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Greek during his days as a university student at Oxford.
    “Oh, how I envy you that opportunity,” Sydney said wistfully.
    “To study Greek?”
    “To go to university.”
    “Why? University is no place for women.”
    “Why not?” she challenged.
    “Because there is simply no need for females to have such training. Men are the ones destined to play the major roles on the world stage.”
    “That is largely because men refuse to recognize the talents and abilities of half the human race,” Sydney said.
    “Uh-oh. You’re in for it now,” Herbert said to Quintin.
    Quintin merely glanced at Herbert and went on in what Sydney perceived as a condescending tone. “Come now, Miss Waverly. You cannot possibly believe women as capable as men in—say—statecraft.”
    “Why not? History tells us one of our greatest monarchs was a woman named Elizabeth.”
    “But she was an anomaly,” Quintin said.
    “Only because women are generally not allowed to realize their potential.”
    “I suppose you would also have women donning uniforms and fighting wars.”
    “Why not?” she said again. “Boadicea led an English army to defeat the Romans. Joan of Arc was rather successful.”
    Others in the room observed this exchange with a good deal of interest, though Aunt Harriet looked as if she would like to change the subject as she pointedly passed around a plate of tarts and offered refills of tea.
    Lieutenant Quintin, however, seemed reluctant to let the subject drop. “Your examples, Miss Waverly, are from ancient history and have little relevance to modern times.”
    “He has you there, Sydney,” Herbert said, biting into a lemon tart.
    “Perhaps the men of our time are less enlightened than those of former times,” Sydney said and they all laughed.
    Celia then deftly turned the discussion to the musical selections on the program for a concert they would all attend that evening.
    When the Carstairs party arrived at the concert that night, the audience buzzed with news from London. Perhaps a hundred people already were seated in padded straight-back chairs and another hundred milled about. Gas lamps in wall sconces provided soft light. Over the noise of a small orchestra warming up and tuning instruments, the atmosphere was charged as people shared the news: Two members of the House of Lords had been involved in a duel.
    “A duel?” Sydney asked, taking a seat next to Lieutenant Quintin who, with Pelham and Harrelson, had arrived earlier and saved places for their friends. She felt that now familiar thrill of just being near him, but tried to ignore it as she said, “Whatever in the world was so important as to result in a duel?”
    “Lord Ackerman took offense when Lord Feldson criticized a bill Ackerman had proposed to continue the government’s oppression on the Catholic question.”
    “They dueled over a religious issue?”
    “Yes. Apparently an ongoing dispute.”
    “I hope they are both all right.”
    “Ackerman is. He’s a skilled marksman. Feldson had never fired a pistol before.”
    She stared at him. “Good heavens! But he agreed to a duel. So—”
    “Feldson was wounded in the thigh. Guess he’ll join Pelham and me in the ranks of cane-bearers.”
    “Men!” she muttered. “What a childish and dangerous way to settle a dispute. Women would be far more likely to discuss the issue.”
    He laughed. “You never give up, do you?”
    Pelham offered, “However, there might be more to this dispute. Rumor has it that Feldson had a—uh—liaison with Ackerman’s wife.”
    Feeling a response to this information might be improper, Sydney was glad that the director chose just this moment to signal the first musical selection, a number by Handel.
    Two days later, the same group met during the morning at the Pump Rooms. Zachary was feeling in especially good spirits, for he had just two hours earlier given up use of the cane. He still walked with a limp, but his mobility was improving rapidly. He had mixed