‘More choice than me, at least,’ Phoebe amended. ‘And anyway, don’t you ever get fed up with it all? With thesmallnessof everything? Don’t you ever want to know why we’re supposed to be content with corsets, embroidery, and four shrinking walls, when our brothers get to do, and see, so much more? Take Thomas and Fred, they got to go to university, drink as much devil’s brew as they wantedandchase halfway across Europe, all on the pretext of studying ancient civilisations. Fred had never even heard of Herculaneum before last summer! And before that they got to race horses, climb trees, and rip whatever clothing they like, all because they were born with a?—’
‘Phoebe!’ Sophie gasped, shooting a look at Josephine and Matilda, both of whom suddenly wore an expression of avidinterest.
‘Well, it’s fact!’ Phoebe grinned with a shrug. ‘So, why shouldn’t we talk about it? Or our right to educationbeyondthe cross-stitch and Fordyce’s sermons?!’
‘You forgot dancing – with two left feet!’ Matilda injected. ‘And what’s devil’s brew, anyway?’
‘Nothing you need worry about,’ Sophie closed hastily. ‘And you know that’s just the way things havealwaysbeen, Phoebs,’ she added in her next breath. ‘Why should we expect things to be different for us?’
There was a brief pause while Phoebe rolled over to eyeball her sister.
‘Whyshouldn’twe expect things to be different for us?’ she countered. ‘Who decided we had to live by a set of rules? Who inventedreserveandmeeknessandvirtueand said we had to observe them all?’
‘Phoebe…’ Sophie warned.
‘And why shouldn’t we have as many adventures as our brothers? I warrant we’d put the opportunities to far better use and emerge far greater heroines, if put to the test.’
‘Pray God we won’t be,’ Sophie muttered, closing her eyes.
‘Was that what you were trying to do?’ Josephine quizzed. ‘Be a heroine? Because it seems to me you don’t need to wear trousers, or fight a highwayman, to do that!’
There was a poignant silence while everyone turned to look at the greatest bookworm among them, still safely ensconced between the pages ofPride and Prejudice.
She shrugged.
‘Surely, if we feel we need to live up to somemaleidea of heroism, or even that depicted between the covers of a novel, then we’re probably missing the point altogether? The heroine in this book turns down a marriage proposal on the basis of the gentleman’s treatment of her sister,’ Josephine continued, tapping her page thoughtfully, ‘though to be honest, they have a few other issues, too… I just think heroism itself shouldn’t be defined by an act, or a type of behaviour, but rather the way we respond to things, as well as each other, of course.’
There was another protracted silence while everyone stared at Josephine in admiration.
Matilda was the first to find her voice.
‘Personally, I still think heroism is all aboutexceedinglyextraordinaryfeats that no other girl will try without fainting – or crying – or some such namby-pamby thing!’
‘Matilda Fairfax!’ Sophie scolded indulgently.
‘You may be onto something, Jo,’ Phoebe conceded, gazing at the ceiling. ‘But I’m definitely not referring toromantic heroism,I haven’t the least interest in it. I’m talking aboutreal, intrepid, battling the seven seasheroism!’
‘But that’s exactly my point!’ Josephine sniffed. ‘Isn’t it all one and the same? We can all be heroic in big and small ways, loud and quiet, if we so wish?’
‘We can…’ Phoebe frowned. ‘But right now I want the type of adventures our brothers have. The sort of adventure I can look back on and tell my grandchildren about, to prove I had spirit and wasn’t afraid to ride alone or travel to foreign shores…’
‘…or fight unimpressive highwaymen and nearly end up killing yourself,’ Sophie laughed, rolling her eyes. ‘But are you sure you aren’t in the least bit interested in romantic heroism, Phoebs?’ she quizzed, pulling a curl forward so it draped becomingly down her peachy neck. ‘I thought Viscount Damerel seemed quite the romantic – if slightly austere – hero … rescuing you, bringing you home, supplying a cover story… Plus, “Viscountess” has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?’
She paused to survey her handiwork, while Matilda feigned being sick.
‘Viscount Damerel is nothing more than a conceited, interfering dandy!’ Phoebe returned flatly, forcing the image of the viscount’s half-naked silhouette from her head. ‘I pity anyone who finds themselves married to a gentleman who thinks nothing of taking other people’s horses for his own purpose!’
She could feel Sophie’s scrutiny.
‘Let alone his complete disregard for anything but his own lofty self-importance!’
A memory of the viscount shrugging himself into a fresh shirt, skittered through her mind. She closed her eyes and drew a breath.
‘And if it’s a fancy title you’re after,’ she finished, ‘you could have embraced the opportunity to become a countess in my absence!’
At this Sophie became suddenly, and intensely, embroiled with an uncooperative curl.
‘Balestra!’ Matilda interjected, lunging forward with one of Sophie’s favourite parasols.
