Chapter Two #2
“Oh, goodness, I do beg your pardon!” The words flew out of me, and I cursed under my breath, in belated dismay realizing Ansel would never apologize. Boys didn’t care if they crashed into people and caused a rumpus.
“Bloody hell, mate! Are you well?” the mountain said, his voice almost a shriek. A mop of wild blond curls tumbled into his brow, a pair of bright blue eyes assessing me from his considerable height. Gracious, he was huge. At least twice the size of me in width. “You came out of nowhere!”
“No harm done,” I said as I gathered the notebook and pencils that had slid out of my bag.
I kept my naturally husky voice pitched low, leaning in to the performance of being my cousin.
Though I wanted to be myself, too. Ansel was much too smooth and grandiose for my tastes.
“I was late and not looking where I was going.” I peered at him.
“You’re not Mr. St. Clair, by chance, are you? ”
Blue eyes widened comically. “No. He’s a…Wrangler. I’m only a second-year.”
“Do you happen to know where the discussion rooms near the Great Court are, then?” I asked. “There’s a lecture I’m supposed to attend that Mr. St. Clair might be leading.”
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
I chewed my lip and then internally scolded myself for the habit. Thankfully, the boy was distracted, smoothing his rumpled gown. “What’s a Wrangler?” I asked as I followed him down the corridor.
He shot me an odd expression, and I cringed, wondering if I’d already given myself away with my ignorance.
But then he just shrugged his big shoulders.
“St. Clair is a prodigy—a senior scholar pursuing his Master of Arts degree who ranked so highly in the competitive Mathematical Tripos examination it earned him the title of Second Wrangler. Only one other person scored higher than him.” He wore an impressed look, so I nodded, then schooled my face to match his, though I had no idea what the Tripos was. It sounded fancy.
“That’s remarkable.”
“Most scholars at his level are usually encouraged to become Fellows of the university,” the young man continued.
“Being a Wrangler is a prestigious position to hold, and one of his primary duties would be to tutor and mentor younger students as part of his contribution to the college. I suppose that’s where you come in.
” He pursed his lips. “Are you planning to take the Mathematical Tripos exam?”
I shook my head. Since this whole scheme was temporary, I had no plans to take any examinations, but having a tutor who had breezed through a top-level test was an unexpected benefit. That meant he was smart. I couldn’t wait to pick his brain, particularly about mathematics and astronomy.
The gent smiled and stuck out his hand. “I’m Will, by the way.
” He wrinkled his brow as if he’d made a terrible faux pas.
“Viscount William Humbolt, if we’re being formal, which I hope to God we’re not.
I’ve stuck my foot in my mouth terribly these past months.
The title is new, passed down through a third cousin to me.
I’m still learning the ropes of things.” The words tumbled out of him in a stream, and he stopped abruptly, shamefaced.
“I’m sorry. I’ve done it again, haven’t I? Open mouth, insert entire leg.”
I laughed at his aghast expression. This freshly minted viscount and I were going to be just fine.
“No, you haven’t done anything. I’m new here, too.
I’m Lord Ansel Chen, also somewhat unfamiliar with all of this, but you can call me…
” I trailed off, brain blanking for a moment before inspiration suddenly struck. “Roz.”
His blond brows jumped up at the moniker that couldn’t be any further from my supposed first or last name. “Roz. Is that a nickname?”
I thought quickly and waved a careless hand. “Middle name’s Eros. It stuck.”
“Eros,” he murmured, eyes brightening. “Greek god of love and passion. I do enjoy reading the classics.” His face twisted into a grimace. “Much more than mathematical statistics, though my mother insists that I should have a greater understanding of all the subjects a proper viscount should know.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell him that most viscounts and peers of my acquaintance were experts only in drinking, gambling, and flirtation, and nary a one of them was interested in the pursuit of higher education, least of all mathematics or the classics.
For many aristocrats, university was a formality, with little effort required to be conferred with a degree.
A farce, actually. Though one that was benefitting me now, so I couldn’t be too irritated.
