to Sean. "I can stay if you wish, but there isn't anything I can do. It's only a matter of time now."
"I understand," Sean said. "We won't be needing you to stay, though I appreciate the offer. I'll be with him."
"I'll stay with him, too," Deirdre added softly. "And Nurse Skeffington will be back within the hour."
"All right, then." James moved to Corinna and lightly kissed her cheek. "I'm sorry," he said again, and left.
For a moment, Corinna just gazed at Lord Lincolnshire. Hot tears pricked her eyes. Deirdre rose and came to place a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure he knows you finished his portrait."
Guilt flooded her. She hadn't finished it. But she would. She'd promised to paint his final portrait, and she'd follow through with that. She had only to fix the underlying anatomy, and she knew how to do that now. His portrait wouldn't be exhibited at the Royal Academy, but it would hang here at Lincolnshire House.
Which would be John Hamilton's house, unfortunately. At that thought, a rush of anger tempered her guilt. But it would be Deirdre's house, too, at least until she got her divorce, and that thought was a little mollifying.
She raised a hand to touch Deirdre's on her shoulder. "Thank you for saying that."
"Which other pictures will you submit along with the portrait today?" Sean asked.
"I'm not submitting any other pictures," she told him, turning to him. "I've decided to submit the portrait alone." She neglected to mention it wasn't the one he expected. "It's my best work, the painting I wish to exhibit as my debut. Should it not be chosen, I'll try again next year."
"It's pleased I am to hear you're that happy with the way it turned out," he said.
But he didn't look pleased. Or sound pleased.
At all.
"I'm sorry you're losing Lord Lincolnshire," she said, her heart breaking for him. "I know you've grown close."
He nodded. "I need to talk to you about something. Something important. Not here, though," he said, slanting a glance to his sister. "Later."
"Take her out of the room," Deirdre said. "I'll stay with Lord Lincolnshire." When he hesitated, she added, "Go," and waved a hand. "Lord Stafford said he might last the whole night. Nothing will be happening in a few minutes."
After hesitating a moment more, Sean took Corinna's arm and drew her out and down the corridor. But when he turned to her, he didn't say anything. He just looked at her, his heart in his deep green eyes.
"What is it?"
