* A decadent dessert * A rude assertion * I leave the party

Instead of following him, I continued slowly in my interrupted path toward the group of men gathered around my father, finding them deep in a discussion on the nature of Freedom. I listened half-heartedly, ruminating on the Count and his unaccountable arrival and departure. After some time, Henry 's voice intruded on my reveries, as he stated in response to an unheard comment by my father, "No man is truly free, Lord Shepcester. Even our so-called free men serve two masters: their God and their King. Slaves are slaves because they bow to these masters as well as to the man who owns them."

"You are forgetting an additional master," my father broke in. "Beyond the masters you have already named, most of our modern men are beholden to Propriety as certainly as they are beholden to any corporeal master."

"Yes," I said, shaking off my enrapturement with the Count and ignoring my grandfather's displeasure at my impetuous insinuation into the heretofore males-only conversation, "this is certainly true for men. For women, however, the situation is even more severe. Women truly serve five masters: their God, their King, their husband or father, Propriety and, lastly, Fashion. Of these masters, it would not be untrue to say that Fashion is often the most demanding."

Whether because he had taken notice of my fascination with Count Meta and was seeking to place himself in my good graces or because he was able to ignore his prejudices against women who presumed to be the equals of men, Henry supported my assertion by saying, "Lady Fairweather speaks the truth. Travellers report that in the Orient, for example, women are expected to have small feet, and in pursuit of that ideal, female infants have their feet bound and crippled that they might find approval from a man later in their lives."

The company nodded its assent, and the vicar joined in the conversation, saying, "In the Arab countries of the Levant, women are required to wrap themselves in garment after garment, beyond all modern ideas of modesty, and in total defiance of the beastly heat. I have also read that in darkest Africa, reputable explorers have returned with daguerreotypes of Negro women who have had their necks unnaturally elongated or their lips stretched to such proportions that they could easily hide a dinner plate with that distorted fold of flesh. And among some tribes of the Indians of America, female infants are strapped between two boards arranged such that the forehead is pressed into a sloping form, which is thought to be attractive by the male savages."

Others in the conversation assented by pointing out that in times not too-long past, our Western fashion dictated that women enhance other parts of their bodies. "Our mothers and our grandmothers wore quaint contraptions," one said, "which served to make their hips appear to be very wide, while today they wear devices which cause -- begging your pardon milady -- their derrieres appear to extend for some distance behind them. Why, in the courts of France in the last century, the attention was drawn to the immodest display of dcolletage spilling over the scandalous necklines of jewel-encrusted gowns. And in the Low Countries, those women were celebrated who possessed rounded abdomens, made noticeable by their high-waisted dresses."

All attention turned to me as I commented that in our modern England, the situation is not much improved. "Women," I said, "are forced to endure such impractical and often painful fashions as chastity devices and corsets. The latter, with their cages of whalebone and their strenuously tightened silken laces have been known to cause such discomfort that many a woman has fainted or even died from haemorrhages and ruptures brought on by a too-zealous corseting. All this to satisfy the current fascination with the wasp-ish waist."

This last comment was ill-conceived on my part, for it only served to call attention to my obviously distended stomach and my near lack of a waist. While politeness demanded that none make comment on my recent fleshiness, it was clear from the surreptitious mocking glances between the younger men that it had been the subject of discussion among Henry and his peers. This angered me and so I did not follow the speeches closely enough to notice how the conversation subtly changed its course.

"In America, My Lord," Henry was saying, "the so-called Suffragettes are petitioning their government to grant them the right to vote, claiming that participation in balloting is what they require to be free. I submit that, despite the previous assertion that they are subject to many masters, women, in their current station, are already blessed with more Freedom than any man can ever hope to experience."

"How so Sir Henry?" I asked, my sharp-tongued incredulity held at bay by my father's serene presence.

