Chapter Five
A centripetal force is that by which bodies are drawn or impelled, or any way tend, towards a point as to a center.
—Isaac Newton
My stone-faced tutor narrowed his eyes in suspicion, his gaze dropping to the book on the table between us and then rising up to my face. “You read the entire thing? In three days?”
Staring back with a neutral expression, though my head felt as befuddled as it usually did in close proximity to him, I nodded.
One would think I’d be used to his beauty by now, but every time I saw him, his extraordinary looks were like a punch to my lungs.
I couldn’t help thinking that today he resembled a fairy prince from some fictional realm, though he obviously harbored the heart of a villain.
Beauty is but skin-deep, I reminded myself.
Jaw clenching, I tried to knock some sense into my brain. “Yes, but to be perfectly honest with you, I have read it before, so it was familiar.”
“And?” he prompted after a beat, and stared at me…
at my upper lip, to be precise, and narrowed as if something there had confounded him.
Skin heating uncomfortably, I pretended to adjust my spectacles as a bead of perspiration rolled down my spine.
His gaze was too intense, too perceptive.
Had I applied my false facial hair properly this morning?
The adhesive paste could also become unreliable with damp, sweaty skin.
Scrunching my nose because of my suddenly tickling mustache, I blinked awkwardly at him. “And what?”
He released an exasperated breath. “What is your opinion on Newton’s findings? Surely you have some original thought in that vainglorious head of yours?” He scoffed. “Or are you just like every other spoiled toff here—a waste of resources and opportunity?”
I frowned at the unexpected attack on my character. Well, on Ansel’s character, though my tutor’s hostility was also squarely on me at this point, after our last interaction in the dining room. “You don’t like me very much, do you, Mr. St. Clair?” I asked.
Surprise flickered over his face before it was hidden. Perhaps he had expected me to react badly…like the overindulged noble he’d accused me of being.
“I think life has been handed to you,” he replied carefully.
Will and the others were right—he could make my life difficult in terms of workload or academic expectations, but as a peer, I would always hold more power than him, simply by being a lord and a duke’s nephew in everyone’s eyes.
The dichotomy in our positions was clear, though arguably, we were both scholars here for the same purpose: to gain an education and challenge our minds.
I had to do something to stop this chasm from becoming unbridgeable.
“You cannot fault me for being born into privilege, just as I should not judge you by your own status or origin,” I said evenly.
“And if I have wronged you in the past on account of either, then I am sorry.” Not knowing all the details of what had transpired between Ansel and him, I struggled to find words that might set us on a sounder path.
“People can change, if you give them a chance.”
“You’ve changed?” he bit out acidly. “Lord Ansel Chen, whose idea of sport was to direct a scout to spy and steal on his behalf? Whose notion of amusement was to pilfer weeks of important research that didn’t belong to him for his own gratification?
You almost cost me my position at St. John’s when we were both there!
Or have you forgotten because it was so inconsequential to you? ”
Stunned speechless, I balked at the accusations.
My cousin wasn’t a thief. I knew that in my very soul.
Ansel might be arrogant, but he would never take someone’s work, or worse, take advantage of a humble, innocent subsizar.
Neither of us was raised like that—my parents could not abide by the ill-treatment or exploitation of anyone in service.
Thus far, more out of a healthy fear of discovery, I’d avoided my own scout.
But in truth, he was the only reason I hadn’t missed this meeting, knocking loudly earlier on my door, which I hadn’t opened because Rosalin had been the one to tumble out of bed and not Fake Ansel.
The carriage ride back from London had been hard and taken longer than usual because of the poor weather, and desperate to finish my skimming of Opticks, I’d fallen asleep the moment my head had hit my lumpy pillow.
At the thought of sleep, I suppressed an untimely yawn that rose from nowhere, but caught my tutor sneering at me, disdain sparking in those frosty lapis lazuli eyes.
“Is all of this so boring, my lord?” St. Clair snapped, venom in the address. “That you cannot even bring yourself to feel remorse for nearly ruining someone’s life?”
“Of course not, but I am exhausted from being up all night reading,” I replied somewhat calmly, though his scathing tone made me bristle.
“I truly have no idea what you’re talking about.
