Chapter 2

Prospero's lips formed a grim line as he surveyed the condition of his family's residence. In the twelve years he had been living in France, the once beautiful townhouse had fallen into disrepair. The curtains had been ravaged by moths, the furniture either so worn that the stuffing puffed out of the frayed fabric or the legs were on the verge of snapping. Silver had gone unpolished and rooms had been left undusted. It felt as though no one had lived here in years, yet his mother had been here with a handful of servants since his father's death three months ago.

Why hadn't she maintained the place better? He considered the matter with a deepening frown. Given the state of things, it was almost as though the moment he'd left England twelve years ago, his parents' home had started its descent into decay. His parents had been appalled at his involvement in an illegal, lethal duel, at his leaving the country, at all of it, but when they'd finished shouting at each other, his father had told him the only way he'd be welcome back into England was when his father was dead. Had that been the beginning of this? His heart ached as he stared around at a place he'd once called home that had held such sunny memories so long ago.

"It could be worse...," his friend Viscount Guy De Courcy said from behind him.

Prospero shot Guy a glance. "Oh? How could it possibly be worse?"

Guy dragged his fingers through his dark-reddish hair and shrugged. "At least it didn't burn down or have a rat infestation like that first flat you had in Paris..."

Prospero's frown deepened. Twelve years living on very little money had hardened him, but the memory of that place he'd lived in upon arriving in France with barely a pound to his name stung deeper than it should have. The dingy suite of rooms had indeed been filled with rats, and he'd actually been grateful when the entire building was destroyed by a fire a few months later.

Prospero moved deeper into the home. "We'd best see how the rest of the house fares." So far, there had been no sign of any of the servants his mother claimed to have in her last letter.

"Mother?" He'd expected her to be home, though he hadn't expected her to be at the door to greet him like a loving mother. He had expected a butler…and there was no one there at all. The door was unlocked and unattended. In that moment, Prospero learned just how little he and his family estate were valued by his mother after his father had passed.

Silence greeted them as they stood staring around at the poor state of this once beautiful home.

"What's this?" Guy retrieved a letter that had been tucked into the corner of the mirror in the entryway. He studied it before he passed it to Prospero. "It has your name on it."

Prospero opened the letter, a sense of dread building in him.

Prospero,

I let the servants go and have gone to the country to stay with my sister. Do what you will with the house. I no longer desire to live there.

It was his mother's handwriting, but there was no date as to when it had been written. So she'd left London before he'd even returned, and given the state of the dust on the surfaces, it might have been weeks, possibly months ago since she'd let go of the servants and abandoned the house. The thought pinched his heart. To have not seen her in twelve years... and to have her leave him in a quiet, cold, dusty house. The iron inside his heart turned even harder.

"It seems my mother has gone to the country to stay with my aunt. She's let go of the staff."

Prospero set the note on the table by the mirror and sighed. She'd given him yet one more burden to cope with. He would have to convince decent staff to work for him, or suffer hiring those who weren't of the caliber this house required. The cloud of scandal that had shrouded his life over the past decade still had not cleared. London society had a long memory when it came to scandals, and even the downstairs staff had their pride when it came to who they worked for.

"Perhaps Nicholas's butler will know where to post position notices to attract the best servants?" Guy suggested. He, like Prospero, had spent the last twelve years in France, and much of London had changed upon their return.

Prospero didn't say so aloud, but he was glad his friend had wanted to accompany him back to England so he didn't have to make this journey alone. Nicholas had wanted to come with him to France, but of his two friends, they both knew Guy would fare better on the Continent as he had fewer responsibilities than Nicholas since he no longer had any living relatives. Nicholas, newly made the Earl of Durham at the time, had the responsibility for his mother and two sisters. So Nicholas had reluctantly agreed to remain in London and watch over things here. It was Nicholas who notified Prospero of his father's death.

"Did you have a chance to pay our dues to Berkeley's for this month?" Prospero asked.

