"That's quite a romantic exaggeration. Most of my time is spent waiting, gathering small bits of information that, if I'm lucky, will eventually prove useful."

"Come home with me. We can work on the letters together."

"I'm afraid I'm bound to our friend Berry tonight."

I sighed. "You poor man. But I deserve a share of sympathy, too. I'm forced to return to an empty house and spend another evening alone."

"But not truly alone. It's impossible to have any privacy in these houses. A servant can come in at any moment. Have you ever been really alone?"

I thought about this. "No, not when you put it that way. Have you?"

"Whenever I work on the Continent I try to go to Switzerland after I'm finished. There's a chalet I rent in the Alps. You cannot imagine the quiet, the beauty. The mountains are spectacular, but what I crave most is the solitude. It's intoxicating like nothing else to go into a house and know that it is entirely empty aside from you."

"I can't even imagine it," I said. "But who feeds you? Don't try to tell me you cook for yourself because I'll never believe it."

"There's a village two miles away. I hike down, stock up on bread and cheese, whatever else I can carry."

"So you picnic?"

"Essentially, yes."

"And do whatever you please?"

"Exactly, and it typically amounts to very little. There's something freeing about it. No questions to answer, no etiquette to be obeyed, no obligations to meet."

"It sounds like just the thing for me." I smiled.

"I should very much like to take you there. Do you think you could bear the loss of your maid and your butler and your cook?"

"I do."

He reached up as if he would touch my face, but changed his mind, instead putting his arm around my waist and pulling me to his side. I let my head fall against his shoulder, and stayed there, perfectly content in our silence, until his butler marched into the room.

"Mr. Berry is here, sir."

"Take him to the billiard room. He can occupy himself while I finish here." Hoskins nodded, bowed, and left us.

"I can't imagine what Berry wants." Colin pulled a watch from his vest. "We weren't to meet for dinner for another two hours. I'd better tend to him."

"You're far too rumpled for public consumption," I said as he unrolled his sleeves. "Though I must confess to finding you most appealing this way."

"You'd find me like this much more often if we were married. Think on it, Emily. You could curl up in the library, all these books at your disposal —"

"Yes, but they would still be your books, Colin. I want my own."

Hoskins interrupted us again. "I'm very sorry, sir. Mr. Berry is insisting that you come at once."

Colin waited until the butler had gone to turn back to me. "Possessions can be more binding than you think. But I understand how you feel. Know, my dear, that if you did marry me, all that is mine would be yours."

It sounded perfectly lovely but wasn't really true. All of it could be mine only so long as he remained alive. If he died before me, I would find myself once again at the mercy of someone's heir.

"I can see your mind working," he said. "Remember your Austen: 'Let us hope for better things. Let us flatter ourselves that I may be the survivor.'"

I raised an eyebrow. "Have you been consulting literature in search of references that might ease the mind of a lady considering the proposal of a gentleman whose estate is entailed? If so, Pride and Prejudice is unlikely to provide the desired result."

"I don't see why not. It all ends perfectly well."

"While we are on the subject of marriage, I have a question for you. Several people have suggested to me that all my problems with society would disappear if I were to marry Jeremy. Do you agree?"

"I suppose so, but the entire scenario is ridiculous."

"Yes, well, forget that for the moment. I'm interested in the hypothetical. If I came to you and said that I'd been persuaded to accept him for the good of my reputation, what would you say to me? Would you stand aside?"

He tilted his head slightly to the side and looked at me. "Absolutely not. I'd throw you over my shoulder and carry you to Gretna Green."

I could not help myself. I stood on my toes and kissed his cheek. "You are a dear man."

He smiled, his eyes dancing as he kissed my hand. "I'll come to you soon to see how successful you are at code breaking."