Ans…I would never purposefully harm another student.
” Thankfully, I caught the near slip of referring to myself in the third person.
“Are you saying you didn’t sabotage my notes and chances for the Tripos at St. John’s?”
My sluggish mind ticked over. I’d have to write Ansel—he was in Italy when he posted his last letter—and hope that my reply found him, or I’d have to talk to Blake and see if he knew anything, though the conversation would be trickier with the latter if my secret was to remain a secret.
I trusted Ansel with my life, but Blake adored gossip.
“No, I did not,” I said eventually, putting faith in my cousin even though it could be misplaced. But Ansel wasn’t cruel, and that I knew with every bone in my body.
Somehow, I had to get to the bottom of this if I had any hope of a congenial relationship with my tutor, whose eyes flashed with disbelief before turning speculative.
“I am not sure I believe you weren’t involved, when it was your scout whom I saw loitering outside my rooms,” he said. “Though admittedly your shock and sincerity seem convincing.”
“I am sincere, St. Clair. I swear this much to you.” A belated thought occurred to me.
“Scouts are sometimes shared, and there’s also the possibility that mine might have been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I will investigate this. I can also assure you that the person I am now is not who I was then. ”
In every possible way.
I was a girl, and Ansel would not be having these confusing feelings for his tutor.
My cheeks warmed when my eyes lifted to his, and I cursed my fair complexion, though St. Clair was more focused on the book in front of him than on the unfortunate timing of my blush. “Were you…we ever friends?” I blurted.
After a lengthy pause, an incredulous laugh burst from him. “No, Lord Ansel. You and your set would not deign to befriend a mere subsizar.”
A knot formed in my throat at that, though James had alluded to the same, as if the menial position were something to be maligned.
St. Clair obviously wasn’t a subsizar now, but he had worked hard to get where he was…
earned the title of Wrangler and was on track to become a Fellow of Trinity College.
Much like Newton, the accomplishment was impressive.
If St. Clair’s standing had been threatened by my cousin’s perceived actions, no wonder he was so antagonistic toward me.
“What made you switch to Trinity?” I asked, hoping it wasn’t an odd question but curious about James’s claims.
One shoulder lifted in a shrug. “After completing my degree in natural philosophy, there was more opportunity to become a Fellow in the field of mathematics.”
“Just like that?” I asked. Most academics excelled in one subject or another, but Tarik St. Clair seemed to be the exception to the rule. My wayward fascination with him grew yet again. This boy had intelligence in spades.
“Not at all. I had to apply with special approval. Everything requires hard work, Lord Ansel. We are not all related to dukes.” Obviously, he was referring to my own sudden transfer, but there was less heat in his words.
“Roz,” I said softly. “Call me Roz.”
“We are still not friends, Lord Ansel, and I’d prefer to keep our interactions professional,” he said after a beat. “You’ll forgive me if I am somewhat wary given what”—he paused, staring at me with an unreadable expression—“allegedly happened in the past.”
That was a start at least…
Clearly, I had to earn his trust.
Nodding, I offered him a small smile and then focused my attention on Opticks.
I thumbed to the pages featuring Proposition VIII, which included Newton’s experiments to shorten telescopes, and cleared my throat.
“I particularly liked his proofs on using mirrored convex lenses to sharpen the colors, with the aperture pointing to a small prism, and his thoughts that the aperture had to be proportionate with the length of the tube to properly magnify the object at rest.” My voice became less stiff as I discussed the subject. “To perfect clarity and luminosity.”
St. Clair’s eyes lit with approval. “Correct. He argued that the different refrangibility of light rays was the true cause of imperfect images.”
I nodded. “Yes, that’s the degree to which light refracts when passed through an object.
And his subsequent proofs showed that varying the lengths of telescopes would help with magnification,” I said, pleased that he knew exactly what I was talking about.
My heart quickened in my chest. “He asserted that the apertures had to correspond with the square root of the length,” I added excitedly.
His lips curled slightly upward into what could almost pass for a smile at my enthusiasm, and I sucked in a breath at how it transformed his entire face from something stern and taciturn into something much softer.
He was already unfairly handsome, but gracious, what would he look like with a full grin, completely relaxed and happy?