DeVere’s brows notched up. “In what way?”
“In playing dangerous games with the electricity generated by a voltaic pile,” answered Wrexford.
“I suppose we all do silly things in our youth, and take reckless chances. It’s the nature of life.” DeVere took a small sip of his champagne. “But we learn from our mistakes and quickly become wiser.”
“Assuming we survive them,” said the earl softly.
“True,” conceded DeVere, lifting his glass in salute. “However, having spent a good amount of time discussing science with the Eos Society and answering their questions, I’m happy to say I’ve seen no cause for alarm. They’re passionate about their interests, open-minded and eager to explore—all excellent attributes for those who are looking to engage in serious scientific inquiry.”
“Let us hope they don’t waste their time exploring the works of Aldini and Galvani in regard to electricity.” Children made a face. “Twitching frogs, vital forces of life—their concept of Vitalism was nothing but circus stunts and charlatanism!”
“True,” mused DeVere. “But I’ve always believed there are good lessons to be learned from the wrong turns in science.”
Wrexford didn’t disagree. But what he had seen on Chittenden’s corpse raised unsettling questions.
DeVere remained preoccupied with the point he had raised. Pursing his lips in thought, he went on. “When you think on it, a great many learned men were fascinated with Vitalism. Alexander von Humboldt wrote about experimenting with electricity on his own body when he was a young man.”
“Out of sheer boredom, and frustration, if I recall,” pointed out Wrexford. “To please his mother, who demanded that her sons be useful to society, he was working as a mining inspector for the government, but hated feeling confined to one narrow discipline. What he really yearned to do was travel and explore the wonders of the world.”
“The allure of such electrical experiments passed,” agreed DeVere. “As well it should have. There was nothing to be learned from following that path.” His brow suddenly furrowed. “Are you implying the members of the Eos Society are doing more than just testing their curiosity with such stuff?”
The earl gave a small shrug. “You would know better than I.”
“Good God.” Frowning, DeVere quaffed a long swallow of wine. “I think you’re wrong. But be assured I’ll keep a watchfuleye on the group and see that they don’t stray too far from the path of rational inquiry.”
That, of course, all depended on how one defined the wordrational.Wrexford was cynical enough to have little faith that most people agreed on the definition. Given that DeVere had lived in India, well outside the cocoon of aristocratic privilege, he ought not be so naïve about man’s capacity for illogic.
Another quick glance around the fast-filling room showed that Sir Kelvin Hollister had finally made an appearance, though there was no sign of Westmorly.
“Better you than me, DeVere” he responded. “But then, I’m not known for my patience.” With that, Wrexford inclined a tiny nod and took his leave.
* * *
Forcing herself to concentrate was proving harder than herding a pack of feral cats. But reminding herself that Mr. Fores deserved more than a mediocre effort, Charlotte managed to compose a pithy satirical drawing on the Duchess of York and her ever-expanding menagerie of animals at Oatlands.
Eccentricity among the aristocracy was a popular subject. The public loved to laugh at their betters.
Once the last lines were inked in on the drawing, and the wash of colors added, she sat back and slowly began to clean her brushes.
Choices, choices.Since taking her abrupt leave from Wrexford, her thoughts had been agitated, her head at war with her heart. Cold logic demanded she take one course of action, while raw emotion spoke in far different terms. She could either choose to stay on her current path in life—one of hard-won independence, cobbled together on her own terms—or commit herself to saving Nicholas.
She didn’t see how she could do both.
A soft knock on her workroom door roused her from such mordant musings. The boys had gone out to make the inquiries she had requested. Which meant it could only be the maid.
She hesitated, in no mood for conversation.
McClellan clicked open the latch on hearing no response. “Would you care for a cup of tea and perhaps a cold collation of meat and cheese?” she asked. “You ate nothing at supper.”
“I wasn’t particularly hungry.”
“That doesn’t mean you don’t need to fill your breadbox. In my experience, an empty stomach can affect one’s judgment. And not for the better.”
Charlotte huffed a humorless laugh. “I’m not sure a bite of roast beef or cheddar is going to gift me with great wisdom.”
“Perhaps not. But I daresay you’ll feel better without a painful gnawing in your belly.”
“I’m not sure food is going to do away with that.”
