“True, but—”
“Some of their practices are most barbaric,” Lady Wellinghoff told the group with relish. “I have heard that in China, young women have their feet bound to keep them from growing and it makes it quite impossible for them to move more than the tiniest step at a time.”
Sophie nodded. “I agree, it’s a distasteful practice, but we British are slaves to our own fashions. I dare say none of us look overly comfortable to night in our respective bindings and tight cravats.”
Sophie’s statement was met with muted gasps from the women, while several of the gentlemen cleared their throats uncomfortably. Apparently, the mention of women’s undergarments was not an acceptable topic of conversation at a formal dinner party. Belatedly, Sophie entertained the thought that perhaps that was why they were referred to as “unmentionables.”
Only Alex and Mrs. Summers appeared not to be shocked. He was grinning at her with unabashed amusement while she looked disgruntled but resigned.
Sophie was spared having to break the awkward silence by Mrs. Summers’ tactful change of subject. “I understand, Mrs. Peabody, you have done some extensive traveling yourself.”
“A lifetime of following the drum,” Mrs. Peabody replied to the group in general. “I’ve had the opportunity to see much more of this world than most young ladies.”
“Have you been to the Americas?” Sophie inquired, with genuine interest.
“I have,” Mrs. Peabody replied. “I lived for several years in both Boston and Philadelphia as a small child. We left some five years before that unfortunate revolution.”
“Hmph, and good riddance to that godless country, I say,” Mr. Jarles snorted.
Lord Barrows hiccupped and raised his glass in salute.
Sophie fought the urge to roll her eyes.
Mrs. Peabody calmly raised one eyebrow. “I presume by the strength of your opinion, Mr. Jarles, that you’ve traveled to that country yourself?”
Sophie was surprised to hear the hint of mockery in Mrs. Peabody’s voice. She had expected Mrs. Peabody to be of the same mind as the nasty Mr. Jarles.
“One doesn’t need to visit to know it’s populated with traitors and savages,” Mr. Jarles said.
“History is written by the victors,” Mrs. Peabody replied. “And according to history there are no traitors in America, only brave patriots willing to fight for what they believed in, or at the very worse, rebels who opposed a tyrannical monarch.”
“That’s treason, Mrs. Peabody.”
She appeared unmoved. “One can only commit treason against one’s own country,” she retorted calmly.
The colonel leveled his best commanding-officer stare at Mr. Jarles. “I do hope you were referring to the Americans when you spoke of treason, sir, and not my wife.”
“Of course, of course,” Mr. Jarles sputtered. “The thought never occurred.”
To accuse Mrs. Peabody of treason—a woman married to a celebrated colonel and who had spent her whole life serving her country in a capacity as close to soldiering as a woman was allowed—would not only be idiotic, but suicidal. Mr. Jarles was certainly the former, but not—and Sophie couldn’t help but think it was something of a pity—the latter.
The colonel nodded once in a supremely military sort of way that had Sophie smiling. It was something of a wonder to see the unmistakable glow of respect in Mr. Peabody’s eyes when he turned to look at his wife. He wasn’t just tolerant of her opinion, he was proud of it. A rare man indeed. And by the look she favored him with in return, a rare match.
For some reason Sophie glanced at Alex to see his reaction, only to discover he was already watching her, his emerald eyes unreadable. Sophie wasn’t certain if he had been paying attention to the Peabodys at all.
His intense gaze made her feel tingly all over, her lungs tight, her heart racing. In an effort to distract herself, she quickly turned back to Mrs. Peabody.
“Did you have a chance to meet any natives, ma’am?” she inquired, not at all certain she had spoken in a voice loud enough to be heard. It was terribly difficult to determine what might be an appropriate volume with her blood rushing in her ears.
Mrs. Peabody didn’t seem to notice her distress, and Sophie dearly hoped she wasn’t alone in that. “I did, my dear. But only a few, and there are a great many Indian tribes. And they are as diverse as any nations could be. Some of their customs I find appalling, others fascinating. Did you know, for instance, that in some tribes, a woman can be trained as a warrior along with the men?”
“Female warriors.” Mr. Jarles snorted with disgust. “Savages, just as I said. Lacking even the sense to keep their women at home as nature intended.”
“How is it that you are so sure that is what nature intended, Mr. Jarles, and not man?” Sophie asked.