Chapter Thirteen
The science salon arrived two days later.
Preparation had brought the drawing room to life.
Other than the velvet drapes and gilded candelabra on the mantel, the room had been transformed.
A small table bearing the brass microscope was placed where the morning light would strike it.
Seashells Nora had collected from English shores as well as those her father had given her from his vast travels were artfully displayed on other tables.
She’d even added other items from her father, a small starfish, a fossil and the delicate skeleton of a seahorse, it’s curled tail still preserved, in a curiosity cabinet in the corner of the room.
For the fifth time, Nora moved the largest shell, a giant spider conch from the Indian Ocean her father had traded for, to a different table. Her nerves were tense. Would the ladies enjoy a science salon or hate it?
The scrape of footsteps sounded outside before Ralston stepped into the room. He glanced about, his eyes resting on the microscope then the shells on display.
‘It looks remarkable,’ he said, his voice warm. ‘The ladies will be fascinated.’
She tilted her head, unsure. ‘Do you think so? Or will they think I’m eccentric…an oddity.’
‘They did not think so at the garden party, remember?’
She wasn’t as certain as he was. Her nerves were tense, but she had little time to fret because the ladies arrived on time and Mrs Hanning saw them to the drawing room.
They settled onto the drawing room’s padded chairs and button-tufted sofa.
Silk skirts rustled and fans fluttered. The same ladies that she’d met at the garden party were all in attendance.
Lady Weber was dressed in a blue gown with a ruffled hem, Lady Modal in puce satin, and Lady Smithson in yellow with scarf held in place with an amber brooch.
Two others, whom Nora had briefly met at the garden party, had arrived to make a group of eight.
Her sisters did not want to attend and thought it best if Nora hosted her first event on her own as a new countess with fellow titled ladies.
Ralston stepped forward and bowed. ‘Good day, ladies. I’m certain you will find everything as fascinating as I did when I met my lovely wife.’
The ladies sighed and laughed. His grin was as charming as his demeanor. Sunlight from the open curtains glinted off his dark hair. His teeth flashed white in his attractive face and the women in the room appeared just as captivated as Nora.
She nearly forgot it was all for show.
He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and the women appeared to watch enviously. With a sly wink, he departed the room.
‘Is that a microscope?’ Lady Modal spoke first, squinting towards the contraption. ‘I’ve heard of them but have never seen one.’
‘It is.’ Nora was happy to speak of her new scientific device. ‘This microscope can magnify an item up to four hundred times its actual size. Would you care to see for yourself?’
She slid a prepared slide into place with practiced hands. She understood a microscope, like a telescope, was meant to impress one who engaged with it, just as one would a painting from a master artist like Reynolds or Gainsborough.
The women gathered around and, one by one, leaned forward to peer into the curved eyepiece. ‘It looks like a jagged piece of metal,’ Lady Modal said.
‘What is it?’ another asked.
‘A hat pin,’ Nora said. ‘One I received from Madame Fleur on Bond Street.’
Others chimed in. ‘Indeed! I own several!’
Soon the ladies moved to the seashells on the tables. They picked them up and fingered their smooth curves and ridges. Nora explained where they were from, some from Cornwall she’d collected, and the others from shores as far away as Greece, Persia, and the Great Barrier Reef in Australia.
‘People have been collecting shells since before the Egyptians. They have been used for jewelry, headdresses snuffboxes, even architecture,’ Nora said.
Lady Modal’s expression brightened. ‘I visited Goodwood Park in Sussex last summer. There is a little pavilion there lined entirely with shells. It’s charming with shining white, pink and mauve seashells.
It’s said that it took the second Duchess of Richmond and her daughters seven years to complete. ’
‘I’ve heard of it, and I hope to visit one day,’ Nora said.
‘There is another shell grotto at Oatland’s Park where the Duke of York entertained the emperor of Russia and other victors of Waterloo for a grand supper.
The walls are encrusted with glistening cowries and white and pink shells.
One of the corridors leading to the grotto is lined with the teeth of horses killed on the field of Waterloo. ’
‘Really! The things men will do to showcase their victories,’ Lady Weber said.
Lady Smithson picked up the giant spider conch. Nora recalled the day her father had presented it to her.
‘It’s huge! I’ve never seen such a seashell. Is it real?’ Lady Smithson asked.
