“Not that you would be an active partner”—Exeter held up one hand—“I am fully aware of how modern and radical I sound, but that is what my wife wanted.”

Turley nodded. “Mine as well, and they are not the only ones.”

John truly had made a mull of things. But perhaps it was not too late to change her mind about him being less than intelligent. If only he could just tell her that he wasn’t really stupid. Although about her he might be. He’d have to show her. This afternoon would be the perfect time to begin his new campaign. “Thank you. I believe I know what I must do.”

They reached Westminster and made their way to the Lords’ chamber. Several ladies were already in the visitors’ gallery, or the Strangers’ Gallery, as it was officially called. John saw Eleanor speaking with an older lady he didn’t know. He recognized most of the other ladies. Unsurprisingly, they were all related to Stanwood’s family in one fashion or another, or friends of the family. Lady Mary, apparently the youngest member to be allowed to come, gave Stanwood a small wave. Next to her, Lady Theo regally inclined her head, then ruined the effect by smiling broadly. Yet John could see how they too would grow up to be formidable ladies. Thinking back to the breakfast, he had even seen it in the much younger members of the family. Clearly, they were being allowed—nay, encouraged—to develop their own talents, not be molded into what Polite Society thought a young lady should be. If his sister was any example, attempts to shape them into persons they were not would have failed in any event. How had he not understood that before? It wasn’t as if he hadn’t lived with the perfect example.

A hand landed on John’s shoulder. “They are impressive, each in her own way.” Kenilworth steered John to where the marquises sat. “When I first met Charlotte, I was completely fooled by her golden hair, her blue eyes, her beauty, and her youth into thinking she was simply another young, simpleminded young lady.” His smile seemed to be more for himself than for John. “Did you know she picks locks?”

Dumbly, John shook his head. A lady picking locks? “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Neither had I. The strength and ingenuity she showed under extremely adverse conditions knocked me down a peg or two and made me rethink my opinions about the capabilities of ladies.”

“Yes.” John had been having similar thoughts. Not that he thought ladies were incapable, but that they should be there to comfort their husbands and not live for themselves as well. “I know what you mean.”

“Good.” Kenilworth slapped John’s shoulder. “I’m glad you understand.”

He wandered off to speak with Rothwell, who glanced at John and met his eyes.