Page 24 of The Wallflower Ruse

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.”