She would be admonished later for dragging the more extreme elements of her own political ideaology into the finer drawing rooms of England - and Ozy's threat lingered in the back of mind, an intrusive, toad like thought that poked at her when she stopped thinking about other things. 'I do not intend to convert the estate into a foundry for wayward authors' - she didn't know how serious he was but she didn't like the prospect of her father passing and ending up on her elder brothers mercy. No it was better to reserve some of more revolutionary thoughts for the moment.

Christabel gave a small look that amounted to being impressed, although she was no mathmatician. Words were how she made sense of the world, numbers were dense and largely impenetrable. It was why she found those with a skill in that regard all the more impressive. She knew lots of people who handled words deftly and well - like finely tipped swords or paintbrushes. She knew few who would count numerical prowess amoung their skills.

'There is very little boring about a man with passions' she chided playfully, better a man of interests than some idle fop with nothing in his life but drinking in the club. 'And to what use to you put this advanced mathematics and arithmetical knowledge?' she smiled, taking a sip of the white wine that a footman had topped up as he passed.

---