Lavinia’s mother, Lady Gray, had the easy confidence of someone whose great-great-grandfathers rubbed shoulders with kings. “Of course, you may eat wherever you wish. But why would you wish to do such a peculiar thing?” she sighed, before waving the girls away.

The moment Lady Gray was out of earshot, Diana murmured something about a headache and fled to her bedchamber, so Prism escorted Lavinia and Willa to a small table at the very bottom of the hall, managing—as butlers do so well—to mask his disapproval of their voluntary displacement with an impassive face, while somehow still making his feelings known.

At their approach, the young scholar, Mr. Roberts, sprang to his feet. He was thin as a billiard cue and was wearing an old-fashioned wig with a queue. Twists of sandy hair escaped around the edges of his wig, making him look like a dandelion gone to seed.

Willa was surprised to see his eyes widen in something like awe, as he’d been perfectly composed when the duke had introduced her earlier in the day. Then she realized that Roberts was reacting not to her, but to Lord Alaric, who was looming just behind her.

“Good evening, ladies,” his lordship said, bowing. “I’m afraid we’ll have to dine without my brother. Once made aware that Miss Belgrave had retired for the evening, North decided he wasn’t as interested in hieroglyphs as he thought.”

“Lord Alaric, may I present Mr. Roberts?” Willa said.

The scholar’s eyes were as round as saucers. Evidently, Lord Wilde’s books had been well received in the university. “I am … I am honored,” he stammered.

Interesting.

Willa would have thought that an academic would disdain authors of popular travel narratives. But not this author: Roberts proceeded to reveal that he had read every one of the books.

Willa watched Lord Alaric respond to Roberts’s lavish praise politely, but with no life in his voice. In fact, it was as if an impassive veneer had settled over his expression.

He wrote the books; why would he be so disinclined to tell Mr. Roberts what the “true story” was behind some incident that had taken place in the Americas? Instead, Lord Alaric insisted, in a voice courteous but remote, that there was no “true story” other than what he had put on the page.

Mr. Roberts seated himself to Willa’s right, his expression frankly disbelieving. Just as she had decided that Lord Alaric’s scar was the result of an accident in the privy, Mr. Roberts had apparently come to his own conclusions about that incident.

And no matter what Lord Alaric said about it, Mr. Roberts was not inclined to change his mind.

Much to her own surprise, Willa discovered that she trusted the author. The quiet, even way he affirmed the events he had described in his book made her believe him.

Annoying though Lord Alaric was, it seemed he told the truth. No literary flourishes, no extra characters added for the sake of drama.

No cannibals. Which meant no missionary’s daughter. There was no logic to the relief she felt at that idea.

When all four of them were seated, Lord Alaric looked across the table and said, “I’m very pleased that you invited me to join you, Miss Ffynche.”

It was a blatant provocation, as she had not invited him. And so was the naughty smile he was giving her. Willa had been taught not to speak across the table, so she merely nodded, and turned to Mr. Roberts.

“I was most interested by the article you published in The Gentleman’s Magazine about Egyptian papyrus rolls. I wonder if you’ve made progress deciphering the hieroglyphs.”

Mr. Roberts cast her a wary look. “You read my article in The Gentleman’s Magazine?”

“Yes,” Willa said, keeping it simple because it appeared that even notable scholars had trouble understanding the English language. “Have you been able to make progress on the scrolls?”

He frowned. “Matters of ancient philology cannot possibly interest ladies of gentle birth. I thought you wished to discuss my travels in Egypt.” He turned to Lord Alaric. “Don’t you agree, your lordship?”

“I’d think you’d welcome intelligent conversation with anyone even slightly familiar with your work.” Lord Alaric glanced at Willa, a gleam of laughter in his eyes. “I’m sure I find it easier than talking to people who boast of never having read a page of my books.”

Willa swallowed back a grin.

After that blunt appraisal, the scholar got over his reluctance to discuss hieroglyphs with ladies, and admitted that he thought he had made some valuable discoveries. “The most contentious question is whether each individual hieroglyph represents an idea or a sound.”

“Which do you believe?” Willa asked.

He puffed out his chest like a bantam rooster, and spoke over her head to Lord Alaric. “I have come to the conclusion that each hieroglyph represents an idea.”

“Could you give us an example of a hieroglyph?” Lavinia asked. “I must admit that I didn’t pay close attention to the exhibition of papyrus.”

“Regrettably, I haven’t a way to draw one,” Mr. Roberts replied. His expression suggested he thought ladies were incapable of deciphering such mysteries in any case.

“That is no matter,” Lord Alaric said, picking up his bowl of spring pea soup. He poured a thick green glop on the white plate underneath the bowl. “Draw your hieroglyph here.”

Mr. Roberts picked up his knife and scratched a shape.

“I know what it is,” Lavinia cried. “It’s a golden idol, the sort they used to worship. A baby. Yes, it is certainly a baby. With a crown!”

That was characteristic of Lavinia’s imagination. Willa didn’t see a baby. Or a crown.

