Happily, her prediction proved to be incorrect; the evening was quite entertaining. Mr. Bennett's house was an exercise in excess, filled nearly to bursting with flamboyant works of art and eclectic objects he had collected on his travels around the world. I do not know that one could say it was a tastefully decorated home, but it did an excellent job of capturing its owner's character.

"Lady Ashton!" I heard a bright voice calling to me.

"Miss Seward, I am so pleased to see you." Miss Seward had caused no small measure of controversy when I first met her at Ivy's dinner party. Her modern ideas had clashed horribly with the more conservative ones of Sir John Harris, a friend of Ivy's parents. Sir John was particularly outraged when Miss Seward, an American who had recently graduated from Bryn Mawr, suggested that I ought to learn read ancient Greek.

"I meant to call on you but have not had a moment to spare. Who is your friend?"

"Madame Cécile du Lac, Miss Margaret Seward," I said, making the introduction. As always when she met a new acquaintance, Cécile quickly evaluated Miss Seward; this time she looked as if she approved.

"Enchantée, Margaret," Cécile said. "Kallista has told me about you. Your dress is most interesting. I shall speak to you about it later." She left without another word before Miss Seward could reply.

"Does she disapprove of my gown?" she asked, looking down at what I found to be an oddly attractive dress. Miss Seward had strayed from the constraints of fashion, appearing in a high-waisted Empire gown that clearly required no corset. It was much more flattering and elegant than the aesthetic dresses I had seen in Liberty's, which I always thought gave one the appearance of a rather burdened medieval matron yet must have given the wearer a similar ease of movement.

"Quite the contrary. I imagine she wants to order one, if not several, for herself."

"Clearly she has excellent taste," Miss Seward replied, smiling. "We must get some champagne. It's the only thing capable of making this party worthwhile." She beckoned to a footman, who quickly supplied us with full glasses. "How is your study of Homer coming along?"

"Quite well, Miss Seward. I have considered your suggestion to attempt to learn Greek so that I can read the original, and I intend to hire a tutor when I return to England."

"You will not regret it."

"In the meantime I would very much like to learn your thoughts on the various English translations. Are you free for tea tomorrow afternoon?" We arranged to meet, and Margaret was quickly swept up in a group of Americans. I excused myself and went in search of Ivy and Robert, whom I found talking to Andrew Palmer.

"We have met before," Mr. Palmer said as he kissed my hand. "At your wedding."

"Of course," I replied. "Thank you for the kind note you sent after Philip's death. I appreciated your condolences."

"He was an excellent man and an even better friend. I only regret that we couldn't do more for him in Africa."

"All of you on the hunt provided him with fine companionship and the adventure he loved in his final days. For that I am grateful." As I spoke, I realized that for the first time I was actually comfortable talking about Philip. "He told me numerous times how he enjoyed your company."

"Did he tell you much about our friendship?"

"I must confess that, given the brevity of our marriage, much of what I know about Philip comes from his letters to me. We had hardly been married a few months when he left for Africa."

"Yes, I remember that," he replied with a winning grin. "And now it is my turn to confess. I was quite surprised that he left such a lovely bride so soon after the wedding."

"Don't be a beast, Palmer," Robert interrupted.

"My apologies, Lady Ashton."

"There is no need, Mr. Palmer. I knew the safari had been planned before our wedding date was set. I had no intention of asking him to change his arrangements. Regardless, he was quite adamant that he go."

"Yes." He paused. "I wonder why that was?"

"I believe," Ivy interjected, "that there was something about an elephant, isn't that right, Emily? He'd always wanted to hunt an elephant."

"Yes, something like that, Ivy." I looked back at Mr. Palmer. "I admit to not remembering the particulars, but it did have something to do with elephants."

He laughed. "You are charming! I wonder that he left at all. Don't worry your pretty head with details, Lady Ashton. Suffice it to say that, as always, your husband fulfilled his commitment to his friends, proving himself to be the most admirable of all of us. None of the rest of the bunch could communicate particularly well with the guides. We would have been lost without him."

"He was very dependable," I said, hoping to sound authoritative.

"Do you like Paris?" Mr. Palmer asked.

"I adore it."

"Nothing like London, is it? Much more fun to be had here. Have you been to the theater?"

"No, it doesn't seem appropriate. I'm still in mourning."

"Yes, I noticed your hideous dress," he said, with such a pleasant smile that I could take no offense. "My brother and I are planning to attend a play Thursday night with a merry group of friends. You must join us."

"Don't insist on ruining the girl," Robert interjected with the slightest touch of humor.

"I don't think there's any reason she cannot attend a respectable performance," Ivy said. "It might be fun, Emily. You should go." Robert looked at his wife severely but said nothing.

"I shall consider your invitation, Mr. Palmer."

"I can ask for nothing more," he replied, giving me an exaggerated bow.

"Look, Emily, there is Colin Hargreaves. He looks fine tonight," Ivy confided to me in a low whisper. I had not had the opportunity to tell her of my recent exchange with Colin.

"I'd rather not speak to him," I whispered back. I spotted an acquaintance on the other side of the room and excused myself from the group, but not before Colin reached us.

"Good evening, Lady Ashton."

"Mr. Hargreaves." I could not bring myself to meet his eyes. "Please excuse me." I saw Mr. Palmer grin and raise his eyebrows as I walked away.

When dinner was announced, I, by some misfortune, found myself near Colin, who took my arm and guided me to the dining room.

