"There is something else you must know," I said. "Something that will be difficult to hear." Beatrice took the news of her husband's illegitimate son better than I would have expected. She cried, but softly, no gasping sobs.

"Is there any point to being angry with him now?" she asked. "That child is all that is left of him. Can I regret what he did? He so desperately wanted a son."

I left her but, instead of going home, went to Mr. Barber's studio to ask him to go to Richmond at once. He would be more capable than anyone of offering comfort to Beatrice.


Within a few days, Monsieur Garnier's coup had been abandoned. Word that Charles Berry was a fraud scandalized his supporters, and Garnier was too savvy a politician to ally himself with such a man. Cécile was disappointed never to have had the chance to lure Garnier away from his plans but remained convinced that she, like Boulanger's mistress before, would have been more attractive to a man than the idea of ruling a nation.

As for Mr. Berry, he disappeared from Paris as soon as the news broke that David Francis was the true heir of the dauphin. Although we were not able to keep from the press the news that Francis had a son, we did manage to persuade them not to identify the boy. It was rumored that Berry had returned to America, and I hoped that to be true, preferring to have the vile man as far from me as possible. I'd written Colin to inquire about the list of stolen objects I'd found in the Savoy; he believed that Berry kept it because he planned to ask that everything belonging to the queen be given to him once he was named king of France.

Once the case was fully settled, I began to make plans to travel to Santorini. I was eager to see Mrs. White and relieved that I would not have to tell her that Lady Elinor had burnt down her house. Meg's absence meant that I had to rely on another maid to pack for me, and she required more direction than I was used to having to give. I had just sent her back upstairs after her third trip to the library to inquire about the specifics of what I would need when my mother burst through the door, Davis close on her heels.

"Lady Bromley to see you, madam," he called out over my mother's shoulder.

"Again you have embroiled yourself in controversy," she said. "I am most displeased. The newspapers are full of the role you had in bringing down Lady Elinor. It is disgraceful, unladylike, outrageous."

"Mother — "

"It is of no consequence, however. I am here on the queen's business. She asked that I inquire whether you had yet made a decision about the matter we discussed with her at Windsor."

"A decision?" I asked.

"Don't play dumb with me, child. You know perfectly well that Her Majesty expects you to marry. Who is the lucky gentleman to be?"

"Colin isn't even in England."

"Then Bainbridge. Excellent. I do like the idea of your being a duchess. And I heard all about the falling-out he and your American friend had." Margaret had expertly staged the event. She cried, he stormed off, and somehow everyone felt sorry for her before the end of the evening. Even the lord mayor of London himself consoled her. Her parents felt particularly bad and were convinced she had been ill used and was heartily disappointed. So convinced, in fact, that they agreed to let her take up residence in Oxford a full three weeks before they'd intended. Her only disappointment, she insisted to me, was that she hadn't been there to confront Lady Elinor with me. That, she said, would have made her Season complete.

"Jeremy hasn't proposed to me, Mother." I shook my head. "Haven't we already had this conversation?"

"Let me assure you, Emily, that it is a conversation that will be repeated at regular intervals until you have an answer for the queen."

"Perhaps when I return from Greece — "

"Greece? Good heavens, you can't intend to go back there! What will you do? Mr. Hargreaves isn't there, is he? It wouldn't be proper without a chaperone, although if you were engaged..."

I let her prattle on and gave her very little trouble. I felt I owed it to her after all she'd done to save my reputation. I listened to her well enough only to know when to give the right meaningless answers and wondered what she would do with herself if ever I did remarry. Hound me for an heir, I suppose. I shuddered at the thought.


With Lady Elinor in prison, I'd been able to persuade Colin that my house no longer needed to be guarded. I insisted that Sebastian, should he ever come back, would not harm me. On my last night in London, I awoke to find that, once again, an intruder had come into my bedroom. This occasion, however, brought me no fear. Sebastian had been perfectly quiet, disturbed no one in the house, and had not had to cut through my window; I'd left it open, an invitation of sorts, I suppose, though not one I had consciously made. On the pillow next to me, I found a bundle of letters, a rose, and a small box. An oddly familiar scene.

I opened the letters first. One was from him; the other two were those that Lizzie had stolen from my library. His note was, as always, short:



I could read the Greek with little difficulty: Lo, the lovers' rose sheds tears to see her away, and not on my bosom. It came as no surprise to find that the box contained Cécile's Marie Antoinette earrings.