as her detractors are all too ready to point out. And of course I cannot condone all her actions. But do we judge male philosophers on the basis of their private behavior?”
“It depends,” said Lord Randolph.
“Some of them crow about their bastard children,” Verity’s mother declared.
“Mama!” Verity glanced at the duchess. She didn’t look shocked.
“Females aren’t to say these things,” Mrs. Sinclair added thoughtfully. “At least not in company. And that is part of the problem. Mary Wollstonecraft believes, rather fiercely, that women should be educated and have the same fundamental rights as men.”
“Men don’t all have the same rights,” replied Lord Randolph. “Many have very few. What does she consider fundamental?”
And with that, the two of them were off on a spirited discussion of the nature of rights and responsibilities and the necessity of set societal roles. They gestured; they interrupted each other; they frowned over complicated points. And they showed no signs of stopping any time soon. As the conversation surged back and forth, Verity was amazed by two things. First, here was another person who could be swept away by ideas as easily as Mama. And second that Lord Randolph debated her mother without condescension. He spoke, in fact, as if she had an equal right to an opinion, as long as it was well reasoned. Mrs. Wollstonecraft would have been immensely gratified.
Verity met the duchess’s eyes. She seemed genuinely amused. “Birds of a feather,” the older woman murmured. “Your mother has been rather quiet up to now. One might have assumed, mistakenly, that she had little to say.”
“Mama is a…not a wolf but more like a crow, or a cat, in sheep’s clothing.”
Before Verity could worry that their hostess would find this remark odd, the duchess laughed. “I like that,” she said.
Then, at the same moment, Verity’s mother and Lord Randolph stopped talking and looked self-conscious. “I tend to go on and on,” said the latter.
“I beg your pardon,” said Mrs. Sinclair.
“Not at all. It was very interesting.”
“Well, I was interested, but my family says I often take a point too far.”
“So does mine,” declared Lord Randolph, with a droll glance at the duchess. He turned to smile at Verity’s mother.
The comradely look they exchanged was touching, even as it increased the sense of danger Verity felt around Lord Randolph. This man kept throwing out new, beguiling facets. He was terribly difficult to resist. But resist she must. “Were you always musical?” she asked him, to change the subject.
“He certainly was,” the duchess replied. “As soon as he learned to walk, he used to toddle off to the kitchens, demand a set of copper pans, and beat out rhythms with wooden spoons.”
“Mama!”
The duchess laughed at him. “My cook finally protested. Not at the noise. He produced a fine rat-a-tat. But he set the kitchen maids to dancing when there was work to be done.”
“I’ve always thought this story apocryphal,” said Lord Randolph. “I have no such memory.”
“You were too young. I can produce eyewitnesses,” teased the duchess.
“Verity used to sing to our dog at that age,” said her mother, her society manner once again in place. “And to flowers in the garden, and sheep in the meadows. She once sneaked into the choir stalls in the cathedral and joined in during a service.”
The subjects of these reminiscences exchanged a commiserating look. And then as quickly looked away.
“Kindred spirits, I think,” added Verity’s mother with a nod.
The duchess obviously understood where Mama’s thoughts were trending, Verity thought. This wouldn’t do at all.
“Character does seem to form at a young age,” their hostess answered. “My son James, for example, was always mad to go to sea. And now he’s living on his own ship and sailing the globe.”
“Living on a ship?” In an instant, Verity forgot all else. “He travels all the time?”
“He puts in to port now and then,” said Lord Randolph.
“Wherever he’s drawn to explore,” Verity said. “The farthest reaches of the Earth.” A fabulous, perfect way of life unfolded in her mind.
“And for supplies, I suppose,” Lord Randolph said. “Fresh water, that sort of thing.”
Verity leaned forward. “Does he visit you here?”
“He was in England last spring,” Lord Randolph said. “He mustered out of the navy, now that the war’s well over.”
“I missed him!” The words popped out before Verity could censor them. Her chagrin at this lost chance was too strong. Lord James sounded like just the sort of man she was seeking. If only her parents had given in to her persuasion sooner!
“He