"Yes, thank Christ they didn't have a problem with reinstating us. A man would die without his club, wouldn't he?" Guy chuckled. "Why don't we have a drink and meet up with Nicholas?" he offered. "He left word for us to send for him when we arrived."

"Good idea. I don't want to stand here another minute. It's giving me a headache." He left his travel cases just inside the door, then they left.

They hailed a hackney and headed for their club. Unlike most things in England, the private gentlemen's club of Berkeley's was remarkably unchanged, which both relieved Prospero and filled him with melancholy.

Once he and Guy settled into a pair of chairs in the reading room, he paid a young lad to send a message to Nicholas Hughes's residence to meet them at the club for drinks.

"So, what's to be your plan?" Guy asked as he poured two glasses of scotch and handed one to his friend.

"I honestly hadn't thought about it. Just the idea of coming home after so long... It's been the only thing to fill my mind for weeks." Prospero tasted the fine scotch and relished the gentle burn at the back of his throat. The whiskeys from the cheap taverns in France had lacked the quality and finesse of good whiskey from Scotland.

Prospero was silent a long moment. "Before I visited my solicitor this morning, I thought that Father would have left his estate—now mine—with some money in it."

"He didn't?" Guy asked, his brows knitting in concern as he stared at Prospero.

"Apparently, after I left England, my father's investments turned sour and he took up gambling to such an extent that he nearly bankrupted the estate. Our country house, Marchlands, was sold. All we have left is the townhouse, and you saw what condition it's in."

"Christ... I never thought your father would... That seems so unlike him," Guy admitted.

"Yes, well, it seems having a son like me broke his heart, and he did all he could to ruin his life and his estate because of it." Prospero hated that he sounded so bitter, but knowing that something he'd had no control over had caused such devastation to his family was almost too much to bear.

"Well, you have a couple of choices," Guy offered. "Find an heiress or go into business. I recommend an heiress. You've never had a problem seducing women. With all those million-dollar beauties coming from America every day, you will be tripping over rich, pretty women in no time."

Prospero didn't immediately dismiss the idea of an heiress, but marriage was such a permanent solution. Yes, a man could live apart from his wife and take his pleasures on the side, but Prospero, as infamous as he was for his sensual appetites, had no desire to have a mistress. He was a loyal lover when he was in a relationship, and that especially applied to matrimony. That loyalty had made him a favorite in Paris. Wealthy young widows, eager to have a faithful lover who had no expectations except to be quietly paid for his companionship, were quick to seek him out.

For twelve years, he had moved from one widow to the next, keeping a roof over his head and food in his belly by being loyal to them until they sent him on his way and he found the next widow looking for companionship. But selling himself like that was not something he wanted to do again, not unless he had to. When he married, he wanted it to be to a woman who would hold his heart, what was left of it, and he wanted to hold hers in return. He didn't want to resort to marrying for money and fearing that at any moment his wife would stray from their marriage bed because she saw him as valueless as his own parents had.

"I think I'd rather pursue business for the moment," he said.

"Without any capital to invest, you'll need to find a way in the door," Guy said. "And by the look of the grumpy old fellows when we walked into the club, you're not going to find anyone sympathetic here."

"True," Prospero admitted. His gaze rose and moved around the room, studying the men there. He recognized most of the older gentlemen who were around his father's age. Those men wouldn't have anything to do with him. Being involved in Aaron Jackson's death had cast a long shadow over him.

"Perhaps I could find someone more willing in a younger set of men. Those who don't remember Jackson."

Guy frowned a little. "It's possible, but most of the younger set don't have money, and the ones who do tend to throw it away on women, gambling tables, and other vices."

There were a handful of younger men he believed wouldn't be caught up in the self-indulgence, men either his age or a few years his junior. They would also seek to prove themselves in the world of business, but they might become competition rather than allies.

Was he destined to repeat his life from Paris here in London? The thought turned his stomach. Even if he wanted to pursue that route, he was far too well known—or rather, too infamous. His current status made it impossible. A common gentleman could have gotten away with being a kept companion, but an earl? Any rich Englishwoman would have too much sense to get involved with him. The scandal could be ruinous. No woman would want to take him even as a husband, especially not an heiress who could have her pick of eligible, titled men.

