"Would you read it in Greek?" He obliged me immediately, and the seductive lilt of the ancient language drove from me any lingering melancholy.

"That certainly brightened your eyes," he said. "Who is sending you these messages?"

"I've not the slightest idea."

"I wish you would find out. I should very much like to know my competition."

"I wouldn't know how to begin."

"Try," he said. "I'll wager that you can figure it out."

This made me laugh. "A bet? What will I win?"

"Identify your admirer before the end of the Season, and I shall travel with you through Greece this fall."

"Scandalous! I thought you weren't willing to see me that corrupt?"

"I'd prefer not to." He took my hand in both of his, and the feel of his skin on mine thrilled me more than I ought to admit. "But the temptation is hard to resist."

"And if I lose?"

"You agree to marry me." His gaze held steady on mine.

"Sounds like a risky proposition for me either way."

"It is."

"I'll take your wager, Colin. It shall bring an added interest to what might otherwise be a vapid Season. And who knows what gentlemen I might encounter during my search. An admirer who courts his lady in Greek is not to be lightly discarded. Perhaps you ought to be jealous."

"Not at all. I'm confident that no one you find can do for you what I would." Our eyes met and we leaned towards one another. My lips parted, and I waited for his kiss. It did not come. "No, I'd better not kiss you," he said, keeping his gaze steady and not pulling back from me. "I must accept the possibility that you could turn down my proposal. And, should you eventually marry someone else, I would not want your husband to hold against me the fact that I had taken such a liberty with his future wife."

"You've kissed me before."

"And it was most ungentlemanly of me to have done so. I shall be more careful in the future." With that, he kissed my hand, lingering over it deliciously, and left, turning to smile at me one more time before he closed the door.

Not two minutes later, my maid appeared, asking me if I still wanted a bath.

"Yes, Meg. Cold. I want it painfully cold."


Three days later I received a note from Mrs. Francis. Her house had been burgled again. This time, the only thing taken was her husband's silver snuffbox. The newspapers had been filled with stories about Mr. Francis's death from the moment they learned of it, and each of them had mentioned that he died clutching the object. They attributed his death to Marie Antoinette's curse and warned the citizens of London to take heed, suggesting that those whose property was stolen were lucky to have escaped with their lives.

4

After penning a hasty reply to Mrs. Francis, I changed into a well-cut riding habit and made my way to Rotten Row, needing desperately to clear my head. It was late in the afternoon, so most people were parading in their carriages, but I wanted my horse. The exercise was refreshing but did little to rid me of the searing feeling that I was responsible for having brought Mr. Francis to the attention of his murderer. I did my best to rally my spirits when I came upon my dearest childhood friend, Ivy, who was in her carriage with her husband and Lord Fortescue, a gentleman whom I avoided whenever possible. Our contrary views on seemingly every topic made conversation uncomfortable at best.

"I'm so glad to see you!" Ivy said, smiling brightly at me before turning to her companions. "Emily has been keeping herself hidden far too much lately."

"Strange time of day to be riding, Lady Ashton." Lord Fortescue looked at me closely, making no attempt to hide the fact that he found fault only with my behavior, not my ensemble, with its smart, double-breasted jacket and red vest.

"I've adopted a strictly self-indulgent approach to the Season.

Why should one be limited to riding in the morning?" Robert shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and I realized that this was not, perhaps, a wise thing to have said in front of Lord Fortescue.

Poor Ivy! Ever since her husband had determined to enter politics, she had found herself much in the company of Lord Fortescue. He had the queen's ear and was considered to be the most powerful man in the government, although he occupied no formal position beyond the seat in the House of Lords that his title brought him. All aspiring politicians were at his mercy, and he delighted in exercising any control he could over them.

"What drivel," Lord Fortescue said. "Shouldn't want any wife of mine to think like that." It was all I could do to keep from wondering aloud if he would want any wife of his to think at all. "Which reminds me, Lady Ashton, that Aloysius Bingham tells me you've been harassing him over some gaudy bowl. Leave him alone. It's no business of yours if he wants to keep the thing for himself. This rot you've been spewing to him about it belonging in the museum suggests to me that you are in desperate need of a husband with a very firm hand." The sound of a horse stopping next to mine saved me from having to respond to this inane comment, and I turned to see Charles Berry tipping his hat.