"In many ways," he replied, in the tone of a schoolmaster speaking to the class simpleton. "For instance, a woman today has the upper hand in matters of the Heart, and is free to accept or reject a potential suitor, while the man must live with her decision. A woman is always supported by a man, whether he be her father or her husband, and is therefore free from the worry the man experiences in the uncertain climes of business and investment. A woman of nobility is free to spend her time in social and artistic pursuits or in performing charitable works, while men are forced to exert their efforts on matters more mundane and less likely to commend them to their eternal reward."

"If the freedom from responsibility that is the condition of women were so desirable," I asked him, "would you, then, change places with me? For even one day? Would you feel content to fritter away your time in the foolish mathematics of the Heart, while allowing others to steer your life as one might steer a dumb ox?"

"It is not such a terrible existence as that," he replied. " And, were it possible, I might welcome such leisure. But it is not in a man's nature to be idle nor emotional, and therefore, this proposition is but a foolish conceit."

At that moment, our debate was interrupted by the captain's announcement that the dessert course was to be presented in the Viennese buffet style, and that we were all requested to queue up in the dining room. As the line processed past the sinful selection of dishes, I could not but hear the Count's voice, extolling my appetite. Barely containing my excitement, when my turn came to make choices, I declined to choose, taking, instead, some of each. Henry, who had appeared in the line behind me and who was acting as escort, said to me as my plate was laden with confection after confection, "Really, My Lady, don't you think you've eaten quite enough this evening? Such excess can hardly be good for one."

"Thank you for your concern," I said curtly, "but, as can anyone over the age of four years, I am capable myself of determining when I have eaten enough." With that, I turned on my heel and proceeded without his company to my father's side. Sir Henry joined us a few moments later and I had the uncomfortable feeling that he was watching with disdain every morsel that passed my lips. I did not wish to let that bother me, so I encouraged my father to hold forth on one of the banquets we had attended in the Austrian court.

Engaged in his entertaining retelling of the experience, I continued devouring the surfeit of sweets, until my plate was empty. Although my stomach was more than replete, my appetite had not yet been sated, and so I excused myself and rose to return to the dessert table. Sir Henry rose, too, followed me for a few steps, then quite impertinently placed his hand on my elbow and said, when we were not quite out of earshot of the rest of the party, "My Lady, I really must insist that you stop this decadent gluttonizing immediately! It is evident that you are NOT capable of knowing when you have eaten enough! Have you not seen yourself in a looking glass of late? Have you no idea what sort of spectacle you are making of yourself? Have you no care that your sybarism has made you the subject of gossip and derision? As your suitor, I feel it is my duty to protect you both from physical harm as well as harm to your reputation, whether it be caused by another or by your own self."

I was livid, both at his arrogance and at his insensitivity in bringing my supposed failings to light in the presence of so many others. "You presume much too much, Sir!" I said, my Irish wrath rising. "You are not my suitor, nor shall you ever be! You are merely a provincial boy with nothing but a petty title and a pretty face to recommend you. I could excuse that, if you only demonstrated some manners and some breeding. Instead, you have insulted me in my own house and I insist that you take your leave of this place now and for all time!"

All attention in the room was now centred on the two of us. Henry's face had turned a frightening shade of red, and he spoke through clenched teeth, saying, "Very well, then! I shall take my leave as My Lady demands."

At that moment, my grandfather stood up, supporting himself on his cane and saying, "Nonsense, Sir Henry! I will have no such thing! My granddaughter forgets that this is my house and that these are my guests. No one shall be so rudely dismissed from these premises while I still draw breath!"

I had never felt such rage in my short existence. To be goaded into anger then met with insolence and finally, to be upbraided in the presence of strangers! "As you wish, Duke Angleshire," I said in an icily formal tone, my every muscle quivering with repressed anger. "Yet, I cannot myself remain in such contemptuous company, so I will retire and leave you with your guests." And with that, I walked out of the room, aware, yet unconcerned with the stunned silence that met my insolent remarks.

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