"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."