Chapter Four
Oh, Diamond! Diamond! Thou little knowest what mischief thou hast done!
—Isaac Newton
Curse this deuced cravat!
Divesting myself of all my garments, including the blasted garrote of a neckcloth and the troublesome, badly fitting eyeglasses that transformed me into Lord Ansel Chen, I sank into the bathtub in my chambers at Delmont Park with a loud, happy sigh.
While I loved being at Trinity College in my tiny room and living the true life of a university student, washing in a basin with cold water was not ideal.
And despite having a chamberpot in my quarters, I’d been properly horrified at the idea of relieving myself in the public privies.
That would never happen.
I sighed again as my parched skin soaked up the unscented water like a desiccated sponge.
I’d had to forego my usual rose-scented soap, but that was a small sacrifice.
Though I washed myself properly every day, nothing could compare to a long, hot soak.
I recognized the privilege for what it was, and for once was deeply grateful for my station and the luxuries it afforded me.
Anna massaged her fingers into my scalp as she lathered my long hair with the soap my cousin usually used, which smelled of lemon and bergamot.
My waist-length tresses hadn’t been properly washed for days, and considering they had been tucked up under a wig and then under a hat, it was a wonder they weren’t more of a snarly, smelly mess.
The relief of not having the tightness of the wig pressing onto my skull felt glorious.
“How was your first week?” Anna asked quietly, with an eye on the other maids bustling about my chamber. “I still cannot believe no one recognized you or knew you were a lady.” Her hushed voice sounded scandalized.
Though she was part of the subterfuge, she hadn’t been shy in sharing her worry for me…
and for what the possibility of discovery could do to my reputation as well as her position in my father’s household, should he find out she’d been complicit in my scheme.
But he would not find out, and even if he did, I would make sure that Anna was free of any blame.
“Neither can I,” I replied, and then stared grimly at the heavy book resting on the chair near the armoire.
Normally, I would be thrilled at the prospect of official study, but there was no chance of anyone getting through that entire tome in three days.
St. Clair wanted to humble me; I was sure of it.
I exhaled and felt the start of a headache.
“I suppose it went as well as could be expected—I have a ridiculous amount of reading to complete before the start of next week. An entire book, in fact.”
“Good thing you love reading, my lady.”
I grimaced. “This, unfortunately, is more of a punishment. I fear I didn’t start off on the right foot with my tutor.”
“How so?” she asked.
I sighed. “Apparently, he had an altercation with Ansel in the past, so he already does not esteem me. I fear we are bound to be enemies, which does not bode well for my plans.”
“You can charm anyone, my lady. You are Lady Rosalin, not your cousin. Perhaps, remember that when you feel discouraged—this might all be a ruse where you look like him, but you are not him. You’re you. Smart, brilliant, and capable, but also considerate and kind.”
“Thank you, Anna,” I said, buoyed by her words and the wise reminder that I wasn’t Ansel, and though I was walking in his shoes, the choices I made were all mine.
“Speaking of being charming, the duchess sent a messenger yesterday, and she expects you in London by this evening,” she said, carefully pouring a pitcher of water over my head to rinse the suds away.
I groaned aloud. After my first week at Cambridge, I’d much rather curl up in my bed and get a head start on my reading than put on a pleasant face to try to catch a husband. The mere thought of it was exhausting. “Perhaps I can say that I’m ill.”
“The Duchess of Harbridge’s ball is important, and your presence will certainly be missed.
Your mother will be very disappointed.” Anna wrapped a length of toweling around my wet locks and squeezed gently.
“And Her Grace might curtail your visits to Delmont Park, if you go back on your word to be present for the season.”
“Very well,” I said, knowing my mother was single-minded enough to do just that and thwart all my carefully laid plans. “Instruct the cook to prepare a basket of food for us, and Henry to ready the carriage. I suppose I can read on the way.”
Not willing to squander the opportunity in my lap, I would make the best of things. Six hours of being cooped up in a carriage meant a stretch of uninterrupted study time. I’d have to learn to manage my reading load as well as my mother’s machinations for the season…or this arrangement would fail.
