"You are very mysterious, Mr. Attewater."

I allowed him to lead me out of the building. He looked around in a manner that was meant to appear casual, but I'm afraid he was not particularly successful. Then he stood as near me as he could without being improper and spoke in a low whisper.

"I sold that first fragment you saw to the museum. It is the only time I have misrepresented my work." He removed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. "I had been hired to copy all of Slab IV-it was an ambitious plan. Evidently my patron had a client who wished to own the original. Can you imagine the price such a thing would fetch?" He looked around again. "The deal fell through for reasons unknown to me. The order for my copy was canceled."

"This, Mr. Attewater, inspires me to ask a great many questions," I whispered back.

"And I am afraid there are few, if any, I would be willing to answer," he replied nervously. "At any rate, I didn't like my work to go to waste, and I had already nearly finished the head I showed you. I could not bring myself to destroy such a beautiful piece, so I made it appear to be an unrelated fragment of its own. I wish you could have seen it before I damaged it. It was exquisite. But it needed to look old, so I hacked up the nose, cheek, forehead, and shoulders, then restored the nose." He stood up a bit straighter now. "A nice touch, I think, doing the restoration. Gives the thing an air of authenticity."

"Yes, but how did the British Museum come to buy it?"

"Money was very tight for me at the time, and I needed more than the piece would command as a copy. With the assistance of a colleague, I invented a decent provenance for the piece, which I said I acquired in Athens."

"You sold it to the museum yourself?"

"I beg your pardon, Lady Ashton, but could you please try to speak more quietly?"

"Of course," I murmured.

"Yes, I represented myself and completed the transaction with the museum."

"I appreciate your honesty, Mr. Attewater," I said, staring at him closely, pleased that he trusted me enough to share his secret. Of course, he could expose Philip as easily as I could expose him, so I suppose he did not take much of a risk.

"I felt you had the right to know. Do you still wish me to create a new sculpture for you?"

"More than ever." I shook his hand. "I am immensely grateful for all the information you have given me. You have cleared up many questions that were plaguing me."

"I am sorry, Lady Ashton, that the answers can bring you little peace." With a smart bow, the little man took his leave from me. I couldn't help but notice a slight spring in his step as he trotted down Great Russell Street, and I hoped that my patronage might allow him to move away from the sordid business in which he was currently involved.

Do not think, gentle reader, that the treasure trove of information given to me by Mr. Attewater did not leave me deeply unsettled. I hardly knew what to worry about first. The fact that so many pieces in the British Museum were forgeries horrified me. The fact that the originals were sitting in the library at my country estate was even more disturbing. But worst of all, my husband, my darling love, a man whom I had come to admire greatly, was no better than a common sneak thief. If anything, he was worse; greed, not poverty, had driven his actions. I felt tears filling my eyes and decided that walking home would do me more good than sobbing in the back of a cab. As I started toward the street, someone called my name.

"Emily!" Arabella waved at me. I had no desire to speak to anyone but did not want to insult her. I waved back and waited for her, along with Mrs. Dunleigh and Mr. Palmer, to come to me.

"Good day, Mrs. Dunleigh, Arabella. I see you found your party, Mr. Palmer." The usual pleasantries were exchanged, and I hoped for a quick escape.

"Arthur tells us you have already been to the museum," Arabella said. "What a pity! You could have joined us."

"I am on my way home," I replied.

"Where is your carriage?" Mrs. Dunleigh asked.

"Actually, I planned to walk. I'm rather looking forward to the exercise."

"Shocking!" Mrs. Dunleigh cried. "My dear child, you must allow me to send you home in our carriage. Our driver has only just dropped us off and is still at the curb. Berkeley Square must be nearly two miles from here, and it is unseasonably chilly today. One would think we were already in the depths of autumn. I should never forgive myself if you fell ill." I knew she was trying to be polite, and I did not want to insult her, particularly in front of the man she hoped would soon be her son-in-law. Unwillingly I allowed myself to be helped into the carriage for the short ride home.