A finely dressed man in his early twenties was intently reading a paper one table over and nursing a glass of brandy. His thin mustache twitched as he suddenly chortled. When he glanced about to see if he'd disturbed anyone with his laughter, he noticed Prospero watching him. He smiled ruefully.

"Sorry, old boy. Just couldn't believe what they print in the papers these days. Look at this." The man leaned over in his chair and tossed his newspaper to Prospero.

"What is it?" Prospero asked as he caught the paper and examined the pages.

"That advertisement, in the left middle column. Can you believe that?" The man laughed again. "What nonsense. Someone wants to pay to study gentlemen? What are we? Animals?"

Curious now, Prospero examined the advertisement, and Guy peered over his shoulder to read as well.

Man Wanted for Scientific Study

A gentleman is required to participate in a two-week observation to further the study of natural sciences. This will include the manners, habits, and haunts of the participant. Participant must agree to be interviewed on various subjects and must be prepared to answer questions of a sensitive or intimate nature. Interested parties may come for interviews at 2:00 p.m. on Tuesday the twelfth at #223 Baker Street. The successful applicant will be paid for his time at the rate of ￡50–75 per week. Please send a message to the above address if you wish to be interviewed.

"Baker Street?" Guy murmured. "Why does that sound familiar?"

"You might be thinking of Sherlock Holmes. The one written about in the papers?" While they had been in Paris, Prospero had kept abreast of news events in London including Sherlock Holmes's cases.

"You don't suppose it's him, do you?"

"Holmes is at 221, and this is 223... This is next door," Prospero said.

"So someone wants to pay to study a man? How odd."

"Not just any man. It seems they're looking for a specific sort."

"Even odder." Guy laughed. "I wonder why?"

Prospero wasn't laughing, though. Given that he had no food at his home and no servants, he was desperate enough to investigate this.

"Wait, you're not considering applying, are you?" Guy exclaimed, his brows rising as Prospero.

"Why not? At least this way I'm not a paid companion, but a paid subject for the advancement of the natural sciences. Surely that sounds more noble."

"Perhaps...," Guy agreed reluctantly. "But I have my doubts as to what it is they are truly after."

"Only one way to find out," Prospero said, then turned to the man who had given him the paper. "May I keep this?"

"Certainly, I'm done with it," the man replied, then patted his pockets as if looking for a cigar. "Pardon me, I'm off for a smoke." He rose and left the room.

"Really, Prospero, you need not succumb to such desperate acts. I'd offer you to stay with me, but since I haven't a decent flat at the moment, I know Nicholas offered to host you until you have your house in order again."

Prospero wished he could accept Nicholas's offer, but he feared Nicholas's family would be touched by the scandal.

"He has two younger sisters who debuted recently. I don't want my presence to ruin their prospects in husband hunting with my mere presence in their house."

"Nonsense," Guy declared. "Friendship comes first. If Nicholas made the offer, he clearly thinks his family can withstand the scandal."

"I'll be all right. The interviews are tomorrow. I'll go and see what I think of this... study and whether it really does pay that much."

It couldn't be that hard to answer some naturalist's questions, whatever they might be. Naturalists were bookish sorts by nature, but that didn't intimidate Prospero. He took the paper under his arm and tipped his glass of scotch back, letting the burn of whiskey take away his worries for a short time. He would think about his troubles tomorrow.

* * *

The man who had given his newspaper to Lord March paused in the smoking room and checked his pocket watch before closing the lid and tucking it back into his waistcoat pocket. He then made his way down the stairs to the front door of the club, where he retrieved his hat from a footman, who summoned a coach for him.

He nodded his thanks to the footman. Then he climbed into the hackney and gave the driver his desired address.

It stopped in front of a townhouse on Baker Street. The man got out and walked up the steps, tapping the knocker when he got to the top. A butler answered and stared down at the man for a minute before rolling his eyes.

