Chapter One
“You neglected to inform us that you are… a woman.” Derision dripped from Mr. Whitcomb’s tone. Her would-be employer had more hair on his eyebrows than on his head, and the lines on his face indicated he was not advanced in years, but was advanced in perpetual disappointment.
Sophie Renard stood in front of the ladder-backed chair, forcing a gracious smile and pulling back her hand from where it hung in the air over Mr. Whitcomb’s desk.
“My gender has no bearing on my intelligence, Mr. Whitcomb,” Sophie said.
As he grappled with evidently encumbered thoughts, she sat, though he hadn’t invited her. Surely it was a favor to him to do so; he couldn’t very well crane his neck up at her through the entirety of the interview.
He folded his hands in front of him, swallowed, and seemed to make an effort to calm himself.
For a brief moment he pressed his eyes closed, and his shoulders relaxed.
Her stomach knotted itself worse than a student’s tongue when asked the answer to a particularly complex equation.
When those gray eyes focused on her again, they were altered.
If she hadn’t known any better, she would have thought it was pity swimming there.
“I am afraid there has been a mistake, Miss Renard.” There was a light emphasis on her honorific.
A weight settled upon her chest, or rather, a particularly heavy stone was added to the weight that had been growing since she arrived at this home to claim her position as part of the Whitcomb Astronomy Project. She steeled herself for what she wished wasn’t coming, but knew was.
“Oh?”
Mr. Whitcomb nodded once. “We are, in fact, not in need of your services.”
Fear rose at the thought of losing this position, but she tamped it down. She was not a woman working within a man’s world without preparation. She reached into her reticule for the folded papers. “To the contrary, Mr. Whitcomb, I have your offer of employment here.”
Nearly all her life was to culminate in this position. She had worked towards it for years. Had quit her position teaching for it, and spurned offers of marriage. Now, finally, she would show her parents that all her efforts were worth it.
So long as Mr. Whitcomb could be brought around.
The man gave a tight smile. Tight and, she was fairly certain, annoyed. “I am afraid that offer was extended under false pretenses.”
Sophie grasped a fistful of her skirt then smoothed it out.
“What exactly do you mean by that?” She had been prepared for this possibility, having applied for the job under the name S.
Renard. But she was more than qualified, and it was not her fault she had been born, most regrettably, a woman.
Despite Caroline Herschel’s great involvement in the sciences, her gender was beyond a minority.
But they were represented. They were making marked discoveries in the sciences. Just as Sophie would.
His weak chin wobbled with the pursing of his lips. “If you must know, we thought you were a… a gentleman, Miss Renard.”
She straightened her shoulders, pulling out more papers from her reticule and unfolding them.
“I apologize for the misunderstanding, Mr. Whitcomb, but it should have no effect on my position here. I studied beneath Mr. Grenton, taught for nigh on three years, and have several letters of recommendation. I am more than qualified and would be an asset to your team.” She pushed the papers across the table—their edges lifting off the polished wood somewhat.
Those corners brushed the man’s folded fingers, and he pulled his hands away as if bitten.
This was not going to end well. Panic surged—she was a ninny for risking her livelihood like this, but there was no time to dwell. She was in the midst of battle, and it was imperative that she win. She had no other choice but this job. Had no other future but with this project.
“I am certain you have been educated well enough.” There was a hint of derision there that made Sophie want to throw up her hands. Why must the most intelligent men—the men making astronomy discoveries and furthering the fields of science and math with incredible strides—be so… so… dense?
“Yes, sir,” she cut in. “I have been. I do believe my education would match up with any Cambridge fellow.” Growing up, she’d always bested Andrew in mathematics, and he’d been incredibly brilliant.
Not that one man made a proper sampling, but he was a particularly brilliant man, and she’d worked with others besides.
Several of her colleagues at the Bristol Seminary for Young Gentlewomen had been men.
She’d learned alongside several with Mr. Grenton.
She was smart. And capable.
And the man in front of her clearly did not care.
Mr. Whitcomb’s smile was patronizing. “But the facts are the facts. I have no women on my team, and it would upset the balance entirely.”
Did he think she would prove a distraction? A flirt? She opened her mouth to defend herself, but he hurriedly added.
“I reserve the right to extend—and rescind—employment as needed, and unfortunately, yours is no longer needed. Good day, Miss Renard.”
As if he’d been listening at the door, the clerk who’d escorted her into Mr. Whitcomb’s home entered, holding it wide and lifting his brows expectantly at her.
Sophie blinked back ridiculous tears as her face burned with humiliation and anger. Seeing she would be required to beat her retreat, she gathered her papers. The man hadn’t even looked at them. The letters of recommendation were glowing. If he’d only read—
The clerk cleared his throat, but she ignored him; her eyes remained trained on the man who was supposed to be her employer. One more attempt. One did not abandon their dreams so easily.
“Mr. Whitcomb, I traveled to London expecting a promised position. You expected a computer for your team. It is mutually beneficial to us both to maintain the agreed-upon arrangement.”
“What I expected was a gentleman, Miss Renard. There is nothing beneficial to having a liar on my team.”
A stab of guilt told her his words were true.
She always signed her papers and correspondence in the same way: S.
Renard. But she had known exactly what would be thought when she applied for this position.
She had gambled on her extensive training and the man’s tight deadline to help her keep the job upon her arrival.
She should have been late to town. Perhaps if she’d not arrived exactly when he’d requested, she would have had more of a chance.
“You may go now,” Mr. Whitcomb said, settling back in his chair and flicking a dismissive hand in her direction.
She stared with incredulity at him, but after ten long seconds, and another clearing of the secretary’s throat behind her, she regrettably retreated.
Lifting her chin high, she strode past the clerk and toward the front of the house.
She would not show them how this affected her.
She would leave them with a favorable impression of her, as favorable as possible now.
Because she needed this job. And as with most setbacks in her life, she was not willing to allow someone to tell her no. The door had closed, yes. That just meant it was time to search for a window.
Except… as she stood in the bitter January wind and stared down at her rented coach, the full gravity of the situation crashed over her. She was jobless, homeless, and, frankly, hopeless.
Her family resided not half a day south of the city, but that would have to be a last resort.
They could not learn of this failure; the very idea made her chest feel heavy and her midsection tight.
She hesitated outside the carriage as the driver alighted and came to open the door.
Should she secure lodging for the night and dip further into her already dwindling savings?
She was no heiress, and her teaching job, while fulfilling, had not paid particularly well.
Could she afford more than a day or two in a rented room before she would need to find a new job?
But she needed this job. And if given a little time, could she secure it?
A few more meetings with Mr. Whitcomb. Exhibits of her skill.
Something would certainly bring him around—if nothing else, then because one could not find capable mathematicians willing to relocate their lives for a year and a half at the drop of a hat. He needed her.
But she needed a place to stay. Did she know anyone in London with whom she could lodge for a week or two? Anyone at all?
The driver cleared his throat, and as the sun broke out from behind the gloomy clouds, it came to her.
Now she only had to hope the family was in residence this early in the Season.