The ladies listened intently.
“And if retreat is not possible,” Beatrice continued, “then there are ways to make escape more likely. A larger opponent’s strength can sometimes be used against him.”
Lady Persephone, who had once found herself grateful for Beatrice’s intervention, nodded slowly.
“But none of us have been taught such things,” Miss Finch said.
“That is true,” Beatrice admitted. “Which is why we have arranged for lessons.”
Lady Calliope’s eyes widened. “Lessons?”
“In dissuasion,” Beatrice said firmly. And then clarified, “Not to encourage recklessness. Quite the opposite. The ideal is to avoid a physical struggle entirely. But if a lady is seized, cornered, or prevented from leaving, she ought not be helpless simply because the gentleman is stronger.”
The room had gone very quiet.
“I have secured a tutor,” she added. “Someone who understands both the risks and how to counter them.”
She did not name Gideon. Not yet.
“But this must be about more than learning to defend ourselves as individuals.” Her voice softened, though she kept it steady. “What I truly want is for us to learn how to protect one another.”
She looked around the table, at each of them in turn.
“When a woman is alone, when no one else is paying attention, that is where much of the danger lies. So we pay attention. If one of us sees something, she acts. If one of us is in difficulty, she is not left alone to manage it.”
The truth of it was utterly practical, actually.
“And in time,” Beatrice finished, “perhaps we make it more difficult for such situations to occur at all.”
The ladies began to glance at one another. Searching looks. Silent questions.
Finally, Lady Theodosia nodded. “What shall we call ourselves?”
Here, it was Lark who spoke up. “The Vigilance Society.”
BOND STREET
“Why didn’t you say Longstaffe attempted to court her? Between him and Grimm, I can hardly count the knives in my back,” Dash complained.
The duke lay draped along the sofa in Gideon’s study, one arm flung over his eyes, a glass of brandy dangling loosely from his fingers. Apparently, in his courtship of Mrs. Bloomington, he had progressed from action to a state of waiting.
Gideon merely shook his head and took another measured sip of tea.
“You may consider your back unpierced,” he said. “She refused them both.”
Dash made a sound that might have been a laugh.
Or a groan.
Gideon ought to have found that amusing.
Instead, his thoughts went back to the previous day.
To Beatrice in his study.
Sitting so near that her knee had brushed his. Close enough that he had needed only to reach out if inclined to draw her into his arms.
Of course, he had not.
