"Was this Pratt's talk about Homer? I'm sorry I missed it."

"Did you agree, Emily, with Mr. Pratt's comment that Chapman's translation of the Iliad is so inaccurate as to be useless?" Margaret asked. "I know that you do not read Greek, but I would like to hear thoughts on Chapman's poetry from someone who is not hindered by aggravation with the precise accuracy of the translation."

"As you say, I cannot speak to Chapman's faithfulness to Homer, but it must be agreed that his translation, when considered simply as a poem, presents the reader with a truly noble rendition of the story. The rhythm and sound of his lines is masterful. If the translator's goal was to affect his reader powerfully, he has succeeded."

"I must say in Chapman's defense that, even to someone very familiar with Homer, one is not distracted by inaccuracies in the translation," Lord Palmer said, refilling his glass. "Unless, of course, one is looking for them, which I imagine is what Pratt was doing."

"He was," Margaret replied. "The thing I am most interested in regarding Chapman's translation is his treatment of Achilles as a moral hero. I like to see him get his due."

"Oh, Margaret, really?" I exclaimed. "Achilles possesses not an ounce of humanity; I do not like to see him lauded."

"You deny he is a hero?"

"No, I could hardly do that, but his morality is too black and white, too extreme. Compare him with Hector, who is man at his best, and you will find Achilles completely lacking."

"Except in battle," my friend countered.

"You are, unfortunately, right. I think I could rejoice more in Achilles' victories if his behavior were less-I don't know...excessive."

"Not excessive for a battlefield, I think, Lady Ashton," Lord Palmer said, smiling at me. "I do wish Philip were here. I wonder what your reaction would be to his thoughts on Achilles." Before I could ask Lord Palmer what those thoughts had been, his son suggested that we join the ladies. Robert, whose eyes had not left the table since Davis brought in the port, looked exceedingly uncomfortable, while Colin, though silent, appeared content and smiled at me. My father, well pleased with the port, clearly did not care what we did, but, knowing that more than a quarter of an hour had passed, I admitted that the time had come to go to the drawing room. I sighed, dreading the ladies' reaction to my behavior. Colin squeezed my hand reassuringly as I walked past him, but I could not bring myself to look in his eyes.

My entrance into the drawing room was met with icy stares, especially from my mother. Mrs. Dunleigh triumphed openly at my mistake, I imagine thinking it would make her own daughter appear in a better light. Margaret sat down next to her, ignoring the fact that the older woman was trying her best to cut her. My friend would not be so easily rebuffed; she loved a challenge. Robert rushed to Ivy's side as if to keep her from approaching me. At last Lord Palmer spoke, breaking the tension in the room.

"My goodness, Emily," he said, leaning down to look more closely at my bust of Apollo. "You should display this on a sturdier pedestal. This one could fall over if someone were to breathe heavily. What an exquisite piece. I am amazed that Philip kept it for himself. An object of this caliber is the sort of thing he usually donated to the museum."

"You are quite correct, Lord Palmer," I said. "The original of this work is in the British Museum. This is only a reproduction."

"I cannot believe that," Lord Palmer exclaimed. "Philip never purchased reproductions. He felt very strongly about it."

"I assure you that he did in this case. I was in the museum not a week ago and saw the original."

"Don't know that I can trust a woman who drinks port," Lord Palmer said, winking at me. I sighed with relief at this confirmation that he was not completely disenchanted with me. He looked back at the bust and spoke thoughtfully. "It's very strange. I hope he wasn't duped by forgers."

"Forgers?" I asked.

"Yes. There have been rumors for some time of a group making perfect copies of a number of antiquities here in London. It would explain how Philip could have wound up with such a thing."

"The British Museum's casting service makes perfect copies, doesn't it?" I asked.

"Yes, but they are marked as such. Forgers sell their copies as originals."

Before I could inquire further about this fascinating topic, he walked toward my mother, sat down, and was soon engaged in what appeared to be a pleasant conversation. I turned my attention to Robert and Ivy.

"I'm dreadfully sorry, Robert. I don't know what got into me."

"Say no more, Emily. You have been through a stressful time and are not entirely yourself, I fear. Perhaps you should spend some time in Bath."

"Thank you. May I abduct your lovely wife for a moment?" Ivy and I took a brief turn around the room, during which she expressed her abject horror at what I had done.

"I'm afraid you've put your mother back on the marriage path, Emily," she whispered to me. "All she talked about while you and Margaret were in with the gentlemen was how you need the guidance of a husband's firm hand, emphasis on 'firm.'"

"That's why she's in conference with Lord Palmer, I'm afraid."

"I don't know that Andrew would have a particularly firm hand," Ivy said with a wicked smile.

"I have no idea, but I assure you I have no intention of finding out."

"I thought you were fond of him?"

"I am, but I do not plan to marry again. I rather like being the Dowager Viscountess Ashton."

"You are not technically the dowager viscountess, Emily. The new viscount is not Philip's direct heir. And regardless, the role may lose its appeal once Andrew's back in London. I remember how you enjoyed his company in Paris. I think his unconventional nature appeals to you."

"You are right." I smiled. "But that doesn't mean I will marry him."