It started to rain almost immediately, so I was forced to admit that I was lucky not to have walked. Between the cool, damp weather and my troubled state of mind, I was trembling by the time I reached home. Davis met me at the carriage with a large umbrella and led me into the house. Unfortunately, Berkeley Square did not provide the respite for which I longed. As Davis took my hat, he told me that my mother was waiting for me in the drawing room. I did not want to see her and delayed by having Davis tell her I would be in as soon as I finished an urgent letter. I slipped into the library, sat at Philip's desk, and quickly penned the text of a cable to Ivy, begging that she return to London as soon as possible. Before I could ring to have Davis send it for me, my mother burst into the library.

"This, Emily, is unpardonable!" She dropped onto the settee. "I will not be kept waiting while you answer correspondence."

"Mother, please understand that I had no intention of insulting you."

"I have heard quite enough," she said. "Your behavior of late can be described in no way other than extraordinary. I realize that losing your husband so soon after your marriage deeply distressed you, but do not expect to be able to use this indefinitely as an excuse for unsuitable actions."

"I cannot imagine what I have done now that has you so concerned," I said halfheartedly. She had already delivered a particularly scathing lecture after my now infamous dinner party; it was unlikely she would return to a subject to which she had done justice.

"I have been somewhat concerned at the way you and Mr. Andrew Palmer conduct yourselves. But I am a reasonable woman and realize that the standard of behavior to which you young people hold yourselves these days is not as high as one would hope. The Palmers are an excellent family, although, given their lack of fortune, I would have hoped you would set your sights higher. A woman in your position could easily catch a duke."

"Mother, I am in no mood to discuss whatever marriage plans you have in mind for me."

"I assure you, Emily, that your mood is of no consequence whatsoever to me." She continued without drawing breath. "As I was saying, your shocking behavior with Mr. Palmer I can tolerate. I suppose his unorthodox approach to courtship appeals to you."

"Mother," I tried to interrupt.

She silenced me by lifting her hand. "I shall hear nothing from you until I am finished. Now I have learned that Mr. Palmer has, in fact, proposed to you and that you have refused him. Is this true?"

"Yes." I sighed. I had tried to keep my rejection of Andrew as quiet as possible but knew that inevitably my mother would hear of it. In her opinion there are few crimes greater than turning down an offer of marriage, unless, of course, it is done in an attempt to intensify the rejected gentleman's feelings. She knew well that I deplored the very idea of doing such a thing; it was a subject covered thoroughly between us in the early days after my social debut.

"I would like to believe that you refused him because you are expecting a superior offer from another gentleman?" Her eyes narrowed as she looked at me. "No, I thought not."

"Is it so terrible to think that I might never marry again?"

"Yes, it is, Emily. It would be a complete waste of everything. You are beautiful, rich, titled. Our family's history can be traced to the earliest days of England. My dear, had you put your mind to it, you could have married royalty. I will always regret that you showed no interest in Prince George." She dismissed the thought with a wave of her hand. "Well, he certainly would have no interest in a widow."

"I would imagine not," I said flatly. "Could you perhaps come to terms with the idea that I, like our great queen, prefer to remain a widow?"

"The queen has remained in mourning. Your current behavior is proof that you have no such intention."

I would have liked to point out that there were any number of rumors concerning the queen which implied that she was not really in mourning, but I knew that suggesting such a thing would begin an argument that I had no interest in finishing.

"You cannot have it both ways, Emily. Either mourn your husband or find another."

"I do mourn Philip!" I shouted, rather more loudly than I intended. Tears sprang to my eyes. "You have no idea what I suffer. I will not be judged by you or anyone else. My refusal to marry Mr. Palmer should be no one's concern but his and my own."

My mother shook her head slowly and smiled in her most patronizing fashion. "We shall see, Emily. You may enjoy yourself now, but eventually your looks will be gone. If you insist on remaining a widow, you had better think about changing your behavior, or you will find that the only company you attract will be that of the most desperate fortune hunters. No one else in society would be willing to associate with a woman who so openly flaunts her disregard for social customs. Which leads me to another topic: This insistence of yours on pursuing Philip's intellectual work is very odd. There is no role for women in the academic world. I could not imagine where you would get such ideas until I met your friend, Miss Seward."