"Please forgive me," he said in a low voice.

"I have nothing to say on the matter," I replied, trying to ignore the feeling of his arm on mine.

"May I call on you tomorrow?"

"I'd rather you didn't."

"Was I so awful?"

"I already have one father, Mr. Hargreaves. I would prefer not to have a surrogate looking over my shoulder and judging my every move."

"Be fair. I've done nothing of the sort. I only suggested-"

"Yes, suggested that you know better than whom I should consider an acquaintance."

"You completely misunderstand me."

"Can you explain yourself?"

"Suffice it to say that not everyone you meet here is what he seems to be."

"Should that mean something to me?" I let my eyes meet his.

"Perhaps you could just consider it the advice of a friend."

"I think I can take care of myself."

"I think you are overreacting." We reached the table, and I removed my hand from his arm without speaking, hoping I would not find that he was my dinner partner. I was pleased to see Mr. Palmer appear beside me.

"Hargreaves! Looks like you still don't know how to handle a lady. Has he been torturing you, Lady Ashton?"

"Yes, he has," I replied, enjoying my newfound compatriot's allegiance.

"I assure you my intentions are the best," Colin said. He bowed smartly and went to find his own place at the large table.

"Hargreaves is so handsome that he can get away with any sort of behavior," Mr. Palmer said. "Many have been fooled by his initial show of good manners."

"Fear not that I shall succumb to his wiles." I sat as the footman behind me pushed my chair toward the table. "How lucky that you are seated next to me."

"I've been a bit devious, Lady Ashton, and switched place cards. Will you forgive my blatant dishonesty? I hoped to have the opportunity to speak with you again in order to plead my case concerning young widows attending the theater."

We chatted effortlessly for the entire first part of dinner. Then, not wanting to be rude, I turned my attention to the elderly gentleman seated on my other side.

"I could not help but notice your ring, Monsieur Fournier," I said. "Is it Greek?"

"It is a Mycenaean seal, Lady Ashton," he replied, fingering its gold surface as he spoke. "Found in one of the shaft graves Schliemann excavated. I like to think it belonged to Agamemnon."

"I understand that you have a considerable collection of antiquities?"

"You are correct. Your late husband and I shared a passion for things ancient."

"Did you know him well?"

"No, not particularly, but we met with some frequency, usually when trying to outbid each other for a Greek vase."

"They are exquisite, aren't they?"

"Yes. Do you have a favorite?"

"I do," I replied, smiling broadly. "It's in the British Museum and shows the Judgment of Paris."

"I believe I know the one to which you refer. It's by a very famous painter."

"Yes. It astounds me that we are able to so well identify the works of artists who left no signatures."

"An artist's style is often as recognizable as his signature."

"I know you are correct, but I would never have thought such a thing could be said about Greek vases before I began to study them. To the untrained eye, the painting on them appears rather formulaic."

"Until you begin to notice the details."

"Precisely. And it is just those details that make the Judgment of Paris vase so spectacular. I almost wish Philip hadn't donated it."

"I understand he felt very strongly that the best pieces should be in museums, a sentiment with which I do not entirely agree."

"Why is that?"

"I spend much of my fortune funding archaeological digs. Museums cannot afford the patronage I give. I see nothing wrong with reaping the benefits of my investment." He pulled the ring from his finger and held it in front of me. "Which do you prefer? Looking at it or feeling it on your hand?"

"It is magnificent," I murmured, gently touching its decorated bezel. The scene depicted was one of a group of Greek soldiers pulling the Trojan horse. "But shouldn't scholars have access to pieces like this?"

"I'm happy to allow them to visit my private collection."

"I think that having them in museums ensures that we shall have another generation of scholars. People are inspired by seeing them. I know I am. How is one to develop a significant interest in an ancient civilization without viewing artifacts?"

"That's what books are for. And I do not say that museums should have nothing-just that I should have my pick of the lot. They'd have nothing without my kind, after all."

"Of course you should have something, but perhaps the most significant finds should belong to the museum."

"Your enthusiasm is invigorating, my child."

"Please do not think me impertinent."

"Not at all. Tell me, did Lord Ashton ever locate that bust of Apollo?"

"I'm not sure that I'm familiar with it."

"Fantastic thing, to judge from his description. Said it was attributed to Praxiteles, one of the finest masters of Greek sculpture. You know of Praxiteles?"

"It is impossible to have even a moderate interest in Greek art without becoming immediately familiar with him."

"It would be quite a coup to have anything by such a master in any collection. Lord Ashton was searching for that Apollo everywhere when I last saw him in Paris. Must have been well over a year ago now. Well, if he found it, you've got quite an excellent piece; and if you ever want to sell it, please let me know immediately."

Mr. Palmer leaned toward me. "Tell me you're not interested in those crusty old pots, too."

"I think they're lovely."

"You are too sweet," he murmured. "You simply must come to the theater with me."


6 MAY 1887

BERKELEY SQUARE, LONDON


Regret to say that today marked only the second visit to my desk in the Reading Room. Impossible to accomplish anything during the Season, even after adopting a firm policy of accepting only every fifth invitation. Did read the Duke of Buckinghamshire Sheffield's "Essay on Poetry," so all is not lost: "Read Homer once, and you can read no more; / For all books else appear so mean, so poor, / Verse will seem prose; but still persist to read, / And Homer will be all the books you need." Brilliant thought.