“Why, Lady Eunice, don’t you look stunning today? I believe we have a bottle of your favorite Madeira. And Miss Kimball, how was your sister’s wedding? Oh, that’s just lovely. In you go, in you go. I must post myself at the door to greet the next guests.”

With that, Mother fluttered down the hall and out of sight.

Philippa’s friends bounced into the room like tumbling marbles. About two dozen ladies occasionally attended the reading circle, but her five closest friends never missed a meeting. It was all Philippa could do not to hug each of them tight.

Today, Lady Eunice was exquisite in a long-sleeved day dress trimmed in seed pearls, her auburn hair impeccably styled with face-framing ringlets. At the word “Madeira,” she headed straight to the sideboard.

Pink-cheeked Sybil, the group’s queen of lists and schedules, pushed her spectacles up her button nose and reviewed her notes before determining which cake she was allowing herself to indulge in today.

Gorgeous Florentia was next, with her beautiful light brown skin and a spray of freckles across her nose and apple cheeks. She pushed her springy black ringlets out of her face and peered about the room, assuring herself all was as it should be.

Gracie dashed into the room with windswept hair and wrinkles in the Mameluke sleeves of her mint green dress, yet still looked stunning as always. She pointed at the clock in the corner and crowed with delight.

“What? Miss Gracie Kimball arrived early to an appointment?” Florentia clutched her hands to her bosom. “Pinch me, for I fear I am dreaming!”

“I’ve been on time ever since we’ve been limited to a single hour,” Gracie protested.

The others gazed at her in silence.

“Mostly on time,” Gracie amended. “I would have been early last week, were it not for a certain flirtatious Mr.—”

“Shh,” Philippa whispered, tilting her head toward the open doorway. “If Mother hears flirting took place at an event I failed to attend…”

They’d caught her mother listening through the keyhole on multiple occasions.

Gracie lowered her voice. “Sybil, you have the chart. Are we meant to be speaking in French or Latin?”

“Greek,” said Florentia.

“Classic Greek,” Sybil corrected, shaking a finger at Florentia. “None of your hijinks, young lady.”

Florentia affected an angelic expression and widened her eyes innocently.

Philippa’s heart warmed. She loved that her friends weren’t just bookish, but unabashedly so. Between them, the ladies spoke several languages and boasted a comprehensive understanding of many subjects. Speaking of sensitive matters in code was no problem at all.

While Philippa’s obsession centered on physical manuscripts, other friends reveled in the knowledge that books contained. Botany, medicine, forging armor, currying leather—topics for which men had clubs and livery companies and Royal Societies, but from which women were banned altogether.

Females’ poor, delicate brains could not possibly withstand big, actual thoughts.