‘It’s from the Indian Ocean and measures twelve inches,’ Nora said. ‘If you press it to your ear, you can hear the sea.’
Lady Smithson held up the shell to her ear and her lips parted in surprise. She laughed. ‘I can hear the ocean! A sort of rushing of the waves!’
Women crowded around her all wanting their turn. Several ladies picked up the shells on display and asked questions about them. Nora couldn’t answer questions fast enough.
‘Did you find these shells?’
‘Are they all real?’
‘Did animals live in them?’
‘Were there pearls inside them?’
Nora answered patiently, thrilled with their enthusiasm. ‘Only certain mollusks yield pearls, and not every one. Yes, they are all real. And yes, mollusks inhabited the shells long ago.’
While the ladies asked questions, Mrs Hanning wheeled in a tea tray. No one paid her much attention. Nora nearly missed Lady Weber drifting away from the crowd, drawn to a bowl on an end table. The elegant piece was ceramic with a scalloped edge painted in lapis blue, purple and yellow flowers.
‘This is exquisite,’ Lady Weber said, fingering the bowl. ‘Is it Persian?’
Nora approached the pretty brunette. She was surprised at her knowledge. ‘It’s Armenian. My father received it from Middle Eastern traders. It’s dated back to the fifth century.’
‘It truly is lovely. I have an interest in collectables, though nothing so ancient. At least not yet.’
Nora smiled. The bowl had special meaning. Her father had gifted it to her on her sixteenth birthday.
Just then Mrs Hanning reappeared to deliver freshly baked scones. Tea was poured into delicate porcelain cups and the ladies gathered around to enjoy her flaky, warm scones with Devonshire cream.
‘As I’ve said before, I’ve grown weary of garden parties and soirées,’ Lady Smithson said as she took a bite of her scone. ‘This was refreshing and stimulating, Lady Ralston.’
Others agreed in approval.
Two hours later, the ladies departed and the last carriage rolled away down the drive. Nora withdrew to her bedchamber, her mind awhirl with thoughts of the afternoon. The salon had been a success and she could not have been happier.
In fact, she could not recall a time when she had been as happy.
Before Ralston, there had been the looming betrothal to the elderly Baron Umbridge. Her mother had been serious about the match. Nora shivered. What if her mother had succeeded? What would her life be like now? Dull and dutiful.
A slow death of her mind.
Umbridge certainly would not have given her funds to purchase a microscope or the freedom to host a salon. And she could not envision the Baron charming Society ladies on her behalf.
This afternoon’s gathering had invigorated her, making her all the more determined to focus on her work.
And her goals. If the ladies of the ton were interested in her work, perhaps the London Scientific Society would be too.
It was all so confusing. She was grateful to Ralston but still determined to keep her distance.
Their arrangement was never far from her mind.
No matter how tempting and considerate she was finding her new husband to be, she must never allow him to distract her from her work.
Her dream to present her findings to the Scientific Society had not changed. Maybe she would even travel one day.
Meanwhile, she owed Ralston her gratitude. Even affection. She could do both, couldn’t she? Show her thanks while keeping her distance. How hard could it be?
‘Can you spare some time this afternoon for an outing?’ Nora had been working in her room when she heard Ralston’s voice in the doorway.
‘What type of outing?’
‘I have a subscription to Hookham’s Library. Would you like to attend?’
‘I’d love to.’ It was the day after her science salon, and it was as if he knew just where she’d love to spend a relaxing afternoon. He hadn’t offered to take her to another garden party, stuffy tea or a drive in an open barouche at the park during the dreaded promenade hour, but a library.
She closed her workbook where she’d been sketching shells and describing their unique physical attributes and reached for her reticule.
Her family had never paid for a subscription to the circulating library.
Her father would have enjoyed it, but he’d travelled too often to make it worthwhile to pay the annual fee.
Her mother would consider it a waste of money and would rather spend it at the dressmaker or milliner.
A quick carriage ride and they were at the Bond Street establishment.
He opened the heavy oak doors, and she swept inside.
The place was a hubbub of activity. Ladies and gentlemen perused the shelves and spoke with clerks.
The smell of leather-bound books was as comforting as a pot of hot tea on a cold winter day.
She glanced up at the tall rows of bookshelves, the leather spines a kaleidoscope of colour.
Tall, wheeled ladders allowed clerks access to the top shelves.