Resisting the urge to make sure my facial hair was in place yet again, I adjusted my eyeglasses and pressed on. A stone fountain sat at the center of bright quadrangles of manicured lawn as I made my way across toward Nevile’s Court, near the library, where my rooms were located. Though as I opened the door with my heavy key, it wasn’t so much plural as it was a single, tiny space with a bed and a desk.
Shelves lined one whitewashed wall, and a large leaded-glass window the opposite. A table with a washbasin stood to my right, and a small fireplace took up the third wall facing the door, though with the spring upon us, it wouldn’t be needed. My school clothes—all conveniently purloined from Ansel’s armoire—had been neatly stored in the narrow wardrobe, and all my notebooks and textbooks on celestial mechanics were strewn over my bed.
I grinned to myself, a breathless giggle escaping me that I quickly swallowed before shutting my door, lest I be overheard and exposed for the fraud I was. Removing my outer gown, cap, and gold tassels, I loosened the cravat that had been choking me and unfastened my coat and waistcoat. Even with the extra wadded cloth padding the shoulders, it was a snug fit over my tightly wrapped bosom. I heaved the first full breath I’d had since leaving my house an hour ago.
Thankfully, my personal groom and lady’s maid were both sworn to silence and amply compensated with my pin money for their confidence. I smiled fondly. Henry and Anna were in love and planned to marry, thanks to my own intervention a summer ago, which had allowed them to spend more time together while tending to me. As a result, there wasn’t anything either of them wouldn’t do for me, including keeping my secrets.
Watching them fall in love had made my heart twist with envy. But while I’d been deeply envious of their blossoming affair, it had also given me a last ember of hope that there still might be someone out there for me. My very own perfect person—a gentleman who would appreciate my fastidious mind and quizzical nature, who would meet me at every quarter, challenge me and inspire me, one whom I would adore and be adored by in turn…
Then again, chances of that happening while I pretended to be Ansel were slim.
Sighing, I glanced at my timepiece and yelped. I was due to meet my tutor, who supposedly had a room at this location as well. While classes and courses of study weren’t formal, Anselhad said that impromptu discussions and debates tended to pop up all over the college. Private study was customary, and my assigned tutor would guide me through any difficult texts or mathematical problems. Ansel hadn’t known who would be assigned to me, and I’d only received the name of my tutor after my cousin had left for France.
Tarik St. Clair.
My hands practically vibrated with excitement as I packed my books into my satchel, dressed, and refastened my discarded gown. Then I rushed out into the hallway, only to crash into a large mountain, my bag and books flying across the polished wood floors.
“Oh, goodness, I do beg your pardon!” The words flew out of me, and I cursed under my breath, in belated dismay realizing Ansel would never apologize. Boys didn’t care if they crashed into people and caused a rumpus.
“Bloody hell, mate! Are you well?” the mountain said, his voice almost a shriek. A mop of wild blond curls tumbled into his brow, a pair of bright blue eyes assessing me from his considerable height. Gracious, he was huge. At least twice the size of me in width. “You came out of nowhere!”
“No harm done,” I said as I gathered the notebook and pencils that had slid out of my bag. I kept my naturally husky voice pitched low, leaning in to the performance of being my cousin. Though I wanted to be myself, too. Ansel was much too smooth and grandiose for my tastes. “I was late and not looking where I was going.” I peered at him. “You’re not Mr. St. Clair, by chance, are you?”
Blue eyes widened comically. “No. He’s a…Wrangler. I’m only a second-year.”
“Do you happen to know where the discussion rooms near the Great Court are, then?” I asked. “There’s a lecture I’m supposed to attend that Mr. St. Clair might be leading.”
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
I chewed my lip and then internally scolded myself for the habit. Thankfully, the boy was distracted, smoothing his rumpled gown. “What’s a Wrangler?” I asked as I followed him down the corridor.
He shot me an odd expression, and I cringed, wondering if I’d already given myself away with my ignorance. But then he just shrugged his big shoulders. “St. Clair is a prodigy—a senior scholar pursuing his Master of Arts degree who ranked so highly in the competitive Mathematical Tripos examination it earned him the title of Second Wrangler. Only one other person scored higher than him.” He wore an impressed look, so I nodded, then schooled my face to match his, though I had no idea what the Tripos was. It sounded fancy.
“That’s remarkable.”
“Most scholars at his level are usually encouraged to become Fellows of the university,” the young man continued. “Being a Wrangler is a prestigious position to hold, and one of his primary duties would be to tutor and mentor younger students as part of his contribution to the college. I suppose that’s where you come in.” He pursed his lips. “Are you planning to take the Mathematical Tripos exam?”
I shook my head. Since this whole scheme was temporary, I had no plans to takeanyexaminations, but having a tutor who had breezed through a top-level test was an unexpected benefit. That meant he wassmart.I couldn’t wait to pick his brain, particularly about mathematics and astronomy.
The gent smiled and stuck out his hand. “I’m Will, by the way.” He wrinkled his brow as if he’d made a terrible faux pas. “Viscount William Humbolt, if we’re being formal, which I hope to God we’re not. I’ve stuck my foot in my mouth terribly these past months. The title is new, passed down through a third cousin to me. I’m still learning the ropes of things.” The words tumbled out of him in a stream, and he stopped abruptly, shamefaced. “I’m sorry. I’ve done it again, haven’t I? Open mouth, insert entire leg.”
I laughed at his aghast expression. This freshly minted viscount and I were going to bejustfine. “No, you haven’t done anything. I’m new here, too. I’m Lord Ansel Chen, also somewhat unfamiliar with all of this, but you can call me…” I trailed off, brain blanking for a moment before inspiration suddenly struck. “Roz.”
His blond brows jumped up at the moniker that couldn’t be any further from my supposed first or last name. “Roz. Is that a nickname?”
I thought quickly and waved a careless hand. “Middle name’s Eros. It stuck.”
“Eros,” he murmured, eyes brightening. “Greek god of love and passion. I do enjoy reading the classics.” His face twisted intoa grimace. “Much more than mathematical statistics, though my mother insists that I should have a greater understanding of all the subjects a proper viscount should know.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell him that most viscounts and peers of my acquaintance were experts only in drinking, gambling, and flirtation, and nary a one of them was interested in the pursuit of higher education, least of all mathematics or the classics. For many aristocrats, university was a formality, with little effort required to be conferred with a degree. A farce, actually. Though one that was benefitting me now, so I couldn’t betooirritated.
“Will you be in London for the season as well?” I asked, pushing up my descending spectacles with one finger. By God, the frames were annoying.
“That is the hope,” Will replied. “The intent last year was to make a few friends or connections, but then the king died and everyone went into mourning. Last term was subdued, though university life did continue. It has been much harder than I thought to be accepted as a peer when I wasn’t born one.”
Will’s every emotion was transparent on his round face—something he would have to conquer if he hoped to survive a very vicious aristocracy. His difficulty did not surprise me. The ranks of thetonwere very insular. Most peers, like Ansel’s set, which included the Marquess of Ridley, who would eventually become the future Duke of Harbridge, knew each other from leading strings.
And sometimes the gentlemen—excluding Lord Ridley, my cousin, and any of their friends—could be haughtier than theladies, sticking their noses up at those they deemed to be inferior or lacking in some way. Ansel could be high in the instep at times, but he wasn’t a supercilious toff who looked down on others below his station.
