No one was dead. But it was difficult to be thankful for that when he saw the way Corinna was wrapped around Delaney. No man should ever see his sister in such an embrace. She was literally hanging on the fellow, her arms around his neck, her legs all but around his waist.
She was sobbing, and she clutched a crumpled letter. Delaney's sister plucked it out of her hand and brought it to Griffin.
Somerset House, Monday 26 May
Lady Corinna Chase:
The Royal Academy's Summer Exhibition Committee is pleased to inform you that your painting has been accepted for our 1817 Exhibition. Please be advised that Varnishing Day will take place Friday 30 May in preparation for the Exhibition's opening on Monday 2 June.
Congratulations,
Benjamin West
President
"I cannot believe it," Corinna choked out through a sob.
"I'm not at all surprised," Griffin said.
She slid off Delaney, thank God, and dashed the tears from her face. "You're not?"
"You're very talented, Corinna." He was pleased as punch for her. "Since Varnishing Day is Friday, we'll move the wedding to Saturday."
"And make it a double wedding," a sultry voice added behind him.
FIFTY-NINE
THE GREAT ROOM, which housed the Summer Exhibition, had been built at the very top of Somerset House so it could be illuminated by skylights. It was accessed by a wide, winding staircase that seemed endless. Corinna's knees trembled as she climbed up it on Friday afternoon, gripping her paint box like a life preserver.
"Are you getting tired?" Sean asked, taking her arm to steady her.
"A little," she said.
She was glad Griffin had relented and allowed Sean to accompany her. But unfortunately, he'd done so only after extracting a solemn promise from the "vicar's son" that he would bring her here and straight back, and she knew Sean was so honorable he'd stick to that promise.
Which meant this would be another day without kisses.
The four days since Griffin had agreed to their marriage seemed the longest four days of her life. Two special licenses had been procured, and the minister booked, and nothing much more had happened. The double wedding tomorrow was going to be a very quiet affair, even smaller than Lady Cavanaugh's. Besides the two brides and grooms, only Corinna's family and Deirdre, Rachael's siblings, and the ABC sisters would be attending. Aunt Frances couldn't come, as she was still in confinement—new mothers stayed at home for the first month.
The wedding would take place in the afternoon in the Berkeley Square house's drawing room, and then they'd have a little dinner, and then everyone would go home.
Juliana was very disappointed. She'd wanted more of a fuss made about everything. But Corinna didn't care about the wedding, just like she didn't care that she didn't have a new dress to wear for it. The wedding was only something to get past.
The wedding night, however…
"I'm a little tired and a little nervous," she admitted, still climbing.
"About our wedding night?"
"No." The thought of that was just exciting. "What if my painting is hung up very high? Or down near the floor?"
"Why should it matter where it's hung? It's an honor just to be in the Exhibition, isn't it?"
"The room is designed with a line going around it, a strip of molding mounted eight feet above the floor. The pictures placed with the bottom edges of their frames along the line are considered the best. It's an extra honor to be hung not high or low, but right there in the middle. I'm afraid to look."
"Well, I don't see how not looking is going to change anything. But if you want, I'll look for you and let you know."
"You can't." On the landing, she stopped before the Great Room's open door to catch her breath. "You won't recognize my painting." That was another thing she was nervous about. "It's not Lord Lincolnshire's portrait."
"It's not?" He looked totally nonplussed. "Well, what is it, then?"
"My secret," she said and stepped in, hurrying to the center of the room.
Varnishing Day seemed to be chaos. Artists were everywhere, on chairs and ladders and their knees, blocking Corinna's view of all the pictures on the soaring walls. They hung frame-to-frame, fitted like puzzle pieces floor to ceiling. She turned in circles, frantically searching for her own.
"Sweet Jesus," Sean burst out.
"Where? Where is it?"
He took her by the shoulders and swung her around. "There. And it's quite some secret."
She stared at it, feeling breathless, and not because she'd climbed a hundred stairs. "They liked it."
"They wouldn't have accepted it had they not liked it, críona."
"But it's on the line. In the place of honor. They really liked it."
"Hamilton loved it," he said dryly. "He described his favorite submission to me precisely. 'A sensual study of a golden-haired man, rather scandalously undressed and bathed in candlelight.' I had no idea the scandalously undressed man was me."
"And neither did he, a man who's known you since childhood. No one will recognize you, Sean." Tearing her gaze from her picture, she turned to him. "I changed your coloring."
"But Deirdre will want to come see it, and your brother—"
"I didn't end up telling Griffin my secret," she reminded him, thanking God she hadn't needed to. "It won't occur to them it could be you. You're not angry with me, are you? No one here is recognizing you, either. And it's not because they haven't noticed the painting." Indeed, several artists not involved in their own work stood before it, discussing it, a sight that made her heart sing. "Why didn't you tell me Hamilton liked it so much?"
"When he described it, I was certain it wasn't yours. I saw no point in mentioning he loved someone else's work."
He shook his head in apparent disbelief, but she was thankful he didn't seem upset. Her hand went up to touch her necklace. She was so lucky to have found such a tolerant man.
"Are you going to varnish it now, then?" he asked.
"In a minute." She wanted to let it all sink
