"You feel this way, yet you were prepared to travel to Africa to rescue him?"

"You know my feelings for you. I would do anything to bring you joy. Lord, what a fool I have been!" He stomped out of the room without a word of good-bye.

Thirty minutes later I received an impassioned note from him begging my forgiveness and informing me that he planned to leave for Africa in two days' time, with or without me.


And so my adventure in Paris began to draw to a close. Cécile's meeting with Caravaggio would confirm the identity of our villain. Then I would figure out a way to stop the thefts and return Philip's stolen originals to the British Museum. Much though I hated the idea of letting Andrew and Arthur go to Africa without me, I could not travel with them. I drafted a letter to Lord Lytton at the embassy, giving him what information I had about Philip's possible survival and asking him to help me organize an official search party. I considered the possibility of having my husband's body exhumed but did not think my evidence sufficient to merit such a thing. Furthermore, the scandal that would ensue from such an occurrence really would terrorize the entire Ashton family. This thought made me wonder if I should write to Philip's sister, informing her of the recent events and begging her husband's assistance.

By six o'clock, having completed neither letter to my satisfaction, I decided to go out to the parts of Paris that Philip, if he were still alive, would almost certainly forbid me to see. I dressed in a fine gown of black silk and headed straight for Montmartre, with every intention of visiting the Moulin Rouge. Reality struck me less than halfway there; I could not go to such a place unescorted, not to mention while I was still in mourning. Confining though society could be, I did not want to abandon it completely. Instead I went to the Café Mazarin. Being on the north side of the boulevard Montmartre, it technically would not have been appropriate for a lady, but my Baedeker's guide assured me that the clientele at this particular café were perfectly within the bounds of propriety.

I ordered the blanquette de veau, which was delicious, and ate slowly. Afterward I had an absinthe, which seemed a bit daring, and began to plan what I would do after Cécile's meeting with Caravaggio. The liqueur was rather awful, but I choked it down nonetheless as I contemplated my future. It would be preferable to stay in Paris rather than London while waiting for news of Philip. I had no desire to answer to my mother, deal with social obligations, or pretend that nothing was wrong until I knew my husband's fate. Then, if he was alive-and I did, despite my misgivings, desperately hope that he was-I would of course defer to his wishes. Most likely he would want to return to England immediately.

And if he was dead, I would not go back to London; I wanted to go to Santorini. There I could determine my true desires free from any outside influence. I would apply myself to learning Greek and explore every inch of the island while I mourned the loss of Philip for a second time.

Fortified by another absinthe, I thought of Aline Renoir and her marriage. Never again would I marry for less than the happiness she enjoyed, nor would I do it before I knew better what I wanted from my life. If Philip was alive, I would devote myself entirely to him, confident that together we could capture more than an adequate amount of passion. I hoped that he would support me as I tried to discover what a woman in my position could be other than a society wife. If he would not-I pushed the thought out of my mind, sat back, and spent the rest of the evening reveling in the Parisian atmosphere.


8 JUNE 1888

BERKELEY SQUARE, LONDON


My last night as a bachelor. Hargreaves and I marked the occasion with a magnificent '47 port.

K's things have been sent from Grosvenor Square. She will find all in good order-Davis saw to the details rather than letting the maids do it. I hope she will be happy in my house.

It is far too late, yet I cannot seem to sleep. Must try, though, as I have no intention of getting much tomorrow night.

30

I slept far later the following morning than I had intended to and wound up having to rush to get to Cécile's in time for le déjeuner. I wore a new dress, a deep midnight blue rather than black or gray. Mr. Worth and I never reached agreement as to whether it was technically appropriate for my last month in half mourning, but I did not care. It fell smoothly over my hips, flared as the skirt reached the floor, and had no bustle. On Cécile's recommendation I'd had it fitted with my corset tied extremely loosely and was well pleased with the results. The bodice still had a smooth appearance, but I could breathe, bend, and very nearly slouch. Happy with my appearance, I hurried through the lobby and slammed directly into Colin.

