“Of course I don’t want to force you.” Gaius patted her hand. His chin was now covered in patchy stubble in imitation of Vitellius, who unlike Otho was careless about shaving. “But I’d love to see you properly settled again, Cornelia—”

“Gaius, don’t be stupid!” Tullia cut off her husband. “It’s not about happiness these days, it’s about connections! You have a connection to Galba, Cornelia, and it’s your duty to the family to use that!”

Haven’t I done my duty enough? Cornelia went straight up to her bedchamber and put on the deepest mourning black she could find, not even a pair of earrings to offset the severity. “How are you supposed to find a good husband looking like a hired mourner?” Tullia scolded. “You don’t have the figure Marcella does, but you could make more of it. Gaius, tell her, this will never do!”

“It won’t do at all, you know.” Marcella looked up from her desk in the cluttered tablinum, giving her sister an amused head-to-toe glance. “Though not for the reason Tullia thinks.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you want to escape attention, don’t wear black. You’re rather beautiful in black.”

Cornelia looked into the glass at her own reflection. The black dress had turned the coils of her hair to black as well; glossy ebony reflections from silk and hair alike surrounding a pale shield of a face. “I suppose you’re not going, Marcella?”

“I have a headache.”

“You’ve been having quite a few of those lately,” Cornelia couldn’t help saying. “At least whenever it’s the races or the games or anything else you think is boring. Imperial dinner parties or Senate discussions, you never have headaches for those.”

Marcella smiled, turning her ink pot over in one hand. “Pass me any good gossip you hear at the races, won’t you? I’ve heard that Governor Vespasian is making ominous noises in Judaea.”

“Juno’s mercy, not another rebellion.” Cornelia gave an appalled blink. “Where did you hear that?”

“From young Domitian. He’s not supposed to correspond with his father, but he does.”

“He’s not supposed to be spreading rumors like that, either.” Cornelia nibbled at her nails, still stripped down to painful nubs. “Is he still in love with you?”

“Madly. He wanted me to know he’d be a prince within the year, once his father becomes Emperor.” Marcella gave a small smile, ink-spattered and plain with her hair in a braid over one shoulder. “Should I pass Domitian on to you? If you’re going to be married off anyway, it might as well be to another possible prince of Rome.”

“You could be more sympathetic, you know,” Cornelia snapped. “Your husband’s already found favor with Vitellius—and he’s gone off to Crete, so you don’t even have to deal with him! No one’s trying to marry you off!”