21

Code breaking, it turned out, was an excruciating, frustrating endeavor. The books and articles I had from Colin were fascinating studies, but I found in them nothing that helped illuminate the letters strewn across my desk. I was forced to tear myself away from my work, however, as the hour for my tea with the queen approached. I dressed carefully, choosing to wear the gown Mr. Worth designed for me after I gave him a swatch of ice-blue silk Cécile had cut from one of her curtains the first time I'd called on her in Paris. Meg didn't even try to contain her excitement as she assisted me. She tugged on my corset strings with such enthusiasm that I could hardly draw breath, and worked on my hair with complete disregard for the violence her hairpins inflicted upon my scalp.

The result was worth the suffering. I might not be able to breathe, but my tight stays would force me into perfect posture, and my hair was absolutely flawless. Not even a monarch could find fault with my appearance. Meg stood back to admire her work, nodding, with her hands firmly planted on her hips.

"Oh, madam, you are lovely! Your mother will be so proud. I can't even imagine getting to have tea with Her Majesty."

"I'll try to smuggle out a scone for you," I said.

"You wouldn't dare," she said in a hushed tone, her eyes wide. "But will you tell me what it's like? Do you think you might see Prince George?"

"Highly unlikely, Meg. I don't know that the prince is even in Windsor."

"I think he's very handsome. Everything a prince should be."

She looked so eager that I couldn't resist giving her something to feed her daydreams. I leaned towards her and whispered conspiratorially. "I've danced with him, you know. A most courteous gentleman and even handsomer than the pictures you see in the paper."

"Molly knows that gentleman who might be king of France. She's told me all about him."

"Has she?" I asked. "What did she say?"

"Well, he's no Prince George, but he sounds friendly enough. Really great men know how to connect with the common people, I've always thought."

I was stunned that, after discussing Charles Berry with Molly, Meg could have come away with any conclusion except that he was the worst sort of cad. Molly would not want to share the details of her ordeal, but surely neither would she deliberately paint a favorable picture of a man who had harmed her. There was no time for such thoughts at the moment; my mother had arrived.

We spoke very little as we left Berkeley Square, but I could see that she was pleased with my appearance. She had come for me in an open carriage, and ordered her driver to go slowly on the way to Paddington Station so that anyone passing by would have no difficulty in seeing and identifying us. More than one acquaintance appeared surprised to see us together. My mother bestowed on these people her chilliest smile, chatting with me the entire way. Once aboard the train, however, we sat in silence.

I had seen the queen on numerous occasions, but usually only for official events: royal garden parties and my presentation at court. Today, as we approached the palace, I thought about the last time I'd been in Her Majesty's presence, during her Golden Jubilee, when Ivy and I had watched the fireworks from the garden at Buckingham Palace. Neither of us was yet engaged, and she had been flirting shamelessly with a dashing member of the diplomatic corps. Bright flashes filled the sky with color that washed over the crowd below, only to fade and plunge us again into darkness. It was during one of these dark intervals that the gentleman standing next to me took my hand in his. The memory was so faint I questioned its veracity, but it kept tugging at me, until I was able to picture Philip's face, a questioning smile in his eyes as the light returned to bathe us.

"I am certain that I need not remind you to make no mention of your eccentricities when we are with Her Majesty," my mother said, jarring me back to the present. Before I was born, she had served as a lady-in-waiting to the queen, and the two of them had been on friendly terms ever since. It was only because of this that she had been able to arrange for today's meeting. I doubted very much that Queen Victoria made a habit of taking tea for the benefit of repairing ladies' reputations.

"I am grateful to you for doing this, Mother," I said. "There's no need to worry. I shall be graciousness itself."

A servant led us into a large sitting room in the queen's private apartments, where Lady Antrim, a lady-in-waiting, greeted us.

"Catherine, dear, it is so good to see you," she said. "And you, too, Emily. You are looking well." A door opened, and the queen was wheeled into the room. As always when I saw her, I was struck that a person of such small stature could have such a commanding presence. We all curtseyed and observed the formal niceties, then sat down at a heavily laden tea table.

"You are bearing the loss of your husband quite well, Lady Ashton," the queen said, accepting from a footman a plate full of dainty sandwiches.