And Only to Deceive

5

My social life improved considerably as my acquaintance with Cécile grew. She included me in her salons and frequently invited me to dine with her on evenings she spent at home. I still chose not to attend balls or large parties. I suppose that I could have but didn't imagine I would get much pleasure from watching my peers dance in lovely, colorful gowns while I sat with the other widows. I would wait until I, too, could dance.

I soon received a letter from my mother, who was somehow under the impression that Cécile was related to aristocrats who had narrowly escaped the Reign of Terror. She encouraged the friendship, imploring me to overlook any eccentricities in view of the connections I might make. Had she known the sort of connections I made through Cécile, I am certain that her opinion would have been quite the opposite.

Before long, Ivy and Robert returned to Paris; I was delighted to see them again. Ivy left her husband answering correspondence, and we escaped to the Tuileries, where we could converse in private. Walking along the wide, central path through the park afforded us the best possible views of the garden and its backdrop of the Arc de l'Étoile and Ramses II's obelisk in the place de la Concorde. Although the Bois de Boulogne was perhaps a more fashionable place to walk, I preferred the Tuileries, which I could see from my rooms at the Meurice.

"You'll never guess what I did last night," I said. "Cécile took me to the most wonderful dinner party. It was all artists, celebrating Monsieur Renoir's recent marriage. Cécile goaded me into drawing a portrait of him as a wedding gift. I did it in the style of a Greek vase, showing him as Paris carrying off Helen."

"Oh, Emily! You didn't really draw for them? Weren't you terrified?"

"It was all a joke, you see. No one expected me to draw well, and of course I didn't."

"But do you really think you ought to associate with them?" Ivy paused and blushed. "Emily, those women lived with men for years and years without marrying them. I have heard that Alice Hoschedé has a husband but that she and her children live with Mr. Monet. You do need to consider your social standing." Robert's influence clearly had lessened any liberal leanings my friend had before her marriage.

"Cécile moves in the highest circles in Paris. Her association with artists is well known, and no one appears to hold it against her."

"Her situation is somewhat different."

"Yes, her husband has been dead longer."

"That's not what I mean," Ivy continued. "Madame du Lac clearly isn't going to marry again, while you have your whole life ahead of you."

"Ivy, darling, has marriage so altered your mind? I cannot believe you are reprimanding me. Has my mother sent you?" I smiled.

"Perish the thought!" Ivy's chestnut curls bounced as we both laughed. "I admit that being married has changed my opinion on a number of subjects, however. I would so like to see you happy again, Emily."

"I'm quite happy now, Ivy. I do not know when my mind has been more pleasantly occupied. But I will confess to thinking of Philip more than I ever thought I would. It's quite extraordinary. We hardly knew each other, yet he went traipsing about telling his friends he loved me, ordering portraits, bestowing a Greek name on me. I do wish I knew what inspired him."

"Your lovely self, I am sure." Ivy laughed, the dimples on either side of her mouth deepening. "Perhaps he was a hopeless romantic disguised as an adventurous hunter."

"Laugh if you will," I said, my tone growing serious. "But I feel as if there must be some flaw in me. How else did I manage to see nothing in him during the short time we were together? Clearly, he was more perceptive than I."

"I don't think you tried to look, dear. But does it really matter? The material point is that now you know to pay better attention to those around you, particularly to eligible men who fall madly in love with you. Philip certainly didn't lack for female admirers. He chose you from a large number of readily available brides, each backed by mothers nearly as ferocious as your own."

I started to laugh, then stopped abruptly, taking Ivy's arm and pulling her toward me.

"Do you see that man?" I tilted my head slightly to indicate a person who was walking slowly on the opposite side of the wide promenade, not quite behind us.

Ivy nodded.

"I think he is following me."

"Whatever can you mean?"

"I caught him watching me twice in London."

"Are you certain it was the same man?"

"It would be impossible to mistake that scar." His slow pace matched ours perfectly. "Very strange that he would choose to come to Paris at the same time as I, don't you think?"

"Surely it's nothing more than coincidence, Emily. Why on earth would he be following you?"

Before I could respond, my gaze rested on a particularly dashing tall figure striding toward us. I waved when I recognized him, pleased at the opportunity to add a gentleman to our party. The presence of the unknown man had shaken me.

"Lady Ashton, Mrs. Brandon. What a surprise to find you here." Colin Hargreaves bowed smartly as he spoke. "I have only just arrived in Paris myself."

"It's delightful to see you," Ivy replied. "Have you come from London?"

"I had business in Berlin." I accepted the arm he offered, and we continued to walk. "Congratulations on your marriage, Mrs. Brandon. I hope you have found much happiness."

