“He may rage all he likes. I did nothing inappropriate. And he did, as I’m sure you well know, donate the silver libation bowl to the museum.” I was still pleased with this triumph, which had taken more than an entire London season to achieve. Mr. Bingham had refused to part with the bowl, not because he admired it but because he did not approve of a lady pursuing any sort of academic agenda. I had no difficulty picturing him and Lord Fortescue as the closest of friends. If, that is, Lord Fortescue bothered to have friends.

“I didn’t know. I shall have words with him.”

“I’m sure he would welcome that,” I said. The strained look on Flora’s face reminded me that I ought to at least attempt to get along with this odious man, although I confess to being surprised that she showed such concern for Lord Fortescue. The expression on his face while he looked at her gave me further pause. He nodded almost imperceptibly, an admiring shine in his eyes as they met hers.

“Brilliant,” Mr. Harrison said, giving me a broad smile. “It’s been far too long since I’ve seen someone spar openly with you, Fortescue. Wouldn’t have thought a lady could do it.”

“Watch yourself, Harrison. I’ve no need for your nonsense.”

“Gentlemen, please!” Flora said. “This is to be a sporting party, not a weekend of argument.” Mr. Harrison apologized at once; Lord Fortescue held up his glass for still more scotch. At that moment Ivy, cutting an elegant figure in a gown of dark green brocade, entered the room. As always, she was dressed in the latest fashion, her waist impossibly small, the sleeves of her dress fuller than what had been popular the previous year. I was relieved at the opportunity to remove myself from the conversation and nearly knocked over my chair as I leapt out of it to rush to my friend, who greeted me with the warmest embrace.