Chapter Nine #2
I was almost tempted to ruin the moment with contempt or disdain, to bring my prior tutor back—because at least if he loathed me or mistrusted me, I could keep him at a safe arm’s length.
And then I could convince myself I didn’t need to earn any of those riveting dimpled smiles or desire his sincere claims of gratitude.
He’s your tutor, nothing more!
“What about you?” I blurted, hoping to distract myself.
“Why did you choose to study mathematics at Trinity College? I know you said that there were more potential opportunities as a Fellow, but surely you had some interest in the field before that.” I coughed.
“You’re ridiculously astute on the subject. ”
That bright gaze collided with mine, conflicting emotions ebbing and flowing in it, and for a moment, I thought I had snapped the tenuous bonds of our friendship, but then he shrugged one shoulder.
“I was originally the recipient of a small scholarship to St. John’s.
My father worked at a gaming hell in Paris, and the owner of the club there, his brother-in-law and my uncle, was a transplanted Englishman, a former subsizar of St. John’s himself. ”
“Your uncle went here?”
“He earned a fellowship after years of study and taught Latin at St. John’s College for a time before joining my parents in Paris to strike out on a new business venture.”
“So, you’re French?” I asked.
“Half, yes,” he replied. “My mother was born in England, though she lived with my father in Montmartre until she died of consumption. My father passed not too long after.” He smiled fondly, his eyes glossing at the memory.
“My parents might not have had much, and our apartment was little more than an attic, but they were a love match. He always knew he would follow when she departed this earth. They were les ames soeurs, as he used to say. Soulmates.” He let out a low and embarrassed laugh, a faint flush dispersing across his cheekbones. “Now who’s a romantic?”
It was a reference to the time we’d spoken of Herschel, when I waxed poetic about the gravitational movement of the stars.
My heart clenched, a strange yearning rising in my throat.
Did he want to follow in his parents’ footsteps, too, and fall in love with someone who was his perfect match? Find his ame soeur?
This was one of the times when I wished I could have been here as myself—that he could see the true me.
Then I could let my admiration and esteem for him show…
and perhaps even have those feelings returned.
My throat tightened with an impossible ache for a dream that could never be.
There was no way I could admit who I really was.
So, for now, my affections would be wholly unrequited.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said quietly.
His mouth creased. “It was a long time ago, but thank you.”
“Did you grow up in Paris, then?” I asked, curious to learn more about him and enjoying this glimpse behind his usually impenetrable, aloof facade.
His eyes lost some of their melancholy. “Until I was sixteen. I attended a lycée where I learned Greek, Latin, philosophy, science, and mathematics. At St. John’s, I discovered I had a particular aptitude for the latter and found myself at Trinity.
Mr. Peacock expressed a decided interest in me after I completed the Mathematical Tripos in second place. ”
That reminded me of my conversation with James. His remarks about St. Clair not succeeding on his own coattails didn’t quite ring true. “Are you friends with Sir James Lowry?”
Distaste ran over his face. “Why do you ask?”
“He said he took the Tripos in the same year as you. It’s interesting that you both ended up here from St. John’s. Did Mr. Peacock invite him to Trinity as well?”
“Not exactly.” St. Clair’s mouth went tight but then he shook his head. “Look, Roz, keep your wits sharp around him.”
“What do you mean?”
A muscle flexed in his jaw, and St. Clair pushed the book in front of him over to me.
“He will do anything to get ahead.” He cleared his throat.
“But we are not here to gossip, and I don’t wish to speak out of turn.
Let’s get back to your studies. Can you identify another mathematician who challenges or expands on Newton’s theories? ”
I frowned at the abrupt turnabout. There was obviously some history there, as James hadn’t been charitable in his remarks about St. Clair either. Competition between boys could be just as bad as between girls…or even worse, it seemed.
I shook my head to clear it and refocused on Newton. “Yes. I once read the work of a Frenchwoman named émilie du Chatelet, who expanded on some theories of Principia. She commented upon and clarified several of Newton’s principles in her own words, which made a lot more sense to me.”
He nodded. “Ah, Voltaire’s mistress.”
I huffed. “Why does every woman need to be in the shadow of some male? Shouldn’t she be known in her own right as a scholar and mathematician?”
“I hardly think she stood in his shadow,” he said, his eyes flashing with something like admiration.
“She was a brilliant mathematician, and Institutions de Physique was an excellent book. And you’re right, her understanding of Newton’s mechanics was unparalleled.
” He grinned at my instant mollification.
“I only mentioned Voltaire because he once called her ‘a great man whose only fault was being a woman.’ ”
“That we can agree upon, though shouldn’t she be great in her own right despite her sex?
The mind has no discernible sexual identity.
It simply is…before it becomes distorted by social rules and expectation.
A superior path for men, a lesser one for women.
It’s conditioned behavior, shaped by morality and ethics, when it should be shaped by caliber,” I said the last word with such fervent bitterness that he cocked his head, eyes huge.
“You seem very passionate about the subject.”
I wondered how much I could say without giving myself away. There was a line between advocating for my principles and drawing too much interest that might not bode well for me. St. Clair was nothing if not keenly perceptive.
On the one hand, he could also be a man who thought a woman’s place was at home, though on the other, I suspected he was someone who might value, or even share, my provocative opinions, since he seemed intrigued, not outraged.
Most gentlemen would be scandalized at the mere suggestion that women, God forbid, might be deserving of the same education as them.
“I am,” I said slowly. “My cousin Lady Rosalin and I used to have lively discussions about geometry and celestial calculations, until her focus became securing a good marriage by being the type of girl society expects her to be as an heiress. Arguably, if it were truly a question of aptitude, she would be here, not me.”
“Does she enjoy science or mathematics, then?”
