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than a title and a comfortable allowance.”
    I didn’t know what to say; I had never considered the matter. A good marriage was my parents’ goal for me, though not one in which I hadany particular interest. As I have already said, I felt no inclination toward the institution other than as a means of escaping my mother’s house, but could hardly admit this to Mr. Hargreaves.
    “A young lady rarely knows what she wants. At any rate, her wishes are largely irrelevant, so it is best that she not form too many opinions about any of her suitors,” I quipped, trying to sound lighthearted.
    “But you obviously formed an opinion of Ashton. You accepted his proposal immediately and after very little courtship.”
    My heart sank in my chest. “Yes, I did.” There was nothing else to say, so I sat in silence for some time.
    “I must beg your forgiveness, Lady Ashton. This conversation is inappropriate on every level. I should not force you to think about painful topics. Please do not imagine that your husband ever spoke of you in an indelicate fashion. It is only natural that he would confide in his best friend.”
    “Of course. You are forgiven, Mr. Hargreaves. How could I find offense in anything you say after you have so kindly arranged my trip to Paris?” I refilled his glass and changed the subject. “Will you leave London for the country soon?”
    “Probably not. Like you, I prefer to travel abroad.”
    “Then perhaps our paths will cross again in Paris,” I suggested.
    “I would enjoy that very much.”
    We conversed for another quarter of an hour, until it was time to dress for dinner, at which point he rose to leave.
    “Mr. Hargreaves,” I said as he headed toward the door. He turned to me. “I think we may dispense with formality. Please call me by my Christian name.”
    “Thank you, Emily. I’m honored.” His smile was excessively charming and brightened his dark eyes most attractively.

5 A PRIL 1887
B ERKELEY S QUARE, L ONDON
    Much though I love the African plains, it is impossible to deny the superior comfort of a house in London.
    Have taken a desk in the Reading Room at the British Library in what I hope will not end up a vain effort at making progress on my research during the summer. My friends are less likely to disturb me there than at home, and close proximity to the museum’s artifacts is apt to bring inspiration. As I seem to spend more and more time in town every year, I am considering a significant expansion of my collection of antiquities—could then have a gallery here as well as at Ashton Hall.

4
    W ITHIN ANOTHER WEEK I FOUND MYSELF COMFORTABLY settled into a sumptuous suite of rooms overlooking the Jardin des Tuileries in the Hôtel Meurice on the rue de Rivoli. I saw Ivy soon after my arrival and was delighted to find my friend enjoying her honeymoon. Although she and Robert were pleased to see me, I couldn’t help but notice that they seemed concerned that I had no immediate plan to return to England. I confess that after they left for Switzerland, I felt quite lonely, almost regretting my decision not to bring a companion with me. Walks in the Tuileries filled my mornings, and I took tea with other English guests at the hotel, and before many days had passed, I grew accustomed to the rhythm of the city.
    Being alone in Paris was quite different from being alone in the house in London, although I suppose this was largely due to my own state of mind. Having entered the period of half mourning, I could now go about as I pleased, and people in Paris seemed less concerned with the demise of my husband than those in London did. In London I felt self-conscious when I began leaving my house after my husband’s death, as if everyone who saw me knew that I hadn’t really mourned him. In Paris I knew that no one would give me a second thought. I rarely encountered anyone who knew Philip personally, and therefore I avoided those uncomfortable encounters with people who wanted to talk about