Page 25 of The Wallflower Ruse

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.

For despite her annoyance with him, she began to feel a little sorry for Restive. The nickname wasn’t his fault; in fact, his predecessors had probably been burdened with it, too. Now that she thought about it, he’d been teasingly called Young Stallion one year when he and Matthew had returned from school. At that time, his father was alive, and was no doubt the current Stallion Restive.

So much for vengeance, she thought, wishing she were more vindictive, which was horrid of her—for why would anyone wish to be vindictive? Yes, he could be annoying, but he was a human being with worries and cares like anyone else.

Alfreda sighed. “I know, I know, but don’t you have powerful physical longings? Mine are killing me.”

“For God’s sake, Alfreda—” Miss Cox began.

Fortunately, because Lucinda didn’t intend to discuss her longings or lack thereof, Mrs. Haraldson loudly introduced a new topic of conversation.

“As you mentioned earlier, Lady Alice, there is a great deal of debate about the necessity of a police force in London. Have you read Mr. Colquhoun’s treatise? The numbers he presents are horrifying. We are literally surrounded by criminals every day of our lives.”

“That’s claptrap, Maria,” Mr. Haraldson said, “as I have already told you. The fellow’s seeking his own aggrandizement.”

Mrs. Haraldson lunged to her feet, glaring at him. “I disagree, as I have already told you, Francis!”

There was a brief hush, followed by a few chuckles—all men, Lucinda thought. Mr. Haraldson rolled his eyes, and his wife’s cheeks bloomed fiery red.

“Perhaps the truth lies somewhere between your diverging opinions,” Mrs. Spence said pacifically. “No doubt Mr. Colquhoun seeks to better himself. However...” She began citing examples from other sources. Mrs. Haraldson sat down again, and her husband listened politely, looking bored.

Judging by her glower, his wife’s fury had not abated at all. Was Mrs. Haraldson always so insistent on her own views? Was she capable of planning an uprising?

Some people were listening to Mrs. Spence, whilst others carried on low-voiced conversations. Mrs. Haraldson sulked, whilst her husband spoke softly with the two Frenchmen. Restive whispered to a pretty, flaxen-haired lady in rose-colored silk. The poor thing’s cheeks were as pink as her gown. Looking to him for guidance would have accomplished nothing! Lady Alice was no help either; she looked half asleep.

Alfreda scowled, jumped up, and stalked over to the same side of the room as Restive and her rival for his interest. Miss Cox gave a hiss of disgust. “Look at that fool!”

“She can’t help herself,” Lucinda said. “She’s besotted.”

Miss Cox shook her head. “Not her, him!”

Fair-haired Mr. Pearce was staring straight at Lucinda again, this time frowning slightly, then scribbling something on a paper in his hand.