"I know you're right, but it doesn't always feel that way."
"Someday, Kallista, you will learn to stop resisting things only because they are sanctioned by others."
"I don't do that, Cécile."
"I am not saying that you should marry Monsieur Hargreaves to appease these society ladies. But he is too much the gentleman to take you as anything but his wife. And if that is the only way to get such a man, well...marriage might not be so awful. I can think of many things more disappointing than waking up next to him every morning."
"You are terrible."
She shrugged. "To turn away something you want simply because it is de rigueur is as foolish as blindly following society's rules. You must make your own decisions, Kallista, but do not become an iconoclast at the expense of your own happiness."
"I hope I'm not that foolish. I adore Colin, but more than I want him I want to find something in life that is mine alone. An identity beyond that of wife. Something that I love, that edifies, that inspires me."
"You are already on your way to finding it, chérie. How many objects have you secured for the British Museum?"
"Not enough. Did I tell you about the statue I saw in Richmond?" As I began to describe it to her, all other thoughts rushed out of my head. When Cécile went upstairs to direct the packing of her belongings, I wrote an impassioned note to Mr. Sinclair about the piece and sent it immediately. No sooner was that done than I penned a second, this one to Mr. Bingham. Lord Fortescue might reprimand me for harassing the poor man, but I did not care. The silver libation bowl needed to be in a museum, and I had no husband with political aspirations whose career was at the mercy of Lord Fortescue.
12
Thursday was Cécile's last day in London, and her impending departure had a deleterious effect on my household. Caesar and Brutus, who had become inexplicably fond of Berkeley Square, recoiled at the sight of their travel boxes and crawled beneath a large cabinet in the red drawing room from which they could not be coaxed, even with scraps from the previous evening's roast beef. Cook took this as a personal insult and stalked about belowstairs all morning in a state of high dudgeon. As a result, our luncheon was delayed, and I had no time at all to eat before leaving for the British Museum, where I hoped to meet my anonymous admirer.
As I walked towards Great Russell Street, it started to rain, but the drops amounted to little more than a mist that would do nothing to alleviate the claustrophobic humidity enveloping the city. I did not open my umbrella, using it instead as a walking stick, its metal point echoing the rhythm of my feet. My claim to Colin that I was near to unmasking my would-be innamorato had not been quite accurate. Other than placing the ad in the Times, I had done almost nothing to find him. Initially, I had thought I might ferret him out by baiting young gentlemen of my acquaintance, but that had been when I believed him to be nothing more than a creative suitor keen to take advantage of my interest in Greek. Now, however, knowing that he was responsible for the Marie Antoinette thefts, I believed it would take a great deal of persuasion to get him to reveal himself. My only real hope came from his romantic designs on me. Surely a gentleman in love would not wish to remain eternally incognito.
Once inside the museum, I left my umbrella in the hall and ducked through the rooms leading to the Southern Egyptian Gallery, which housed the Rosetta Stone. I meandered about, patiently reading the cards describing each object while I watched for any solitary gentlemen who lingered too long in front of the famous basalt tablet. No one came. I studied the sarcophagus of the queen of Amasis II, admired a statue of the god of the Nile, and pondered figures of the goddesses Bast and Sekhet. I watched a young man whisper something that made a young lady blush while her chaperone scrutinized an obelisk through spectacles that pinched her nose. I enjoyed a brief moment of anticipation when a well-dressed gentleman entered the room, pursued by a docent telling him that he must deposit his walking stick in the hall. He gave me a jaunty smile as he surrendered the stick, then left the room without so much as glancing at the Rosetta Stone.
The stone itself provided ample distraction for another quarter of an hour. After doing my best to read the Greek inscription on it, I turned my attention to the hieroglyphs and was entirely seduced by their elegant beauty. My fingers ached to try to draw them, and as I was longing for my sketchbook, a man approached me. My eyebrows shot up, then fell immediately as soon as I recognized him as the docent who had taken the gentleman's stick.
"Lady Ashton?" he asked. I nodded. "Forgive me for disturbing your reverie. This was left for you at the desk." He handed me a too-familiar envelope.
"Can you describe the gentleman who delivered it?"
"It was a young boy, madam, not a gentleman." I thanked him and crossed through the Central Egyptian Saloon to the Refreshment Room, notorious for its dreadful food, and sat down to a pot of tea no better than the café's reputation. The note, as I expected, began in Greek:
She is enrolled as my one goddess, whose beloved name I will mix and drink in unmixed wine. I could not help but smile. If nothing else, receiving these letters had done wonders for my sight-reading skills. He continued in English:
Do hope you will enjoy the champagne. Accept it along with my thanks for returning Marie Antoinette's pink. I don't imagine you really expected to meet me today — and you know I wouldn't dream of disappointing you, Kallista, darling. Fear not — you will see me soon enough.
His use of Kallista, Philip's name for me, was unnerving. Who was this presumptuous man? I considered the gentleman with the walking stick. Certainly it was odd for him to have come into the gallery and not look at the Rosetta Stone. Unless he had come only to see if I was there. I abandoned my tea and went to the main desk in the vestibule.
"Good afternoon, Lady Ashton. How may we help you today?"
"A docent just delivered a note that was left here for me. I was hoping that I could talk to him."
"A docent? Do you know who it was? I've been here all afternoon, and no one brought a note for you."
"I don't know his name. He was rather tall. Had bright blue eyes and a dark beard, very bushy."
"I'm so sorry, I've not the slightest idea who it could have been." He called over one of his colleagues who confirmed that no one had left anything for me at the desk but suggested that perhaps the envelope had been left elsewhere, and rushed off to inquire in the Reading Room, where the clerks knew nothing about a note addressed to me. I was weighing the merits of searching the museum for the docent when I noticed Colin standing next to a statue of Shakespeare near the entrance to the library. He tipped his hat and came to me.
"Are you spying on me?" I asked.
"Far from it. I read your advertisement in the Times and thought that, on the odd chance your admirer would show his face, I'd like to be here to personally confirm that I'd lost our bet."
"I never thought he would come."
"Is that so?" His dark eyes danced. "I think, Emily, that you harbored hopes that your multitudinous charms would lure the poor boy out of hiding. Admit it. You're not used to being disappointed."
"Remind me why it is that I'm so fond of you."
"I can't say that I have the slightest idea."
"I suppose that since you're here you may as well walk with me," I said, letting him take my arm and doing my best not to thrill at his touch. I was not particularly successful. For two hours we combed through every room in the museum looking for either the docent or the gentleman with the walking stick, but to no avail. Not only did we find neither man, we could not locate a single employee who recognized my description of the docent.