"Good day, Mr. Hargreaves," I said, ignoring my pulse's instant reaction to him. I flew past him toward the door, feeling rather excited that at last I would know the identity of Caravaggio. The thought caused me to pause and turn, taking another look at Colin. My eyes met his, and I raised one eyebrow, wondering if I would see him in a considerably different setting this afternoon. If Colin was the head of the forgery ring, I might get to slap him again; I smiled despite myself.

I greeted Cécile cheerfully and hugged her before joining her at the dining room table.

"You're in a fine mood for someone who obviously stayed up far too late," Cécile observed. "What was so interesting?"

"Absinthe," I said with a smile.

"I am impressed, Kallista. Paris will make an artiste of you yet."

"Terrible stuff. I could barely get it down." I dove into the vol-au-vent placed before me. "I am glad to have tried it, though. You should read this," I said, handing her the telegram denouncing Mr. Prescott.

"Not much of a surprise," Cécile admitted.

"I confronted Andrew."

"Mon Dieu! What did he say?"

I recounted our conversation.

"Do you believe him?"

"Does it matter?"

"I suppose not," Cécile said, feeding Caesar and Brutus, who sat patiently on her lap waiting for scraps from her plate. "I presume you will not be accompanying him to Africa?"

"Of course not," I replied, applying myself to the rest of my luncheon. "I wrote to Lord Lytton requesting his assistance. I shall not withdraw my financial support of Andrew and Arthur's trip, but I do not believe that I can entirely rely on them. I wonder how long it will be before I know the outcome."

"Try not to think about it too much, chérie," she said, rising from her seat. "Come help me with my miniatures. I want to rearrange the queen's bedroom furniture."

We passed the next hour tending to Cécile's Versailles. The closer the time came for Caravaggio's arrival, the more tense I grew. Any residual excitement that remained deep inside me vanished when the footman announced a visitor.

"Put him in the red drawing room," Cécile said. She took my hands. "Remember, the most important thing you can do is try to identify the voice you hear. Listen carefully to what he says and take notes if you can. I had Louis leave paper and pen in the hallway." She handed me off to Odette, who had appeared out of nowhere to lead me to the back passageway, where I stood, trying not to pace. Soon I heard the door open and close and the click of Cécile's heels as she entered the room.

"Monsieur Caravaggio, I am delighted to meet you," she said. "You are not, I believe, Italian?" She laughed. I held my breath and waited for the reply.

"Not at all, Madame du Lac," he said. "I am English to the core. The Italian name lends a nice touch, though, don't you think?"

"I shall not offend you by insulting your country, monsieur, especially when I have such great hopes for our business relationship. Will you please sit?"

"If you will forgive me for being crass, madame, it is clear to me from your home, your jewelry, and your reputation that you are indeed in a position to afford a panel of the Elgin Marbles. That you want such a thing is a testament to your excellent taste. That you knew to contact me indicates that you possess a superior intelligence. There is no one else who could arrange the procurement of such a famous work."

My head was spinning; I sank to the ground. It was not Colin Hargreaves. Only Andrew would speak in that arrogant tone; I recognized his voice at once. There could be no mistake. The same anger that prompted me to confront him the previous day started to surface again. Every suspicion I had about Colin was now redirected to Andrew, the man who wanted me to travel to Africa to rescue Philip. I pushed my hands against the cold marble floor and put my ear against the door, not wanting to miss a word uttered by the abhorrent man.

"My connections at the British Museum are above reproach. Access to the piece will not be a problem. The artists I use produce excellent copies. Not a single object I have replaced has been suspected."

"Even if it were, Monsieur Caravaggio, I would not expect my name ever to surface in an investigation. I really have no time for such things," Cécile said, sounding marvelously bored with the entire subject.

"Of course, of course." Andrew laughed, disrespectful as always.

"How long until I receive the panel?"

"I will have that information for you as soon as I discuss the project with my artist. Mr. Attewater works quickly, but a piece of this caliber will be rather time-consuming."