"You'd best come in before someone sees you," the butler, Mr. Atkins said.

The gentleman stepped inside, removed his hat, and gave it to a footman, who studied him with a raised brow but said nothing as he politely took the item.

"Miss Hamblin is in her study," Mr. Atkins said.

The gentleman nodded and proceeded to the room with a grin that made his mustache twitch.

* * *

Elise adjusted her spectacles, moving the third magnification lens in front of her right eye as she studied the antennae of the privet hawk moth, the Sphinx ligustri. Its large pink-and-black striped abdomen and hind wings were often mistaken for a hummingbird when it hovered over flowers to drink nectar. The moth twitched its wings as it crawled over the petals of a large pale cluster of pink peonies.

"You are a handsome fellow," Elise murmured as the moth dipped its tongue into the flower, exploring it.

"I know! Funny, isn't it?" a voice said from the door to Elise's study. "But I do make for a deuced good-looking chap."

Elise glanced up and winced as her spectacles made the distant world far too out of focus. She quickly removed her spectacles and set them down. A gentleman stood in the doorway wearing a light-gray three-piece suit. He stroked his mustache and watched Elise with amusement.

Elise laughed and got to her feet. "Cinna! Good heavens, you actually do look quite dashing."

The gentleman, who was no man at all, peeled the mustache off her face and shrugged out of her coat. The cleverly cut and styled wig covered Cinna's dark-brown hair, which had been flattened with pins and a cap to her scalp to allow the wig to settle on her head. She removed the pins holding the wig and the underneath tight-fitting cap in place and then began the process of freeing her hair so that it fell in loose curls around her shoulders.

Elise perched on the edge of her desk as Cinna settled into a chair opposite her. "Did it work?"

"I think so. I caught his attention with my comment on the advertisement like we discussed, and when he seemed interested, I passed him the newspaper. He even asked if he could keep it. He and the man he was sitting with were discussing his dire straits, and his friend seemed quite convinced that March was considering coming for an interview with you."

Elise watched Cinna pull the remaining pins out of her hair.

"You had no trouble getting into Berkeley's, then? I always thought they'd be clever enough to catch females trying to sneak inside."

Cinna shook her head. "My elder brother is still in Scotland, and we resemble each other enough that passing servants don't seem to notice the difference when I'm dressed like a man. I gave them my brother's name at the door and spoke with a lower voice from deep within my chest, and they just let me in." She loosened the ascot around her neck and drew in a deep breath. "Lord, I despise wearing these things. It feels like I'm being strangled. You'd better write that down for your research. Between the ascots and binding my breasts, I feel rather squished. It's as bad as wearing a corset."

"So, what exactly did you overhear March say?" Elise asked.

"Well, it's as you expected, given the dossier you prepared on March. He's practically penniless. He got by in Paris by bedding some widows who funded his existence. He seems interested in business, but you know how people can be. Being involved in an illegal duel with a man who dies under somewhat disputed circumstances and suddenly no one invites you to parties or wants to do business with you." Cinna's tone was light, almost teasing, but her words made Elise frown at Lord March's situation.

"It was never proven that he killed that man, only that there had been an altercation following the duel and that the gentleman who challenged Lord March died." Elise moved the vase with the peonies to the side of her desk so she could retrieve the paperwork she'd prepared on Prospero Harrington. The hawk moth fluttered his wings as he repositioned himself on the thickly petaled flowers, but he did not fly off. She scoured the notes she had made the day before.

"The only son of the late Earl of March. He's thirty-four years old, which means he was only twenty-two at the time of the duel. He left for France shortly after, and his father's business ventures went from bad to worse over the last decade. He died three months ago. His mother is alive but apparently no longer in London, according to my sources. At this point, the man has nothing much left to offer London society except the title of March for some young woman who's willing to risk her reputation by marriage to him."

