Chapter Sixteen
Errors are not in the art, but in the artificers.
—Isaac Newton
A very, very cross Anna had scolded me ferociously, once to make sure I didn’t ruin my gown for the evening after her painstaking efforts to get me ready for the ball, and then again, when I told her that she had to remain behind and not accompany me on whatever secret adventure Tarik was planning.
She still hadn’t forgiven me for the last time I’d slipped away to go to Covent Garden with said young man without a proper chaperone, especially when she’d caught me red-handed, sneaking back into my room.
“I don’t like this one bit,” she’d said under her breath so the other maids couldn’t overhear our conversation.
“I’ll be careful, I swear, and Henry will be driving me there,” I’d replied. “If Mama asks, tell her I’m helping Lady Ela with an emergency.”
She’d scowled. “I don’t like lying to the duchess, my lady. And you know what will happen if you get caught. A march to the altar will be the least of your worries. Don’t you think you’ve taunted fate enough?”
“We won’t get caught, and I’ll be back in time.”
I hoped.
But as Henry ferried me to the address on the piece of paper Tarik had instructed me to give to him, my nerves were hard to contain.
Henry had informed me that it would take about forty minutes to reach the destination.
While we drove, I switched out my beaded dancing slippers that had been dyed to match my gown with the ankle boots I’d carried in a satchel, since I had no idea where we were going.
At first, I’d thought it was Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens, which had given me a wicked thrill, but we weren’t heading south of Mayfair, more to the east. Thankfully, I’d brought my cloak with a deep hood, if I needed to conceal myself for any reason. A girl had to be prepared.
As the journey continued, I stroked the soft silk folds of my dress, willing them to stay wrinkle free.
I wouldn’t hear the end of it from Anna if she saw a single crease in the pale lilac fabric.
The dress was embroidered with cream-and-gold flowers along the bodice and the hem, with a pearl-and-amethyst beaded strip across the waistline, and accompanied by elegant elbow-length cream gloves that covered my arms. My hair had been intricately wound and pinned with silk flowers, and a circle of jeweled amethyst and pearl clusters attached to the ebony strands.
Anna had scolded me to keep my coiffure in place, too, or else…
I snorted. My lady’s maid could be rather bossy sometimes.
Dappled late-afternoon daylight glimmered through the coach windows, but by the time we arrived, the twilight would already be creeping in.
I wasn’t afraid—Henry was an excellent shot and could thwart any potential highwaymen—but my pulse still raced with a combination of exhilaration and apprehension.
I peered out the window when the wheels finally started to slow, and sucked in a breath at the sight of the sprawling brick buildings with their multi-domed roofline.
My heart stilled and then sped up.
Goodness, he didn’t…
But clearly, astonishingly, Tarik had.
I disembarked outside the Royal Observatory, and there he was, waiting at the entrance in his formal wear for the ball later this evening, looking so achingly handsome that he stole my breath clear from my lungs.
For a moment, I forgot about where we were and only stared at him, like he was the center of my universe.
His jaw slackened as he took in my countenance, his gaze dropping from the jewels glinting in my hair to the soft folds of my gown and climbing back up. “You are,”—he choked in a dazed tone—“by the stars above, you’re the loveliest girl I’ve ever seen.”
“Thank you,” I said, cheeks warming at the smitten expression on his face. “You look nice, too.”
Nice was too banal of a word to describe how incredibly dashing he looked in his raven-black evening wear, with his snowy-white shirt and cravat, and a navy, silver-threaded waistcoat that resembled the night sky speckled with stars.
His tousled, dark waves, which I now knew were indescribably soft, blew in the slight breeze, and his eyes sparkled like backlit sapphires.
Finally, I found my tongue, which had found itself glued to the roof of my mouth. “What are we doing here?”
“It’s a surprise,” he said, offering his arm to me as he led us through the doors. “Come on. We are on a strict schedule.”
I frowned. “It’s a research facility. Visitors aren’t allowed inside.”
“There are always exceptions,” he said quietly, leading us toward a somber-faced man who stood some length away. “I want to introduce you to someone. Mr. Pond, this is Lady Rosalin Chen, the Duke of Delmont’s daughter. Lady Rosalin, may I present Mr. Pond, the Astronomer Royal.”
