I knew he was right. There would always be such clubs catering to the baser nature, and there would always be brutal disregard for the lives and bodies of women. Still, I had to do something to avenge Miss Hollis and all those who had died or been hurt for the sake of men’s lust and amusement.

“That is my condition, Mr. Whitmore. Do you agree?”

“You are set upon this?” he asked, his mouth set in grim lines.

“I am. It is not negotiable.”

“Then I find my hand forced. I agree.”

I sat back, triumphant. “Excellent. And that means I agree—I will go to France.”

Perhaps now I understood why George thought we were cut from the same cloth, for I had to admit I was filled with rather too much elation at Whitmore’s capitulation, and excitement at the thought of the mission ahead. A good deal of fear, too, of course, but far more excitement. At least for now, from the safety of my own home.

Whitmore gave a nod of acknowledgment. “I am relieved you will do so. Frankly, you are essential to the entire enterprise.”

It occurred to me that Mr. Whitmore seemed to have no doubts about my ability to take part in this mission. I was, to him, a competent and required presence. Not a worthless, overbearing spinster or deficient female. Was this how men felt all the time? This intrinsic acceptance of one’s significance? No wonder they walked through life expecting so much as their due.

“And you, Lady Julia?” he asked.

“I need to think about this,” she said. “I cannot give an answer so quickly. There is too much to consider.”

Whitmore had clearly not expected Julia to refuse an answer, for he turned to me. “Perhaps you could persuade your sister, Lady Augusta. I am sure you do not wish to go without her. As I understand it, you are a formidable pair and work most effectively when you are together. You would have a much better chance of success if you both went.”

I looked at Julia, who had her mouth set at its most Colebrook mulish. It was true, we were formidable together and it was hard to conceive of doing this without her at my side. Until a few days ago, I might indeed have tried to sway my sister’s answer. Perhaps even chivvied her into voicing it now.

“It is Lady Julia’s decision, Mr. Whitmore,” I said firmly. “She must choose her own path in her own time.”

Julia looked sideways at me, her mulishness shifting into a small smile: Behold the new Augusta.

I returned the smile: And behold the new Julia.

She gave a small, perplexed frown: I am not new.

I raised my brows: Are you not?