Cinna toyed with the loose ends of her ascot. "He and his friend were discussing the possibility of an heiress. Are you in the market for a husband?" Cinna winked at Elise. "He'd be happy to take you on, I'm sure."

"Heavens no. I cannot think of anything more burdensome than a husband. Papa has his steel company and the railway investments to keep him busy, and I have the society to run and my academic papers to pursue."

"Yes, but your papers are penned under the name Elliott Hamblin," Cinna reminded her as she fixed Elise with a look. "No one is going to give a woman, even one as brilliant as you, the recognition you deserve in scientific journals. Even if you became the queen of England, they'd still put you in your place because you wear skirts. At best, they'd humor you if you had a nice title and money for their society, but they'd never let you participate as an equal member."

Elise continued to frown as she leafed through some of the articles she'd collected on Prospero Harrington.

"I love our society," Cinna said softly. "I love that we have a safe place to learn and teach each other about the things that matter. But what if we can never break the walls trapping us in? We're no better than butterflies pinned down in a box and covered with glass so that men might come along and admire us until our wings fade in color and the life within us shrivels from loss of food and freedom."

Cinna wasn't wrong, and that hurt Elise's heart more than anything else. Time and again women had doors shut in their faces, conversations stopped, and opportunities removed from their lives simply for the crime of being female. For indeed they were treated no better than prisoners, no matter what level of society they lived at. To be told, over and over, that their minds were smaller, incapable of comprehending mathematics or sciences, that to sit quietly, sew, look pretty and bear children was their only true value...

There was nothing wrong with wanting to marry and have children, but every woman was entitled to dream of more, to have dreams that went beyond what they could give men with their bodies. Women deserved the freedom to choose their own paths, their own destinies, whatever they might be.

"In nearly every species except humans, the females are stronger, braver, tougher," said Elise. "They live longer, have skills or natural advantages that allow them to thrive and carry on their species. They have colors that help conceal them from danger so they might survive. They are the dominant force over the males, so why do humans act so contrary to the laws of nature? We are animals too. We are beholden to the same conditions of this planet as the rest of the creatures on it."

"I blame male hubris," Cinna said. "Women have always been more connected to the earth than men. It's their presumption, not ours, that they believe themselves to be above nature and women. Perhaps it is a good thing for you to study Lord March. Women desperately need to know how men work, or else we should never learn how to defeat them."

Elise chuckled. "I think you mean beat them at their own game. We don't want to defeat them—we just want them to admit they need us as equals and not just as mothers for their children."

"Speak for yourself. I haven't the faintest desire to play their silly little games. Think of all the things women have accomplished in spite of men. What would happen if men stopped holding the doors of academia closed against us? Sabina Baldoncelli earned a university degree in pharmacy, yet men only allowed her to work in an orphanage. Mary Anning discovered a complete plesiosaurus skeleton. Jeanne Villepreux-Power invented a glass aquarium to study aquatic life."

Elise placed her hand on the top of one of her two glass aquariums on the shelf in her study. A snake lay sleeping peacefully in a patch of sunlight inside one of them.

"The Royal Astronomical Society did allow Mary Somerville and Caroline Herschel to join, and Ellen Smith Tupper was allowed to be the editor of an entomological journal," Elise added.

Cinna sighed. "Small victories, but victories nonetheless," she agreed. "Women make up half the population, and yet less than 1 percent of us are allowed even the smallest bit of intellectual recognition. And we must struggle to achieve even that," Cinna sat up. "So, tomorrow you will conduct interviews. Do you suppose more than just Lord March will attend? If they do, you'll have to find a way to scare those men off."

Elise brushed a stray lock of blonde hair from her face. "I don't know. I fear putting an exact amount of payment down in the advertisement might have too many people showing up. But March is all that matters. Hopefully, he will be intrigued enough to see me, and at that point I may be able to suss out an appropriate amount of money to keep him on the hook for a full two weeks."

"I admit, I'm quite jealous. Think of all the places you'll go disguised as a man. I wish I could go with you."