“Categorically adores them,” I replied. “She used to solve all the mathematical puzzles in the weekly periodicals and does nautical calculations in her spare time for fun. She would thrive in a place like this. Perhaps one day, women will be allowed to study here, though I suspect it won’t be in our lifetimes.
” I waited with bated breath for his reply, knowing it would shape everything I felt about him.
He could be the most handsome, cleverest man in all of creation, but if he turned out to be a bigot, it was something I would never be able to abide.
“Sooner rather than later, I hope,” he said, and I nearly let out an audible sigh.
“It is an irregular opinion, but I, too, believe that the mind is molded from birth and is nurtured by the environment that surrounds it. Beyond the anatomical size difference, when a world is divided by the sexes, it’s a foregone conclusion that the brain will be, too.
” His expression was energized. “To make up for my insensitive comment about émilie earlier, did you know that her father recognized her genius at age ten and arranged for private astronomy lessons? He, a French peer, chose to nurture her brilliance.”
He waved an arm between us, pointing to himself and then to me.
“You and I are given these opportunities by default of being male, ones that some willingly squander, while mothers, daughters, and sisters must unfairly languish in a future that has been charted for them. They don’t have open-minded fathers like émilie’s.
The brain is elastic and pliable, and hungry to learn, regardless of sex. It absorbs what we choose to feed it.”
My jaw nearly dropped in stupefaction. By God, he was mesmerizing, his wise words falling from his lips like love sonnets.
In all the years I’d been out in society, I had never heard a man speak so sincerely about equality between the sexes, especially as it related to intelligence or skill.
It was as though the sentiments had been snatched straight from the depths of my own soul.
“Precisely,” I breathed.
“Give a girl a telescope, and she’ll discover the world.”
In the future, if I ever looked back as a grown woman, this was perhaps the exact moment I think I fell irrevocably in love with Tarik St. Clair.
“Or have her build it herself,” I said, and then swallowed past a lump the size of London when his eyes caught and held mine, and the butterflies in my chest exploded.
“Yes,” he agreed. “Is that why you’ve become intrigued by astronomy, and you’re interested in building one?” he asked insightfully. “For her. Your cousin?”
For a moment, I’d completely forgotten I wasn’t Rosalin. “Partly, yes.”
“Another surprising discovery about you, Lord Ansel,” he said with a shake of his head.
“That’s rather selfless and generous. It’s why you changed colleges, isn’t it?
I must admit I wondered what could have been a catalyst for such a move.
I unfairly assumed you had been forced into rustication from St. John’s and convinced your powerful uncle to enroll you elsewhere to finish the term.
” After a beat, he stuck his hand out over the surface between us, expression solemn.
“You were right all along—and I was in the wrong. I didn’t know you, and I didn’t give myself the chance to get to know you. May I ask your forgiveness?”
I clasped his hand, trying not to shiver at the indelicate rasp of his smooth, bare skin against mine. My pulse streamed.
You’re Ansel, you’re Ansel, you’re Ansel, I chanted to myself.
I gripped extra hard, shook like my life depended on it, and then dropped his warm, calloused palm. He didn’t have the soft hands of a nobleman; they were rough to the touch…hands that told a story of a hard worker.
“Forgiven and forgotten.” I forced a jovial expression to my face. “So, what does the great Mr. St. Clair intend to do with his life? Do you plan to become an academic Fellow like your uncle? Terrorize, I mean influence, the malleable young mathematical minds of the future?”
He laughed. “The easy answer is yes, but I suppose it would be ungracious if I wasn’t as honest as you’ve just been,” he said.
His cheeks reddened, and my curiosity spiked when he took a few more minutes to form his reply, seeming unusually shy.
“The more complicated secret answer is that I wish to open my own exclusive social club.”
Lips parting, I blinked at him. That was…not what I’d been expecting.
He paused, folding his lips between his teeth, those flags of color on his cheeks darkening as he shifted in his seat.
I’d expected him to say something along the lines of specialized mathematical research or that he was developing some fantastic secret invention or writing his own version of Principia.
Not that a social club wasn’t an intriguing or impressive idea, but they were a dime a dozen.
Most men’s clubs promoted idleness and indolence where aristocratic or wealthy gentlemen lauded themselves on how smart and wonderful they were.
It was frankly…disappointing.
“Go on,” I told him. “Tell me more.”
A tiny frown marred his brow at the baffled expression I couldn’t quite hide, but then he sat forward with purpose.
“It wouldn’t be just social, but academic also, with meeting rooms for philosophical societies or national organizations for scientific disciplines and the like.
And it would include both men and women.
There’ll be salons for theoretical and speculative discussions, a full library, exquisite food with a French chef, as well as spaces for leisure and entertainment, including exclusive card rooms with high-stakes gaming. ”
Well, that changed things. The idea was both brilliant and provocative.
“Women, too?” I asked, surprised.
His smile grew wider. “Why not? Women bring a unique perspective to the world. Perhaps if I am ever successful, you can invite your cousin. She would be able to participate in intellectual discussions in whatever manner she wished.”
My brows lifted, though my pulse started to hum an excited rhythm. “But it’s not the done thing.”
“Perhaps it’s time for a change, then,” he said with a shrug.
“What’s the point of not being bold, of not breaking with tradition?
The worst that can happen from reaching too high is that I fail.
” He glanced at me with a wry look. “Then again, unless I can attract enough investors, I fear my idea won’t get off the ground at all. ”
“Investors?” I asked.
“Opening a social club, and one with such unique requirements as the one I intend to build, will take lots of money. Alas, I’m not a rich man nor an aristocrat who has the ears of such people.”
I stared at him, a marvelous idea forming. “But I am,” I said slowly.
“You are what?”
My smile was so wide my cheeks ached. “Hear me out.”