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“Precisely so,” said the other, also French by the sound of him, the tidy perfection of his dress indicating that he was the more well-off of the two. “ En France , one appreciates the educated ladies.”

What pleasant compliments, although immediately a thought occurred to Lucinda: would she have considered them pleasant, or at all believable, had they come from Restive?

“Absolutely right, Monsieur Fortin and Monsieur…?” Restive smiled politely. ”I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“This is my longtime friend Beaudry,” the slightly shabby Monsieur Fortin said. “He has begun attending this salon recently. We see you too seldom, Lord Restive.”

“A pleasure,” Restive said with a nod at Monsieur Beaudry. “This is a discussion unhampered by the dictates of propriety, which is what the lady came here for. Isn’t it, Miss Belair?”

“Yes, of course. Don’t let Lord Restive distress you, Mr. Pearce.

He makes a practice of annoying people. Now, where was I?

The status of being previously debauched, for want of a better term, is irrelevant.

It’s one thing to give oneself to a husband or lover, and another entirely to be obliged to succumb to a horrid old judge. ”

“They’re not all old,” Restive said. “Usually horrid, though, one must admit.”

“Hush, Restive! You’re quite right, dear child,” Lady Alice said, “but unfortunately that is not how society views the matter.”

“And will continue to do so, unless we do something about it!” Mrs. Spence of the corkscrew curls pounded her fist on the arm of the sofa.

Monsieur Fortin made a derisive sound. “When one has seen the consequences of fools doing something, one knows better.”

“Just because France did it all wrong, it doesn’t mean we should do nothing at all,” Mrs. Spence snapped.

Monsieur Fortin snorted. “You have no comprehension, madame . None at all. Sometimes I wonder why I attend so many English salons. Those in France were far superior.” He turned apologetically to Mrs. Haraldson. “Except yours, bien sur, madame .”

“Since those in France led to bloodshed, I find that impossible to believe,” Mrs. Spence said, nose in the air.

“The salons were not at fault, madame,” Monsieur Beaudry explained. “The people were in the greatest misery. They had no choice but to rise up against their oppressors. I hope and pray that England never suffers such a fate.”

“England will not, for we are loyal to the Crown,” Mrs. Spence said, “however unworthy of their high estate some of the Royal Family have proven to be. However, the government must better the lives of the poor. There is no doubt about that.”

Lucinda plunged into this opening. “How do you suggest we do that, Mrs. Spence?”

“By exploiting the weaknesses of the male sex,” Mrs. Spence said. “My dearly departed husband, bless him, was useless without guidance. Men must be driven to do right.”

“Ah,” Lucinda said, as if she’d had a brilliant notion. “Like Lysistrata ?”

Restive and the Frenchmen laughed, Mr. Pearce looked appalled, and their host, who had been pensively sipping his wine, visibly suppressed a grin. A few ladies gasped in horror, and several appeared confused. “You really do read Greek,” Restive said. “I wasn’t sure whether to believe you.”

She ignored him and addressed the ladies. “For those who don’t know, Lysistrata is a play by Aristophanes, in which women in Ancient Greece withhold their favors to force their menfolk to end the war with Sparta.”

“Does it work?” Miss Cox asked.

Restive said, “Yes, thanks to a distraction provided by a seductive, naked?—”

“Hush, my lord!” Lucinda said. “Yes, it works, but remember, it’s only a play. In reality, it would be frightfully difficult. Unwed women are already withholding their favors, whilst wives are forbidden by law to do so and would suffer abuse at the hands of their husbands.”

“Quite right, Miss Belair,” Mrs. Spence agreed.

“And although one hesitates to mention it, think of the muslin company, poor things. Because men have no control over their urges, those unfortunate women would simply have more work to do, unless they agreed to participate in the ladies’ rebellion, in which case they would lose their livelihood, which would be most unfair. ”

“Indeed it would, ma’am,” Lucinda said, wondering if rebellion was a common thread in Mrs. Spence’s thoughts. She tried to imagine the woman planning an uprising, and failed. She was more the eager do-gooder sort. “Women in all walks of life are dreadfully put upon in England.”

“You’ve thought it through.” Restive glanced at her with unexpected interest.

“I read the play years ago,” Lucinda said, “in secret, I admit, for although my father was quite open-minded and encouraged me to educate myself, in this case he didn’t approve.”

“I should think not,” Lady Alice said. “It sounds like a most improper play.”