"You went to a gentlemen's club today, and you've infiltrated a few other places. That's more than most women have ever done." Elise thought of the few times she'd dressed up as a man and attempted to give presentations at naturalist societies as Elliot Hamblin.

"Well, we didn't know if it would work. But it did, and Lord, it was fun, pretending to read my paper and light a pipe. I wandered around the cardrooms a bit and took a peep at the betting book they keep there. You wouldn't believe what nonsense they bet on. But I find the clubs a bit boring, to be honest. I always imagined they must be having a great deal of fun, but all they do is smoke and talk or play cards and billiards. The older ones sleep in chairs by the fire. Dreadfully dull, to be honest. It makes one realize that if women were to laze about all day like that, nothing would ever get accomplished in this world."

"Well, you were excellent, Cinna. I shall need your help in preparing my own disguise this afternoon. I want to be ready to go at a moment's notice if March agrees to sneak me into the spheres of the male domain. Perhaps he could teach me how to walk and talk like a man as part of the study."

Cinna giggled. "Nonsense. You've already mastered it. Remember how you fooled those old pompous arses at the naturalist society last month? They were hanging on your every word, never once suspecting you weren't a man."

"Until my mustache fell off." Elise couldn't help but grin at the memory. The shouting and utter outrage of a group of grumpy old men was almost laughable. Until they'd tossed her out, they'd been listening to her theories on animal migration quite keenly. That had been a victory. Now she wanted a bigger one.

"Those men would be fooled by a dog dressed in men's clothing if it paraded in front of them. I want to be able to fool the real men, the ones in the dockside taverns or the gambling dens. The men with stronger instincts who have their wits about them, not silly old scholars who barely look up from their own research papers."

"Do you want me and Edwina to be present tomorrow for the interviews?" Cinna asked.

"No, I should be all right. Atkins is more than capable of tossing out any men who might misbehave."

"Except perhaps for Lord March," Cinna said. "You might just want a man like that to misbehave."

Elise blinked at her friend's words. "What?"

"Come now, don't pretend you haven't considered the idea... He's handsome. I know I don't wish to marry, but I would be tempted to let that man into my bed if he kisses as nicely as I suspect he does. Do you remember that time we saw him in the park before he left for France?"

"That was one time and very long ago. I wasn't looking at boys his age. I don't actually remember seeing him."

"No," Cinna said as she rolled her eyes. "You were too busy counting the stripes on a pair of caterpillars, and I was sketching them for you. I think I still have those sketches somewhere. But my point is, March is a man now, not a young lad. He's... well... I'm not quite sure I know the word to describe him. He has a presence, even while brooding over his glass of scotch. Spying on him gave me a few thoughts."

"What sort of thoughts?" Elise asked, her voice hitching with slight alarm.

"I admit, the female in me was interested in him, and even more interested in the man he was with. I don't think I've ever been that curious about men before. They've always seemed so tedious, so frustrating, even if they're exceedingly handsome. There have been exceptions, of course, but you must know what I mean. It's like when you walk upon the carpets in your stockings in the winter and touch a door latch or another bit of metal and you get a spark of electricity."

At this, Elise hid a grin. "Oh dear, that sounds quite serious, Cinna. Are you at risk of falling in love with Lord March?"

"No," Cinna answered, their gazes locking. "But if you aren't careful, you just might."

"Me? Fall for a man?" She laughed. "I can't imagine that happening at all. You know I have no interest in gentlemen, especially the troublesome kind."

"You might be surprised. Spend enough time around him and you might be tempted to see him the way other women do."

Elise had little interest in love, not enough to pursue it, and she certainly wouldn't fall in love with a dangerous—how did Mr. Holmes put it? A man who lived in neither the black nor white areas of life.

No, she wouldn't love a man like that because a man like that wasn't trustworthy. She needed to trust a man above all else, because if she married, her very existence would vanish in the eyes of the law and society as she became her husband's property. She didn't trust any man other than her father to see her as his equal.

She had resigned herself to a solitary life a long time ago. A man like Lord March would not be tempting to her in the least.