"Don't judge him too harshly," Lady Elinor said, moving her hands gracefully in a gesture designed not to emphasize her words, but to show off the spectacular ruby ring on her right hand. "He's led a difficult life."
"Do you know him well?" I asked her.
"He was at Oxford with my son, George, although they didn't move in the same crowd. George has always been very serious. He takes after his father." Lady Elinor's husband, Mr. John Routledge, had been a steady if somewhat humorless man, who served in the government as chancellor of the exchequer until his death some years ago. George, who was much older than his sister, had taken a position in the diplomatic corps and had been stationed in India for so long that I could hardly recall what he looked like. "Let me introduce you. I think you'll find Mr. Berry most charming."
The gentleman in question stood not far from us, surrounded by several very eligible heiresses whose mothers watched, hawklike, from a safe distance, eagerly trying to gauge which girl garnered the most attention from the purported heir to the House of Bourbon. I wondered if any of them gave even momentary consideration to what it might be like to actually be the wife of such a man. None of the mothers tried to hide her irritation when Lady Elinor pulled him away.
"How do you find London?" I asked after the introductions had been made.
"A wonderful city. But I must admit that I long for Paris. I have great hopes, you know, that my throne will be restored."
"Really, Monsieur Berry?" Cécile asked, incredulous. "I had no idea the Third Republic was in danger of being replaced by a monarchy."
"France would be lucky to have you," Lady Elinor said.
"It is not impossible. I, of course, would never presume to seek such a thing, but if it proves to be the will of the people..." He let his voice trail off and looked at me as if appraising my value. "You, Lady Ashton, would be an ornament in any court."
"You flatter me." I saw a look of dissatisfaction pass quickly across Lady Elinor's face and realized that she, too, had fallen victim to wanting a royal husband for her daughter. Isabelle was a sweet girl, out for her second season. She was not pretty, not in the classical way, but possessed bright eyes and an eager smile that more than made up for any imperfections in her features. I confess to being surprised by how much she had matured in the past year; gone completely was the child I remembered following me around after my own debut, begging for stories of balls and parties. If she still harbored any of the romantic ideas she'd had as a girl, she was headed for disappointment unless she could convince her mother that Mr. Berry was not a desirable suitor. I decided to direct the subject away from the gentleman altogether and turned to my hostess. "Have you seen Mr. Bingham this afternoon?"
"He arrived not half an hour ago," Lady Elinor replied. "Though I must warn you that he's not one for genteel conversation."
"I know it all too well. He owns a silver libation bowl — the sort the ancient Greeks used to hold offerings to the gods. The decoration on it is exquisite — Athena, Hermes, Dionysus, and Ares riding in chariots driven by winged Nikes."
"What is a Nike?" Lady Elinor asked.
"Victory. Perhaps you've seen the Nike Samothrace in the Louvre?"
"Ah, yes. How...interesting that you know about such things."
"I've been trying to convince Mr. Bingham to sell me the piece for the past three months and have barely had a civil word from him."
"Are you a collector?" Mr. Berry asked.
"My late husband was, but he also made many donations to the British Museum. I've continued this practice, though I admit it's not always easy for me to part with what I've acquired. But in this case, I want the phiale for the museum. It's too significant to be left languishing in a private home. I had hoped I could persuade Mr. Bingham to donate it himself, but he will not be convinced."
"Aren't you clever!" Lady Elinor said, then turned to Mr. Berry. "Lady Ashton is quite a scholar."
"Surely you've put aside all thoughts of studying during the Season?" he asked.
"Studying Greek, Mr. Berry, is what will get me through the Season." He made a dissatisfied-sounding grunt, and Lady Elinor smiled, confident that branding me a scholar would be enough to keep the gentleman from growing too interested in me. I hoped she was correct.
"You speak almost like an Englishman, Monsieur Berry," Cécile said. "I expected to find you more French."
"I spent much of my youth in the United States. We did not speak French, even at home. My father sent me to Oxford for university, and I've lived in England ever since. He was a very private man, never wanted the public to know his true identity. I respected this position while he was alive, but now that he is dead, I believe it is time to reclaim my heritage." He stepped close to Cécile and continued in a low voice. "I am moved more than you can imagine by the sight of your earrings. I understand that they belonged to my twice arrière-grand-mère."
"They did, monsieur, and I thought it appropriate to wear them when I met the pretender to the Bourbon throne. Marie Antoinette had them on when she was arrested during the revolution."
"How I wish I could touch them." He moved even closer to her, and for a moment I thought he would reach out for them.
Isabelle, who had been summoned to her mother's side, frowned. "She was arrested wearing them?" she asked. "Aren't you afraid they'll bring you bad luck?"
"Not at all," Cécile replied.
"They're just the sort of thing that would carry a curse, the tragic fate of a previous owner haunting everyone else who possesses them," Isabelle said with a dramatic flair.
"I assure you, mademoiselle, that I am not concerned in the least," Cécile said, shrugging.
"Where did you get them, Cécile?" I asked.
"My brother purchased them for his fiancée. Unfortunately, she died before they were married, and he gave them to me."
"Died before they were married?" I asked. "Clearly the poor woman was cursed."
"Not in the least. Claudette had a sickly constitution long before Paul gave her the earrings."
Although I counted Cécile among my dearest friends, this story of her brother, along with vague rumors that her ancestors had been sympathetic to the monarchy during the revolution, was nearly all the information I'd heard about her family. Like me, she was a widow, though her husband had died almost thirty years ago. It was this that first drew us together — not simply that we had lost husbands, but that we had lost husbands we did not mourn.
"I would hesitate to wear them," Isabelle said. "You're very brave."
"It would take more than a curse to stop Madame du Lac," Colin Hargreaves said, striding confidently towards us, a broad smile on his face. "Do my eyes deceive me? Or is it true that the delights of the Season are enough to entice Lady Ashton to abandon the pleasures of Greece?"
"Colin!" I cried, feeling an unmistakable rush of pleasure as he brushed his lips over my gloved hand, the color rising in my cheeks as our eyes met. "Your letter said you would be in Berlin until next week."
"My business finished more quickly than expected. I called on you at Berkeley Square not an hour ago, and your butler told me I could find you here. Lady Elinor was kind enough to allow me in without an invitation." His face was already tanned from riding in the summer sun.
"You are always welcome in my home, Mr. Hargreaves," our hostess said, clearly relieved to find a gentleman other than Mr. Berry paying attention to me. "Have you met Mr. Berry?"
"Yes, we spent some time together on the Continent this spring." This surprised me. In all the letters he'd sent to me in the past months, Colin had never once mentioned Mr. Berry, and Mr. Berry did not strike me as the sort of man with whom Colin would have much interest in spending time.