“Yes, but how frightfully amusing,” Mrs. Haraldson said, “and one must remember that even Shakespeare is downright bawdy at times. Now, let’s have a little wine—but not too much, as we hope to continue a sober discussion.

” She laughed at her own wit, and the footman served both wine and lemonade to the guests.

So far, Lucinda had concentrated on observing the men.

The poet was handsome and well-dressed, but somewhat straightlaced.

Mr. Haraldson seemed mostly bored. So far, he hadn’t said a word except to thank the footman for the wine.

Which might indicate egalitarian views, she supposed.

Many of the gentry saw no need to thank their servants.

As for the two Frenchmen… She didn’t wish to be prejudiced against them. They were probably émigrés who had escaped the Revolution. But they were still French… Might one of them be a spy?

Or… Was one of them—Monsieur Fortin—the French friend about whom Davis had spoken?

She took lemonade rather than wine from the footman, for she must keep her perception sharp.

The young lady who had commented on Lucinda’s familiarity with Restive came to sit next to her. “I believe we’ve met before. Alfreda Wallace.”

Lucinda smiled. “Yes, at Almack’s, more than once.”

“Tedious place. Mrs. Haraldson’s is more fun.

” She frowned at Lucinda. “It doesn’t seem like your sort of place, though.

In fact, I still can’t believe it’s really you.

At Almack’s, you sat with old ladies and wallflowers and hardly uttered a word.

I thought you were a shy little thing, but tonight you expressed yourself quite scandalously. ”

“My mother isn’t here,” Lucinda said flatly. “Therefore, I can say what I please.”

Alfreda giggled. “I escaped my mother tonight by feigning a headache. My groom is a dear, kind chap. He brought me here, and he’ll sneak me back in through the mews.”

Lucinda eyed her, and Alfreda laughed. “No, I’m not having an amour with a servant. I have better game in mind.” Her gaze slid to Restive, who was conversing with Mr. Haraldson. “I come here every chance I get, in hopes of seeing Stallion Restive.” She paused. “Are you sure you’re not after him?”

“Heaven forbid,” Lucinda said.

“But he’s so dreamy ,” Alfreda whispered. “I think of him at night when I’m alone in bed. In the dark.”

“Think if you must, but that’s all you should do,” Lucinda warned. “He will toy with you, and if you become too bold, it will be your reputation that is ruined.”

Alfreda pouted. “You sound just like my mother, my aunt, and my friend Amanda who broke her heart over him.”

Miss Cox arrived with another chair and plunked it on Lucinda’s other side. “She’s right. Don’t be an idiot, Alfreda. He’s not worthy to kiss your feet.”

“I’ll bet he’s an accomplished foot-kisser,” Alfreda said. “And kisser of everything else, too. I bet you think about him when you’re in bed, too.”

Miss Cox reddened. “No, he’s not my sort. If I were prey to such folly, I’d prefer fair-haired men.”

“Ooh, there’s one right here,” Alfreda teased.

“Dear God no, not the poet. I’m determined to stay single. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Who needs a man? In a few years, my portion will come to me, and I shall do as I please.”

“That’s what I plan to do,” Lucinda said. “Not that I have anything against marriage, but I shall remain single unless I happen upon the right man.” She made a face. “I doubt he even exists.”

“But think how tragic to never know one’s true love! Don’t you dream of romance?” Alfreda asked.

“I was told these meetings are for discussing important matters,” Lucinda said reprovingly.

Alfreda rounded on her. “Love is an important matter!”

Monsieur Fortin, who was blatantly eavesdropping, kissed his fingers. “ Ah oui, l’amour!” His fellow countryman chuckled.

“You’re not talking about love,” Miss Cox snapped, “and nor is Alfreda. You’re talking about lust .”

“Lust is important, too!” Alfreda cried. Heads turned. Every head in the room. Monsieur Fortin laughed and walked away to whisper to his countryman.

“Of course it’s important,” Lucinda hissed. “If there were no lust, the human race would die out, but that doesn’t mean we should be irresponsible.”

“Quite right,” Miss Cox agreed. “An intelligent woman considers the consequences of her actions.”

“But you said earlier that it was acceptable to give oneself to a lover,” Alfreda said.

“I did not,” Lucinda retorted. “I was comparing love freely given to being forced by a corrupt judge. In some circumstances it may be appropriate to take a lover, such as when one is widowed, but not when one is young and innocent, and definitely not by letting oneself be cozened by a hardened rake.” Or Stallion , she thought grumpily.