"I have. Thank you." Ivy's china-doll complexion glowed. "Perhaps now that you are here, you can rescue Lady Ashton from the unwanted admirer who she seems to think has followed her from London."

"Who is the unfortunate man?" he asked, looking at me. I searched the path around us but saw no sign of the man with the scar.

"I don't know his name, but it appears that you have scared him off," I said, forcing a smile and trying to appear completely at ease.

"You have no idea who he is?"

"None at all."

"And you have seen him both here and in London?"

"Yes. Once in the British Museum. It was very odd, but I didn't think much of it until I saw him later in Berkeley Square staring at the front of my house. I asked Davis to keep an eye on him. He was there for the entire afternoon."

"Did you report either incident to the authorities?"

"No. It didn't seem that serious. He didn't actually do anything to me," I replied, suddenly feeling rather silly. "Ivy is right. It's merely a coincidence," I said dismissively.

Mr. Hargreaves paused, surveying the scene around us, seemingly satisfied that there were no unsavory characters in the vicinity. "I trust that you are both taking precautions against the cat burglar who has been plaguing the city?"

This mysterious thief had been at the center of Parisian gossip for several weeks. He slipped into houses unseen, stole nothing but the most exquisite pieces of jewelry, and seemed to leave no clues. Often his victims were not even certain when they had been burgled, not noticing that anything was amiss until they looked for a particular necklace or pair of earrings.

"I have nothing with me that would appeal to him," I said. "His taste, from what the newspapers report, runs to things rather more splendid than the jet I'm allowed while in mourning."

"Robert puts my jewels in the hotel safe every night," Ivy said.

"Very good," Hargreaves said, as we continued to walk. "So, Lady Ashton, unwanted admirers aside, has Paris proven the respite you hoped?"

"More than you can imagine, Mr. Hargreaves. I wonder if I shall ever go back to London."

"Understandable, but do remember that you cannot stay here forever. Your villa on Santorini beckons," he said, his deep voice teasingly melodramatic. "How have you been occupying yourself other than strolling in the Tuileries?"

"Emily knows every inch of the Louvre. She spends more time there than you can imagine." Ivy clearly felt pride in my newfound intellectual interests.

"Ivy is too generous," I said. "After all the time I have given to the great museum, I can say with confidence that I know approximately six square feet of its contents. It's overwhelming. One could spend a lifetime in its halls and never see everything. And now my time there shall be limited, because I've decided to begin drawing lessons after having mortified myself in front of Monsieur Renoir." I related the story to Mr. Hargreaves, who was rather amused.

"I am glad to see that you have lost much of your sense of decorum. Excellent. Your mother would be pleased."

"Especially if she knew I was wasting a perfectly good opportunity by talking to one of the empire's most eligible bachelors about such things instead of flirting with him."

"I don't know whether to be flattered at being privy to your academic pursuits or mortified that you do not consider me worthy of flirtation."

"Mr. Hargreaves, if you are free Thursday evening, I should love to have you dine with us at Café Anglais," Ivy said. "Emily will be there, and several of our other friends."

"It sounds delightful, Mrs. Brandon," Mr. Hargreaves said, smiling agreeably.

"He is lovely, Emily," Ivy said with a sigh after he had excused himself to meet the gentlemen with whom he planned to go riding. "I don't know when I've seen someone so striking in appearance. Can't we find someone among our acquaintances to marry him off to? I'd so like to keep him in our circle."

"I believe he has no immediate plans to marry," I replied, finding the prospect of a married Colin Hargreaves utterly loathsome. "He travels a lot and probably prefers his freedom."

"That's what everyone said about Philip before he proposed to you."

"We have already established that Philip was a gentleman of unique character, my dear. To find two such men in so short a time would be more than one could reasonably hope for."

14 APRIL 1887

BERKELEY SQUARE, LONDON

Marriage market becoming more and more difficult to ignore. Would prefer to get the boring business of dealing with it over with as soon as possible. Prospect of finding an acceptable wife from the throngs of ladies who present themselves to me on a daily basis does not seem promising-I would like a spouse who is not abjectly stupid. Truth be told, I really want a wife who captivates me, but as producing an heir is my paramount concern, I shan't have the luxury of gallivanting about in search of my Helen. It would take too long and almost certainly be a futile endeavour.

Debated with Lord Palmer for nearly two hours this evening after dinner (terrible food). Have not yet persuaded him to give serious consideration to my theory that Achilles is a noble man who is in impossible circumstances. His tantrums, seemingly narcissistic behaviour, and antisocial tendencies are the result of what has happened to him, not a flaw in character. Could we expect any man, even Achilles, to have behaved differently?