“Will you be in London for the season as well?” I asked, pushing up my descending spectacles with one finger. By God, the frames were annoying.
“That is the hope,” Will replied. “The intent last year was to make a few friends or connections, but then the king died and everyone went into mourning. Last term was subdued, though university life did continue. It has been much harder than I thought to be accepted as a peer when I wasn’t born one. ”
Will’s every emotion was transparent on his round face—something he would have to conquer if he hoped to survive a very vicious aristocracy.
His difficulty did not surprise me. The ranks of the ton were very insular.
Most peers, like Ansel’s set, which included the Marquess of Ridley, who would eventually become the future Duke of Harbridge, knew each other from leading strings.
And sometimes the gentlemen—excluding Lord Ridley, my cousin, and any of their friends—could be haughtier than the ladies, sticking their noses up at those they deemed to be inferior or lacking in some way.
Ansel could be high in the instep at times, but he wasn’t a supercilious toff who looked down on others below his station.
I studied Will, noticing his cravat was askew and that there was a crusty yellowish stain on it—egg from breakfast if I had to guess.
His clothes, though markedly new, were rumpled and untidy.
He would hardly pass muster at an Almack’s gathering, but in truth, I found him adorably endearing, like a giant baby chick I wanted to take under my protective wing.
“The ton is peculiar,” I said as I kept pace with him down a nearby staircase. “But it will get easier as you find your footing.”
He gave a humorless chuckle. “Of course, the way I keep fumbling my way about, I’d be highly shocked if any invitations arrived at all.”
I bumped his arm with mine. “Tell you what? Let’s stick together. You help me find my way around here, and I’ll help you in London when the time comes. How does that sound?”
Incredulous but hopeful blue eyes peered down at me. “You’d do that? But you just met me. What if…people shun you by association? They don’t call me Viscount Bumpkin for nothing.”
Disgust bled through me. Goodness, the dreadful similarity to the intrigues in a London ballroom was too much.
Name-calling was a vicious art, and the wrong associations could ruin a girl’s come-out before it even began—everything always hinged upon the right connections.
To think that young men would behave in such a manner at a prestigious university was a shock to me, but perhaps such social hierarchy existed everywhere.
“You seem like an amiable gentleman,” I said with a shrug, determined to shore us both up. “Let’s leave the judgments for later, shall we?”
Because the truth was if gentle, trusting Will found out he’d been deceived by a lady dressed as a boy, I had no doubt he might not be so friendly or forgiving.
In my current happenstance, beneath my false mustache and padded shoulders, I was the absolute wrong social connection.
However, I’d take allies wherever I could get them, and I suspected Will might feel the same.
At the end of the staircase, we entered a large room for the lecture, which was taken up by over twenty lads of varying ages wearing the same billowing gowns with various hats and tassels, occupying sofas and chairs of all sizes pulled in a haphazard circle.
A frisson of excitement wound up my spine at the hum of voices.
Will and I crammed into two spots at the end of a sofa.
I pulled out my notebook and pencil as chatter flew around the room, and attempted to follow the chain of conversation.
My ears perked up. It ranged from gossip and girls to complex geometry and algebra problems as well as celestial mechanics.
I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face at the latter.
Now that was what I was here for.
“Gentlemen, come to order,” a deep voice said. I couldn’t see over the heads in front of me as I scribbled the date on the first page. Someone blew a loud whistle through his mouth. “Gents, quiet!”
Everyone shushed. A tall head of wavy dark hair was the only thing I could see through the gaps in the bodies in front of me, but I was much too focused on writing the date in my new notebook to get a better glance.
I only needed to listen after all, and participate should I feel the need.
For now, I wanted to soak it all in. There would be time for contribution later—I didn’t want to seem too eager.
“Let’s resume our discussion on analytical versus geometrical approaches to mathematics, and the path our own Mr. Newton has charted. The challenge was that the former is arguably the path forward, and I agree. Algebra and calculus are by far superior for advancement in mechanics.”
I blinked. That was an aggressive viewpoint.
The room quieted to an ominous, abrupt hush, heads swiveling in my direction.
