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immediately accompany him.
    "Don't you want your rock?" Lord Moreland inquired sweedy.
    "Indeed," Sanburne said. "I shall save it to use for your tombstone. Wouldn't that be fitting?"
    This uncanny remark made Lydia's head feel light. "Let's go find Sophie," she murmured to Ana. "There's nothing more to be done here."
    She was turning away when the earl called her name. "Look for a note," he said. "I am most grateful for your advice today."
    "Oh, indeed, and a note from me," Sanburne said smoothly. "We can share you, can we not? I have many antiquities you might like to devalue."
    She paused, counting to ten. But there was no way to answer him without further straining the bounds of propriety. With a mute curtsy to the earl, she turned her back on them both, and dragged her sister to safety.
    Chapter Two
    The last caller departed, Lydia returned to her chair. How exhausting these seasonal events could be. A whole lot of fluttering nonsense, lent the illusion of substance by the vast number of rituals surrounding them. Sophie had held court today for what seemed like half the city. It would have been a real triumph, had most not come to gawk at Lydia. All the social columns had carried mention of the debacle at the Institute.
    As she leaned over to retrieve her teacup, George's voice came from the hallway. Impossible not to stiffen as she sat back again. Anas debut had forced them under the same roof until August, and the proximity had started to wear on her nerves. Only last night, Sophie had drawn her aside to mention his immense distress over the lecture. "He thinks you should have kept silent, and let someone else point out that the stela was a fake," she'd said.
    The hypocrisy had astonished Lydia into silence. Generally George knew better than to criticize her conduct in any respect. After all, the most shocking wrong she'd ever committed had unfolded in this very room, at his behest.
    The memory unsettled her sufficiently to make her consider saying something rash. But when the door opened, only Ana stepped into the room. She was flipping through the cartes de visite left by their guests. "So many people," she murmured. "Have we ever had so many?" With a smile, she looked up. "Did you hear Miss Marshall when she walked in? She mistook it for a kettledrumf
    Her nerves settling, Lydia smiled back. Ana's smiles were contagious: Mr. Pagett, third son of the Earl of Far-low, certainly seemed charmed by them. All three sisters had agreed: if he made an offer in the next fortnight, they would push for a September wedding. Ana wanted a honeymoon in northern Italy, where the autumn was said to be splendid. Sophie wanted to be rid of her chaperon-age duties before her October trip to the Riviera. And the sooner Ana was setded, the sooner Lydia could continue her campaign to secure funds for Papa's project. The lecture had only been the beginning. Next she intended to travel the country, personally soliciting every over-moneyed, amateur Egyptologist who had ever bought so much as a papyrus. Certainly she could not continue to depend on the antiquities trade to finance Papa's project. It distracted him from his real work, and kept her in London when she would much rather be in Egypt, helping to coordinate the excavations and also to do research of her own.
    Ana tossed the cards onto the center table and setded into a nearby chair. She was wearing a pretty white tulle dress, as befit a girl in her first season. Not so appropriately, her ankles were showing. "You were very popular today, Lyd."
    There was a note of puzzlement in her voice that caused Lydia to hide a smile. Neither of her sisters was accustomed to being overshadowed by her. All three of them had inherited Mama's hazel eyes and waving black hair, but Sophie and Ana were built on smaller, more winsome lines, with rosebud lips and eyes that tilted like a cat's. As a girl, Lydia had studied the mirror often enough to know that it was the mouth which made them pretty, and