"Ah! Berry! Still enjoying London?" Lord Fortescue asked, then continued without waiting for an answer. "I've been meaning to have someone throw a party for you. I'm sure Mrs. Brandon is up to the task. What do you say? Will you give a ball? Thursday next would be convenient, I think."

"I — " Ivy hesitated. She would barely have time to come up with a menu, let alone arrange for an orchestra, flowers, and all the rest of the planning a ball required. Robert stepped in.

"Give her more time, Lord Fortescue, and she'll prepare the greatest masquerade ball London has ever seen."

"Very well, then. I will count on you, Mrs. Brandon." Ivy managed a weak smile. "Send me your guest list. I want to make sure you haven't forgot anyone."

Lord Fortescue was a clear example of why no man should have too much power. Small things, like checking over a guest list, were meant to remind a gentleman in Robert's position where his allegiance had better lie. Mr. Berry showed little interest in any of this. He was looking me over very carefully, evidently pleased with what he saw.

"I want to ride with you, Lady Ashton. Will you join me?" I quickly assessed the situation and decided that, of the two, Mr. Berry was preferable to Lord Fortescue. We walked our horses slowly and had not gone more than a hundred feet before I began to regret my choice.

"There is something about you that brings to mind Madame de Pompadour," he said. "I find myself most drawn to you."

"I warn you, Mr. Berry, that I am not susceptible to flattery." I pushed a stray curl back up into my hat.

"Your modesty does not fool me. Do you know that I may have a court of my own before long?"

"In England?" I wondered how he could afford such a thing. From what I understood, he had very little fortune.

"Initially, yes. But later — " He stopped. "I say too much. Suffice it to say that I shall count on your coming to me there. I don't think you will be disappointed."

I wondered if I ought to be affronted that he never dangled the queenship in front of me, the way he did with so many other young ladies. He had suggested even to Margaret that she might find herself in the happy position of wearing a crown. Perhaps he was familiar with my views on marriage. This thought made me smile.

"Lady Ashton! Mr. Berry!" Lady Elinor called. "What a surprise to find you here together!" Our horses, whose speed had increased gradually during our conversation, were about to overtake the carriage she shared with her daughter. She immediately focused on Mr. Berry and, good mother that she was, did all she could to draw him into conversation with Isabelle. The girl gave him a halfhearted smile, then sat quietly, scanning the park.

"Where is Mr. Hargreaves this afternoon?" Lady Elinor asked. "You remember Mr. Hargreaves, of course, Mr. Berry? Such an excellent gentleman! And quite devoted to our Lady Ashton."

"Hargreaves is a capital fellow. I was out far too late with him last night," Mr. Berry said, and I wondered what they had been doing. "It's easy to see why he's taken with my riding companion." Lady Elinor was quick to move the discussion in another direction, and once she had succeeded in commanding Mr. Berry's attention, I excused myself, hoping that Isabelle hadn't been searching the park for another gentleman. Her mother's intentions for her were all too clear.


I saw Isabelle again two days later. Cécile and I were in the library, waiting for Margaret to join us, when the girl appeared, making no attempt to hide the fact that she had been crying. Given the amount of time our families had spent together over the years, it did not surprise me that she would come to me when she was upset. Before her father's death, her parents had traveled a great deal, and Isabelle often stayed with us while they were gone. The difference in our ages, which had seemed so great just a few years ago, was less noticeable now, but I still pictured her as a little girl, butting in when Ivy and I wanted to trade private observations regarding the gentlemen of our acquaintance. Nonetheless, I had no desire to shun her when she was so distressed; if anything, this was an opportunity to make up for all the times when I'd shooed her away. I sat her next to Cécile on the settee and gave her a glass of port, figuring that I might as well take the opportunity to convert her to my view that the beverage should not be reserved for gentlemen alone.