I was thankful to be at the dinner table. Though Lillian had been coming into the room to speak with me whenever she brought me books, I had still be starved for conversation. After all, ever since I was a child I had been used to passing the time with either servants or with other children, and since I shared a bedroom with my mother, I almost never had a moment to myself. The week of solitude had truly begun to wear on me. And since Luke Barlow had mostly stayed away, he and I had not had a single conversation except for the one in which he told me we were to be married the next day.

I caught myself smiling at him across the table, then quickly looked down into my soup. Miss Courtenay was speaking of London again, of course, but even that could not sour my mood. In fact, I enjoyed hearing her make cheerful plans to go there as the newly wedded Mrs. Barlow, knowing that those plans were likely to be soon smashed to bits.

“And, of course, Mr. Barlow will eventually inherit the title,” she said, and when all the Barlows looked alarmed at this breach of decorum she waved away their discomfort. “No, honestly! I hope that it shall be at some date in the very distant future, but he shall have to sit in the House of Lords. Which is such an honorable position. If only the House of Lords decided everything, there would be peace in our time,” she said with a smile, which was a line of vast stupidity that I had already heard repeated in more drawing rooms than I cared to count.

Luke shook his head, not even bothering to acknowledge her compliments to him or her greedy anticipation of the day when she would be Lady Barlow. “But we are meant to have both elements balancing our system, I think, the House of Lords and the House of Commons, as well as the sovereign. Otherwise, if one of the groups had too much power, things should be decided that were not the best for the nation as a whole.”

Miss Courtenay smiled. “Not if you played a greater role in the decisions, I am sure, Mr. Barlow.”

Mrs. Barlow shook her head. “I will confess that I do not like the thought myself. Going off to London to spend time with those other men in the House of Lords? There is so much to be done here at Woodshire. It seems rather impractical.”

“Yes, but mama,” said Luke, ignoring Miss Courtenay to that lady’s consternation, “Like I said, I would play a necessary role. Only when everyone is able to be present can the decision-making begin to make sense.”

“Well,” I offered, “Only when the makeup of the House of Commons is reformed, and all the rotten boroughs excised from our maps, can any of it make sense. For the representation of the nation as a whole could hardly be more lopsided.”

This surprised Mr. Barlow, and it was now quite clear that he was engaging only with me. “Lopsided, you call it? That surprises me, Miss Quinton. I think there are hundreds of men who are in Parliament now who would not agree with you. Do not tell me you are in favor of reforming the whole makeup?”

With this, I set down my spoon and smiled with what I hoped was a fair imitation of sweetness. “If some little villager’s vote has more weight than that of two hundred new city-dwellers put together, I should say that our nation deserves the unrest. It is a miracle there is not more unrest now. Votes should be based on population in the present, not the influence of ages past.”

This made him chortle a little bit, though he quickly recovered himself. “Surely you cannot be proposing that we throw out the map. Heavens, Miss Quinton, even the Radicals could not propose such a thing. That map has served us well for centuries.”

“The map would not be entirely thrown out,” I told him. “Take a city like Bath, for example. They were represented then, and they would be represented on a new map. For them, it would not be a tragedy, just a re-affirmation of their place in our nation.”

“It’s not as if you would be able to vote,” said Miss Courtenay, frowning. “So why must you go on about it, then?”

My little charge tried to step in to defend me. “If Miss Quinton wishes to marry, she may influence her husband. After all, the half of the household that doesn’t have a vote is often the half that is most passionate about what voting is meant to accomplish. At least, that’s what the vicar says.”

Mrs. Barlow sat a little straighter in her chair. “Our vicar says a good deal about matters that should not concern young women. Miss Quinton, I hope you are not filling my daughter’s head with such matters.”

Luke, though, seemed much more interested in the subject of conversation that we had just bypassed. “Should you seek to influence your husband’s political opinions, Miss Quinton? In the future, that is,” he said with a smile.

I returned his smile and nodded. “But of course. I would hope that he would be educated about such matters himself, but if that were not the case, I would take care to educate him.”

“Then you would overstep your role, Miss Quinton,” said Mrs. Barlow, still frowning.

Miss Courtenay, on the other hand, seemed to find the prospect of my chastising any future husband rather hilarious. “You do realize that your husband might not respond well to such nagging, Miss Quinton?” she said.

Luke raised his eyebrows. “Indeed. What would you do if your husband grew ill-tempered?”

My smile faltered, but I realized from the kindness in his eyes that what he said must still have been part of a joke. “Oh, I would be very sure not to marry that sort of man.”

I had parried well, but I wondered whether I had made rather too many assumptions about the tenor of my married life. Was Luke saying that he did not think we would together, as husband and wife? Or that if we were, he would try and do something to change me?