I could sense Blake’s immediate interest, so I shook my head emphatically. “Of course not. He’s an acquaintance, and besides, Papa would hardly approve of someone without a noble title. You know how he is, protective to a fault, and wants to make sure I’m taken care of and not swallowed up by a fortune-hunting opportunist.”
“It’s not always about bloodlines,” Zia said. “I’m engaged to a mere mister.”
As dukes’ daughters, Zia and I were closest in status in our friend group. I let out a small snort. “Fornow.Rafi is heir to his uncle’s viscountcy, and even if he wasn’t, he’s as rich as Midas.”
There was no argument to that. Rafi Nasser had been the catch of the century, but he’d only ever had eyes for Zia, his best friend’s little sister. It didn’t hurt that he was handsome, obscenely rich, and heir to a title. Alas, Tarik was not in the running for either of the last two, unless he made his fortune himself, which I had no doubt he would one day. He was too brilliant not to. But I doubted theprobabilityof success would be good enough for my father.
“Excuse me, Lady Zenobia?” a feminine voice interrupted.
Zia’s eyes widened in recognition at the pretty Indian brunette. “Oh, hullo, Lady Petal. How are you?”
Lady Petal Joshi was one of the girls who’d attended Zia’s finishing school before her own parents had caused a scene about controversial reading material and removed her from the school.The book had beenFrankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus,which I’d read the second it had been published. In my opinion, it was hardly polemic, but the gothic novel had ruffled a few feathers because it was about murder. Little did anyone know that a woman—gasp—had written it. Though that was a secret, according to Zia.
Lady Petal giggled and blushed. “Well, thank you. I overheard you talking about the new gentleman with Lord Ridley and Mr. Nasser earlier, and Lady Rosalin saying that he’s an acquaintance and not a suitor, so I was wondering if I could possibly have an introduction?”
As her request sank in, I didn’t want to explore the bitterness that shot into my throat like poisonous acid. I was having a hard time keeping my reaction off my face or refraining from giving this troublesome, obnoxious busybody a piece of my mind. How dare she stick her nose in where she didn’t belong?
Tarik wasmytree.
But Blake’s shrewd gaze was fixed on me, that vexing smirk hovering over his mouth, as if he was slyly waiting for my reply and daring me to refute my earlier words. I shrugged as if I didn’t have a care in the world. “Of course, Lady Petal,” I told her in the pleasantest voice I could manage. “I’m sure he’d be delighted.”
But never had any words tasted more like ash in my mouth.
Chapter Thirteen
The alteration of motion is ever proportional to the motive force impressed; and is made in the direction of the right line in which that force is impressed.
—Isaac Newton
I was up to my elbows in flour and water making this deuced papier-mâché tube. I was certain I had gotten globs of the cold, sticky mixture on my face and possibly inside my shirt, because something clammy and lumpy kept sliding down beneath the band over my chest. But there was no way I was going to clean that up with Tarik on the other side of his drawing room.
We were at Ansel’s apartments at The Albany. I had arrived with a cap pulled low, smart men’s clothing I had purloined from my cousin’s closet from the residence in Mayfair, and a repaired mustache and spectacles in place. I had managed to hoodwink the building staff into thinking I was my cousin, well enough to allow me entry to the building. While I had to use my persona sparingly in London for reasons of discovery, I supposed it was also ideal for Ansel to be seen with the new gentleman temporarily staying in his pied-à-terre.
People with undue suspicions caused problems.
Speaking of my cousin, I had written Ansel a long and very detailed letter, explaining the mess into which I’d gotten myself. The last correspondence he’d sent me had arrived with a Greek address, so I’d used that. I also wanted to know when he planned to return, because if he did while I was pretending to be him, that would be an utter disaster. Hopefully, he’d stay away from London until after Mama’s annual ball, as that would be ideal, but I had no way of knowing. The truth was that it was getting harder and harder to play dual roles. I was constantly anxious I was going to give something away.
Wiping my sleeve across my brow and dislodging my spectacles, I squinted at the instructions on the rolled papers Tarik had given me. I’d managed to locate a mirror with a five-inch diameter that had been ground into a spherical shape, as well as a sliding focuser from an instrument maker and a smaller flat mirror to reflect the light to the lens, which I’d sourced from one of Ansel’s old pairs of spectacles.
The papier-mâché part of the process was slow. To shape the tube, I started applying old newssheets and paper scraps dipped in a thickened paste I’d made from heated flour and water around a three-foot-long greased metal pipe. I’d already painted the innermost sheets of the base layer black to minimize reflection, but once the outside hardened properly, I’d coat it with varnish and tie it with some cloth strips at intervals. Brass fittings would go at either end, one for the primary mirror and lens and one inside to secure the secondary mirror.
“How’s the progress?” Tarik asked, walking to where I was hunkered over the table.
“Messy,” I said, wiggling clumpy fingers.
He laughed. “I can see that.”
“Glad my pain and suffering are amusing to you.”
Tarik smirked as he crouched down beside me. He was so close that I could see the sapphire and navy striations in his bottomless blue irises. God, even his eyelashes were obscene, thick and dark, making him look as though he used a liner of kohl like Ela was fond of wearing. A lock of silky, dark hair flopped into his brow. “If Newton could make his own tools, then so can you. I believe in you, Roz.”
The sound of the nickname made me jolt. At least he called me that only when we were alone, and I was dressed as Ansel. It would take a lot of explaining if he did it in front of people who knew Ansel and had never heard that nickname. It was one that Blake used often with me as Lady Rosalin when we were by ourselves, however.
“Speaking of belief in someone, how did it go with Keston and Rafi the other night?” I asked. “Sorry I couldn’t be there, but Rosalin mentioned that you seemed to be in a deep discussion.”
“Lord Ridley and Mr. Nasser?” he clarified, and I nodded. “They’re very smart gentlemen and seemed positive about the venture. They both said that the academic forum for discussion was a unique idea and wanted to see more of it in society. They also liked the idea of it being open to both men and women, but they foresaw problems with gaining approval and a possible foothold.”
I wiped the gunk off my hands. “The older aristocrats are set in their ways. Did they seem interested in investing? They’reboth quite wealthy and Zia has mentioned that they are always on the lookout for new ventures.” I blinked in dismay, realizing thatAnsel’smates would have confided directly in him, not Zia, but Tarik didn’t seem to notice anything out of order. I exhaled, relieved.
