Tasha Alexander - And Only to Deceive

"Would you have behaved differently had you known any of these things before your marriage?"

I paused to consider her question. "I don't think so," I said at last. "I don't think I should have had much interest in Greek antiquities or Homer or the impressionists then. My only real concern was avoiding my mother."

"Then the fact that you were not interested in Philip is irrelevant. Had you known about his passions before his death, you most likely would have decided they were boring and wouldn't be able to enjoy them so thoroughly now. They would mean as little to you as his hunting trophies do."

"Perhaps you are right, but now I am filled with an overwhelming urge to learn everything about him that I can. When Mr. Hargreaves told me about the night Philip fell in love with me, I felt something inexplicable."

"Don't fall in love with your dead husband, Kallista. It can bring you no joy." Madame du Lac motioned for the footman to refill our glasses.

"Oh! I would do nothing of the kind. But how can I help wanting to know more about him? Monsieur Renoir said he bought paintings, but there aren't any impressionist works in our house. Perhaps they are in the country, although it seems unlikely. Where could they be?"

"I couldn't begin to guess. Try not to spend too much time worrying about such things. You must enjoy Paris. What are your plans while you are here?"

"I have already achieved my primary goal of escaping London and can now think about what I should like to do next. Mr. Worth is coming to me Tuesday, so I can order some dresses, but other than that I don't really have any plans." Madame du Lac picked up an embroidery scissors out of her workbasket, rose from her chair, and snipped some material from the hem of her curtains. She handed me the swatch.

"Have him design you a dress in this color. I have never before seen anyone so flattered by a color as you are by this shade of blue."

"Madame, I am still in mourning...."

"I insist that you call me Cécile. Otherwise you will make me feel old enough to be your grandmother, which I probably am. Silly custom, mourning clothes. Men wouldn't stand for it. That's why you rarely see them with more than a black armband. But it is different for us, and I surely don't want to see you cut from society. The time will pass quickly, and before you know it, you will be able to wear what you wish."

"Men don't need mourning clothes because their suits are already dreary enough, don't you think?"

"Quite right, Kallista," Cécile said, laughing. "Make sure Worth has the dress ready for you."

I thanked her and slipped the fabric into my bag. All the way back to the Meurice, I felt as if I were floating. As I stepped out of my carriage in front of the hotel, I once again had the unsettling sensation of being watched and was suddenly terrified that I would turn around and see the man with the dueling scar. I glanced furtively over both shoulders but saw no one suspicious; I quickly placed blame on my consumption of champagne too early in the afternoon. The next time I spent an afternoon with Cécile, I would have to insist upon tea.

11 APRIL 1887

BERKELEY SQUARE, LONDON

Terrible ball tonight. Hargreaves and I managed to leave almost immediately after arriving and spent the rest of the evening at the Reform Club (he steadfastly refused to go to the Carlton, insisting that conversing with the Tory establishment would be even less desirable than dancing in the Duchess of Middleton's too-hot ballroom). He's too bloody political, but as the food is much better at the Reform Club, I readily agreed to his plan.

Anne insists that she must introduce me to her friend, Miss Huxley, who apparently is quite keen to become Lady Ashton. This fact in itself is enough to make my interest in the young lady negligible, despite Anne's assurances of her fine qualities. Perhaps I ought to remind my sister that so long as I am a bachelor, her son remains my heir.

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."