Lord Alaric was frowning, perhaps because he was viewing the image from the side. “Is it a swan?”

“Very close,” Mr. Roberts said. He turned to Willa.

“It’s a duck,” she said. “I must say that while I applaud your drawing skills—and those of the ancient Egyptians—I find it hard to imagine what concept a duck might represent.”

“I am working on the hypothesis that because a duck loves its children, this image means ‘son.’ ”

There was a moment’s silence. “Miss Ffynche,” Lord Alaric said at length, “what do you think of Mr. Roberts’s proposition?”

“Mr. Roberts’s reasoning isn’t immediately clear to me,” Willa replied, discarding the rules of dining etiquette in order to respond directly, “but perhaps that is because I don’t know as much about the species as he.”

“I don’t think closer study of ducks would help,” Lord Alaric drawled. “Even if one discounted animals unknown to ancient Egyptians, any number of animal hieroglyphs could indicate parental affection.”

Mr. Roberts started rapidly blinking his eyes. “The duck was particularly known in antiquity for its care of its offspring.”

“I noticed many cats in the scrolls on display in the British Museum,” Willa intervened. “What do you think they represent, sir?”

“I vote for ‘daughter,’ ” Lord Alaric said, before Mr. Roberts could gather his thoughts.

“We have a tomcat in the stables who must have fathered hundreds of kittens, but he dislikes them all,” Lavinia said. “Even mother cats care for their young only until they are able to kill their own mice, which contradicts your suggestion, Lord Alaric.”

Mr. Roberts appeared rattled by the turn the conversation had taken. “The ancient Greek word for ‘duck’—”

Lord Alaric cut him off. “Ladies, are you aware that a duck will feign an injury in order to draw a fox away from her nest? The bird runs the risk of being eaten, putting her life before her offspring’s.”

He had switched sides, Willa thought with some indignation. The discussion was merely a game to him.

“I have read about that behavior,” she said. “However, Mr. Roberts did not indicate that the image of the duck connoted the idea of sacrifice. He specified ‘son,’ thus I believe he has further reasons for his argument.”

Mr. Roberts’s pained expression suggested he was not enjoying the conversation, no matter how respectful her phrasing. Willa was used to that; it sometimes took gentlemen a good half hour to get over their conviction that the additional body parts men possessed indicated their brains were extra large.

It was one of the reasons that she and Lavinia had decided to question but not counter their beaux during the Season: men were so tiresomely afraid of being proven wrong.

She gave Mr. Roberts yet another encouraging smile. “I do hope we are not making you uncomfortable by engaging with your intriguing idea.”

“Willa is forever discomfiting knowledgeable gentlemen,” Lavinia remarked, “and nothing our headmistress said could dissuade her from it.”

“Please explain the reasoning behind your association of ‘duck’ and ‘son,’ ” Willa said, ignoring Lavinia.

Lord Alaric was sitting back in his chair and was watching her with a faint smile that was absurdly unsettling. In fact, it gave Willa a warm feeling in her chest and belly that—

That was unacceptable. She was not affected by a man.

Mr. Roberts, for his part, was seemingly still trying to adjust to the fact that his conclusion was being called into question by two women.

“I believe you were about to say something about the Greek word for ‘duck’?” Willa prompted. “Am I right in thinking that it is ‘Penelope’?”

Lord Alaric gave a bark of laughter. “What was your headmistress like?”

“Are you asking whether Willa and I belong to the Bluestocking Society?” Lavinia inquired. “They’d never have us. We’re entirely too fond of dancing, and I, for one, am remarkably frivolous.”

Willa was wrestling with the uncharitable instinct either to kick Lord Alaric under the table, or lead him to believe that she knew Greek.

Which she did not.

“I do not read Greek,” she admitted. “But in Greek mythology, Icarius was angered by the sex of his eldest child, Penelope, and threw his infant daughter into the water to drown, whereupon she was saved by a family of ducks. My understanding is that Penelope’s name means ‘duck.’ ”

“It’s a lovely story,” Lavinia said. “I can imagine a family of ducks anxiously keeping the baby afloat with a great deal of diving and quacking.”

“Lavinia is likely the only person I know capable of writing that play you disparage so much,” Willa said to Lord Alaric. “She has a remarkable imagination.”

Lord Alaric grinned. “Miss Gray, did you author a disgraceful farce entitled Wilde in Love?”

“I wish I had,” Lavinia said. “Because then my mother would have been forced to allow us to see the production, don’t you think?”

Mr. Roberts was gaping from one to the other.

“I assume that Lady Gray would feel confident that your girlish innocence could not be tarnished by listening to heady poetry that you yourself wrote,” Lord Alaric agreed.

He was addressing Lavinia, but looking at Willa.

She broke his gaze—which was harder to do than it should have been—and turned back to the scholar. “If you don’t mind my asking again, Mr. Roberts, how did Penelope’s experience with ducks influence your thinking about the Egyptian hieroglyph?”