“I’m sure he is.”

I was about to launch another attack—on her hair, this time; an unremarkable mouse blond for all that it was tied up in knots of jewels—but I heard the uneven footfall behind me and turned to face Marcus.

“Lady Calpurnia.” He smiled, kissing her hand. “I’ve just received a message from Paulinus; he’s tied up in guard duties and says he’ll meet us at the Domus Augustana.”

Calpurnia nodded. She didn’t seem disappointed, which displeased me. How much more fun it would have been if she’d fallen madly in love with him. I could have dropped a few hints here and there about his feelings for me, tortured her for months with the uncertainty of it all . . .

“Father!” Sabina skimmed in from the atrium. “Father, you forgot to let me fi x your tunic.”

“So I did.” He bent down, allowing her to adjust the crisp folds. “Do I pass muster now?”

“Perfect.”

“Your daughter, Senator?” Calpurnia turned toward Marcus, not me.

“Yes. Vibia Sabina, meet Lady Calpurnia Helena Sulpicia.”

Sabina showed her gap-toothed smile. “I’m very pleased to—”

“Curtsy, Sabina,” I snapped. “You’re eight years old; you should know better.”

“Lepida,” said Marcus coldly, “she’s nine.”

“Well, if rudeness isn’t adorable at eight, then it’s not adorable at nine, either.”

She curtsied. I saw her eyes shut for a moment, dizzyingly. “If you’re going to have a fit, have it upstairs,” I ordered. “I won’t have you embarrassing our guests.”

“Lovely to have met you, Vibia Sabina,” Calpurnia said as my daughter sidled out. “I look forward to seeing you again.”

“Now that that’s over with—” I pulled my ice-blue palla up around my shoulders. “Shall we go?”

Calpurnia and Marcus looked at me. I knew the expression on Marcus’s face quite well: cold, hooded scorn. Calpurnia’s square face held disapproval. Who did they think they were? I ignored them on the ride to the palace, twitching the curtains of the litter aside and watching the plebs celebrate Lupercalia outside. Always such fun, with the wilder men racing about in loincloths cracking whips, and lovers stumbling from dark corner to dark corner. Last Lupercalia I’d had four men clamoring for my festival favors, and they’d made me a bet I couldn’t take them all on . . . I had them all and two to spare! More fun than this Lupercalia looked to be. Marcus was already droning about Senate business, and Calpurnia was encouraging him.

The lights of the Domus Augustana blazed, drawing us in. Domitian usually hosted formal banquets at the new palace with its massive state rooms and extravagant fountains, but Paulinus had the honor of being feted at the Emperor’s own private palace. Slaves leaped forward to take our cloaks; jeweled freedmen drew us down glistening passageways to the triclinium, which had been transformed into a vision of orchids and laurel and dazzling crystal and solid-gold dishes. For Paulinus, the Emperor had spared no luxury. He had even forsaken his usual plain tunic for a gold-embroidered purple robe worth more than a month’s grain shipment from Syria.