Will gasped beside me, and I realized that I’d uttered my private thoughts aloud.
My stomach fell. So much for not sounding too eager on the first day.
Perhaps I’d be lucky, and the discussion would move on if someone else chimed in. But the silence only grew.
“By all means, sir, in the back row, enlighten us,” the disembodied voice said, a hint of annoyance bleeding through.
Mortified, I cleared my throat, keeping my voice deep. In for a penny, in for a pound, then. “Calculus might be more elegant, but a geometrical method could prove to be more rigorous for any kind of mathematical proof. One could debate the merits of either, but both solutions are valid.”
“Well said,” someone to my right observed, and I smiled gratefully in their direction, then I cursed at myself for smiling at all—boys hardly sought approval.
“Advancement in the knowledge of mathematics and the understanding of astronomy and mechanics is limited with the Euclidian method,” the first voice countered.
“Perhaps,” I replied. “But that doesn’t negate the value of classical constructions.”
“Point taken,” the leader said, his voice sounding closer than before, as if people in front of me had cleared a path. “Who are you, sir? Introduce yourself.”
Horrified, I shrank into my seat, wishing I’d kept my stupid mouth shut, but then the crowd in front of me shifted as if by magic, and any rational thought deserted me completely as my dismayed stare landed on the most beautiful face I’d ever seen.
Goodness, speaking of the classics, this boy could be Adonis in the flesh.
And I’d seen plenty of good-looking gentlemen.
My throat dried as my bemused gaze collided with a pair of intense blue eyes the color of lapis lazuli gemstones, surrounded by warm russet-brown skin.
I’d never seen eyes that color—like a glassy lake shot through with splashes of sunshine on a summer day.
His face was square with a strong chin and a bold nose, offset by full lips that were currently pulled into a grimace as he observed me.
A wave of the thick brown hair I’d glimpsed before slid into his brow when that fascinating gaze flashed and darkened… with recognition.
Oh no.
“Lord Ansel,” he drawled, making my heart sink precariously even as a part of me cheered that my disguise was convincing enough.
Honestly, what were the chances I’d be tested so sorely on my first day?
“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at St. John’s knee-deep in classical philosophy?
If I recall, that was your field of study. ”
I gulped, feeling my face heat despite my internal dictates for it to remain calm. “Er, I…transferred.”
Whispers buzzed through the room like a swarm of gnats. “That’s uncommon,” someone remarked from my left side as one behind me barked, “A spy in our midst,” while another muttered, “Deuced nob.”
I didn’t understand the second comment, though it stank of some hidden rivalry, but the last was correct, and I grabbed on to it like a lifeline.
I was an aristocrat—I answered to no one.
Channeling every titled male of my acquaintance, I lifted a haughty brow, smirked, and slouched back into the sofa cushions.
“What’s it to you? I am a peer. My interests have changed, and I can do as I please. Who are you to question why I am here?”
A few murmurs rose out of that, naturally from the other nobles in the room and the sycophants who wanted to cozy up to them.
There might be an underlying intercollege rivalry, but the aristocracy superseded all.
I leaned in hard to that innate privilege, despite the self-disgust brewing in my gut.
I deplored class distinctions and anyone who thought they were automatically better through a fortunate circumstance of birth.
A mocking smile that did not reach his eyes curled his lip. “We’ve met, but perhaps you do not remember. It was during a rowing competition on the River Cam some years ago.” His expression grew arctic. “You toppled me into the river.”
Dismayed, I stared at him, wondering what would have possessed Ansel to do such a thing but leaving my expression blank. Those nearest us stared in rapt attention. “Did you deserve it?”
“You certainly seemed to think so.”
I snorted. “Well, then, perhaps the act was justified. Shall we be gentlemen and let bygones be bygones?” I stood and stuck out a palm, tilting my neck to hold his gaze, considering he was several inches taller than me. “Mr…. ?”
“St. Clair,” he said, his smile growing teeth as his hand grasped mine hard, nearly causing me to wince as the name fully registered. “Your tutor for this term.”