Shortly after I finished my bath and dressed, we were ensconced in the carriage on the way to London.
I held the worn volume of Opticks: or, A Treatise of the Reflections, Refractions, Inflections and Colours of Light by Sir Isaac Newton in my hand and traced the lettering on the front cover.
It was an older edition, but it appeared exceedingly well cared for.
There were lightly penciled notes in the margins.
I wondered if they belonged to St. Clair.
The lettering was precise and bold, the notes encapsulating different calculations as well as general observations.
A strange thrill wound through me at the notion of our ideas and opinions intersecting…
or better yet, clashing. I blinked and scowled at myself.
This absurd, fabricated rivalry I had with my tutor had to stop.
I thumbed through the pages, stopping at one of my favorite chapters.
In all honesty, I’d read the book before, though it was some years ago—my father had a first edition in our library at Delmont Park, and I’d adored reading about Newton’s prism and lens experiments, particularly about the refraction of white light into multiple visible colors.
Some of the concepts were familiar; others were vague, because I had only paid attention to the sections that had interested me.
Like his telescopes.
Older telescopes used glass lenses, which impacted how colors could be seen, and the resulting images were fuzzy and out-of-focus.
In truth, Newton’s brilliant design incorporated mirrors instead of glass lenses, which reflected the image back to the eye.
It fascinated me that his first instrument, built in 1668, was a mere six inches long…
almost ten times smaller than those of this century.
“That looks like it would give you a headache,” Anna remarked from her side of the coach, making me jump. Her brow wrinkled at some of the diagrams.
I smiled and tapped the top of the leather spine. “It’s an interesting book. I forgot how much I enjoyed it. Well, parts of it anyway.”
“And you’re reading it again?” she asked with a horrified expression. “For fun?”
“As a refresher,” I said, lips twitching at her reaction. “When you see the colors of the rainbow up in the sky after a rainstorm, it’s because of Newton’s experiments that we know they come from white light or sunlight.”
“How did he do them?” she asked, curious.
I warmed to my subject. “Via prisms and refracting a beam of light. In the old days, Aristotle and other philosophers thought that the different colors—red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet—came from both light and darkness, from black and white, or from some effect of the rain on the rays of the sun. This author proved that they were all white light when he refracted them back into another prism and sunlight emerged.”
“Fascinating,” Anna said. “But all that numerical text and those calculations must be boring. Words are so much better, in my opinion. A sonnet is more relaxing than numbers.”
“That’s because you have the soul of a poet. Sums are not boring at all. I find them quite fun. I suppose I have the soul of a mathematician.”
Her repulsed expression made me giggle. “Honestly, my lady, no wonder no suitors ever meet your expectations if this is the kind of diversion you call fun.”
“Would you rather I spend these hours perfecting my needlepoint?” I replied, feeling the urge to defend my passion. “Hours upon hours punching holes into fabric, not to mention flesh, in my case. How tiresome! I’d much rather stretch the muscles of my brain and learn something new.”
“You could enjoy the colors of the rainbow in your fashion or coiffure. They’re pretty to look at, and that’s all that matters, at least for a lady of your station. Who needs to know where the colors came from?”
“I do,” I replied. “I savor knowing how things work, and besides, many men and women are employed as scientists and engineers based on this man’s theories.”
Anna sniffed and stared pointedly at my plain navy traveling costume. “Perhaps if you also focused on wearing those bright hues, you might have more success with attracting a suitor.”
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing? You know I prefer dark colors.”
This was a bone of contention between my mother and me. It was currently de rigueur to wear Turkey red and saffron yellow, but I despised loud shades. Though the king’s death had been sorrowful, I rather enjoyed the reprieve of wearing somber colors. It’d been a blessing in disguise.
However, a return to the season hadn’t stopped my mother from commissioning dozens of gowns in colors that were designed to make me stand out like a peacock on display.
Fortunately, I’d been able to sneak orders with Madame Marchand for a few other dresses in some more muted colors. Leave the posturing to actual peacocks…