I only kept my mouth from falling open in sheer awe with effort. “Mr. Pond, it’s an honor.”
He smiled. “The honor is mine, my lady. Mr. St. Clair tells me that you have an amateur interest in astronomy,” he said, and my gaze shot to Tarik, who nodded encouragingly.
A part of me knew that news of my spontaneous visit might get back to my parents, but I didn’t care. I’d deal with it if it did.
“I do,” I said breathlessly. “One day I hope to catalogue stars and comets like Caroline Herschel.”
“Remarkable woman just like her brother,” he said with a nod, and ushered us toward a narrow corridor. “I shall leave you in Mr. St. Clair’s capable hands.”
“Thank you, sir,” Tarik said.
With a smart bow, Mr. Pond took his leave, presumably to continue the work that was going on in the observatory to chart and track celestial data for timekeeping and navigation.
Just because we were here didn’t mean the scientists stopped what they were doing—their celestial-measurement efforts were too important to the navy and maritime navigation.
I was very aware that we were intruding in a space not designed for ordinary citizens.
Dumbfounded, I stared at Tarik when he took my arm once more to lead me in the direction the Astronomer Royal had indicated. “How did you do this?” I whispered. “John Pond is notoriously reserved in his dealings with the public and purported to have a temper.”
“My mentor and one of the Fellows at Trinity, Mr. Peacock, arranged it via a letter of introduction at my request,” he replied softly.
“Why?” I asked.
“You know why,” he said. “For you. This is your dream. You helped me find mine, and I wanted to help you discover yours.”
I swear to God I nearly melted. My mouth opened and closed as I stumbled, my knees going inexplicably weak at the sheer sweetness of him. “Tarik, I…”
“Thank me tonight,” he said with a grin and a swift kiss to my temple. “We’re late!”
We hurried through the building, though not so fast that I couldn’t take in all the charts and instruments that were used for measuring positional astronomy in the different rooms. The building was dimly lit with a minimum of light, the stone walls covered in maps, logs, clocks, and star charts.
We stopped to stare in utter amazement at the Troughton Transit Instrument, which was a large brass-and-steel telescope permanently mounted upon a stone pier that had been built four years ago.
It was used to measure and track stars crossing the meridian line, in order to determine Greenwich Mean Time.
Since the astronomers were already actively working in silence, Tarik and I only observed, but still, it was astounding to watch history being recorded.
“This way,” Tarik said, herding me in another direction to climb the steps to a nearby tower.
The scents of oil and ink filled my nostrils as we entered a room with a seven-foot reflecting telescope, similar to the ones William Herschel had designed, its long brass tube resting on a stone pier.
I exhaled, noticing there was only one scientist in here, standing near a large refracting telescope.
He spotted our arrival and beckoned us over.
I blinked and stared at Tarik with wide eyes, hope exploding in my chest at the chance of possibly looking through the viewfinder. “Could we…?”
He winked, his lips curling into a knowing smirk. “Anything you wish, chérie.”
“Mr. St. Clair, my lady,” the man said bowing and canting his head. “I am Alec Biggs, at your service. Mr. Pond asked me to assist you this evening. Welcome.”
He accompanied us around the room and then indicated the large mural quadrant with a set of wooden steps beside it that took up nearly the entirety of one wall with its large triangular brass frame.
“This is used to track and trace the stars, noting infinitesimal movements with precision. It’s how we create the navigational maps for nautical use. ”
“That is amazing,” I said breathily.
He pointed out celestial star maps that had been meticulously drawn that hung on the far wall before returning to the instrument he’d been standing beside when we had arrived.
“This is a Dollond refracting telescope used for planetary, lunar, and double-star observations. The lenses are five inches in aperture. The mount here is clock-driven so we can track the movement of the stars across the cosmos.”
I listened in rapture. “May we look, Mr. Biggs?”
He pointed to the viewfinder. “Please, go ahead. It’s currently positioned to Jupiter.”
Jupiter! Practically vibrating with excitement, I put my eye to the lens.
After waiting for my vision to get used to the aperture, and gently adjusting the focus, I gasped at the horizontal grayish bands on the surface of the spherical planet as well as its four moons, three on one side and one on the other.
“Oh my God, it’s incredible. Tarik, you must see this. ”