"We shall see," Ivy said. "But, darling, I am afraid that Margaret is exerting perhaps too much influence on you. I don't think you would have done such a thing if she were not here to encourage you."

"That's wholly unfair, Ivy. I am perfectly capable of being shocking without Margaret's assistance."

"It's wonderful that you have found a friend who shares your intellectual interests. Heaven knows I'm of no use to you in such things. But I worry for you, Emily. Margaret may push you further than you really wish to go." She fell silent as we walked toward the settee where Arabella sat. Arthur Palmer, with whom she had been conversing, excused himself as we approached, and struck up a conversation with Colin about hunting. "Oh, dear, have we offended him, do you think?"

"No," I said, noticing the careful manner in which he had taken leave of Arabella. "I think we have interrupted his courtship."

"I should love to see Arabella happily married," Ivy said quietly as we approached her.

"Arabella, our friend Ivy has become quite an advocate for the married state."

"I am not surprised that Ivy should find happiness as a wife."

"Nor am I. However, I believe her concern now is your wedded bliss." After my own mortification over the port, I decided that I had judged Arabella rather too severely and intended to give her another chance. She instantly turned an unattractive shade of the brightest pink.

"I'm afraid I have few prospects, Emily, painful though it is to admit."

"You have clearly won a suitor here tonight," I assured her.

"Mr. Palmer is smitten," Ivy added.

"And you have the force of my mother behind you. When I told her you were coming, she immediately decided that you and the young gentleman should marry. I've yet to meet the man brave enough to defy her." This brought a smile to the girl's face, and even I had to admit that she looked somewhat attractive.

"I expect he will begin visiting you regularly," Ivy said.

Mrs. Dunleigh called to her daughter. Evidently my mother had persuaded her to join my father and herself at a soirée that evening; as far as I knew, the rest of the party planned to attend. No one suggested that I come. At the last moment, Margaret declared it vastly unfair that I would be left home alone, and she stayed with me. We brought the port to the library and took turns reading aloud from the Iliad until nearly midnight.

I leaned against the doorway for some time after her carriage pulled away, watching shadows in Berkeley Square. Ever since the break-in, I had watched for the man with the scar, but neither I nor my vigilant staff had caught sight of him. Tonight, however, one of the shadows moved more than it ought. It was he. I stepped down from the doorway and onto the sidewalk, peering into the dark. He was with someone, but the moonlight was not bright enough to reveal the other man's face. Without pausing to think, I rushed across the street and into the park. My long skirts made running difficult, and I nearly tripped as I crossed the square. The men must have heard me coming and had disappeared by the time I reached the spot where they had stood. On the ground I found a single glove made from the finest leather. It had to belong to a gentleman.


21 JUNE 1887

BERKELEY SQUARE, LONDON


Am immensely grateful to the queen for her Golden Jubilee celebrations. Banquet this evening was tedious, as expected, but I managed to watch the fireworks that followed with Kallista. Between the music and the explosions, there was too much noise to talk. She did not object to my holding her hand during the display-I am most encouraged-now must decide how best to proceed.

Palmer has proven valuable in arranging details of next winter's safari. Very much looking forward to hunting with him. Fitzroy will not be one of the party. "Let this example future times reclaim, / And guard from wrong fair friendship's holy name."

13

I rode for longer than usual the next morning, all the while trying to determine how I might find the owner of the glove. There were no markings inside it that might identify either maker or owner. I had little hope of figuring out where it had been purchased. Frustrated, I returned home, where I lingered over a late breakfast looking through a stack of letters that needed to be answered and reading the Times. The maid serving me was remarkably attentive. Both tea and toast were perfectly prepared and hot when served, and I complimented Susan on her work.

"All of us belowstairs were rooting for you last night, madam," she replied with a quick curtsy.

"I'm afraid I don't understand," I replied, placing my teacup on its saucer.

"Mr. Davis told us you stayed with the gentlemen, madam. I don't think any of us has ever seen Cook look so pleased. She started planning a special menu for tonight almost at once, said the queen herself would envy it." Susan leapt to attention at the sound of a soft cough behind her back.

"Mr. Andrew Palmer to see you, Lady Ashton," Davis said in his most austere tone. "Are you finished here, Susan?"

"Yes, Mr. Davis, sorry," the maid replied, bobbing another curtsy to me before rushing back downstairs.

"I most humbly apologize, your ladyship. The standard to which I attempt to hold myself was severely compromised by my behavior last night. Please do not think that I encourage gossip among the staff. I-"

"Davis, it's all right. I don't mind. They would have found out somehow, and I'm quite pleased to know that Cook, at least, stands behind me."

"We all do, Lady Ashton."

"Thank you, Davis. Where did you put Mr. Palmer?"

"He's waiting in the drawing room." I finished my tea before going upstairs and paused in front of a large mirror in the hallway to check my appearance. I had not bothered to change after returning from the park; my riding habits had become favorite outfits, as they were the only dresses I owned that would have been black regardless of my being in mourning. I spared no expense on them. The one I donned that day was made from a wool softer than any I had felt before and was cut in a new style, with a vest and jacket over the bodice, all tailored in the most flattering fashion. Pleased with how I looked, I glided into the drawing room.

"Mr. Palmer, how nice to see you. Your father said he expected you soon, but this is quicker than I would have imagined."