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endowed the Nesbitt Prize in David's honor. We must surely be grateful for that."
    "It was a magnificent gesture," Evelina said. "Nothing could have been more appropriate."
    David and Adam, both art-mad when they returned from a tour of the Continent during the brief peace of 1802, were among the founders of the British Institution, which had its own gallery in Pall Mall and hosted two major exhibitions of paintings each year. The spring exhibition provided a facility for living artists to display and sell their work. This was Adam's purview. The summer exhibition displayed old masters, David's passion, and students and amateurs were provided with an opportunity to study and make copies. The governors devised a series of prizes based on an idea once suggested by Reynolds — instead of painting laborious copies of old-master works, each student was asked to paint a companion piece. Prizes had been awarded since 1807, and last year the first Nesbitt Prize was added to the list.
    Adam could not have better honored his friend.
    "In any case," Lavinia said, "I look forward to the Reynolds exhibit, even though it will break my heart that David cannot be there to see it. When it opens, I trust you will lend me your arm, Marianne, so that we can both enjoy the legacy of David's gallery, and be reminded of his generosity and vision."
    Evelina caught Marianne's eye and then lifted her own gaze to the ceiling in silent exasperation. She rose from the settee and said, "I must be off. I need to stop by the lending library and return a book. Will you walk with me, Marianne? I'd appreciate the company."
    "Of course."
    Marianne stood and shook out her skirts, grateful for an excuse to leave. While Evelina sought out a footman to retrieve their bonnets and shawls, Marianne bent over Lavinia and kissed her raised cheek. After a few parting words, she walked out the front door with her sister-in-law.
    "I'm sorry Mother is still being so difficult," Evelina said as they walked along St. James's Square.
    Marianne shrugged. "I have grown accustomed to her behavior."
    "But it still hurts?"
    Marianne sighed. "Yes, it does. I just wish she did not expect me to be a martyr to David's memory." For some reason, her mother-in-law's attitude was particularly aggravating today. It made her feel constrained and stifled, jittery and on edge. Marianne had the irrational desire to burst out of those constraints and do something reckless. Something rash.
    Like acting on the Merry Widows' pact. She had not been able to get it out of her mind for the last few days. She still was not sure she could ever do such a thing as take a lover, or even if she wanted to do so. But the notion had grabbed hold of her and would not let go. She smiled to consider what Lavinia would think if Marianne acted on that silly pact.
    "What else can you expect," Evelina said, "from a woman who's worn widow's weeds for fourteen years? Don't take her too much to heart, Marianne. No one else blames you for casting off your black dresses after a year. Any other widow would do the same."
    "David often spoke with sadness, and even a bit of frustration, about your mother's inability to move on with her life. I like to believe he would not have wanted me to wear my widowhood like a shroud, as Lavinia has done."
    "Of course he would not. You're a young woman, Marianne. You must get on with your life. Live for today and for tomorrow. Do not waste time pining after yesterday. It will only make you bitter and lonely, like Mother. You are too young and too lovely not to live life to the fullest. Have you thought of marrying again?"
    "Good heavens, no. I cannot imagine ever being married to anyone else."
    "Perhaps it is too soon. But I expect you will change your mind one day. You will want to find happiness again."
    "I doubt I will change my mind, Evelina. And there are many other ways to find happiness."
    Evelina stopped and stared at her, then flashed a broad smile. "Indeed there are."
    Oh, dear.