“Of course. It was in the section about tides and oscillation.” Another hum of anticipation from the audience. “Your English indicates the tidal oscillations are a constant. As indeed they are, and must be. But it was in comparing your translation with my original that I realized my text had been not at all clear about this. It left open the possibility of the moon’s gravity being a single action, rather than a continuous exertion. Which is absurd. So in reading your translation, I discovered my own error.”
A roar went up from the surrounding Fellows.
The marquise chuckled at the consternation, and pitched her voice to soar over it. “I wrote to my publisher for a correction at once. As I told you before, I prefer to be precise.”
For a moment everything in the world was chaos. Half-deafened by the hubbub of voices, Lucy once more sought out Catherine’s face. The countess was laughing, but even from here Lucy could see the sparkle of tears in her eyes.
Relief, pure and sweet as ambrosia, poured over her. It was done. Oh, there would still be doubters to mutter quietly in the corner—but Lucy had stood up in front of the whole Society and proclaimed the truth about her work. Many of them had even accepted it: Mr. Edwards was applauding wildly and no few others were joining him.
The marquise lifted her hand—just a touch—and the hall went silent. She nodded at the President. “I believe I have fulfilled my role in this discussion. Mr. Hawley, I yield the floor to you.”
More applause, though not without an undertone of uncertainty. The Society President bowed over the marquise’s hand and stood before the podium. He looked shaken, winded, as though his whole world were spinning around him.
Lucy could sympathize, though not without a little vicious glee.
He cleared his throat twice before he managed to form words. “My esteemed Fellows of the Polite Science Society: tonight we invited one of the most brilliant scholars of our age to become the newest addition to our fellowship. Her words tonight have moved me greatly. They ring of the same keen insight that makes her astronomical work so substantial and significant.” He deflated a bit, then pulled himself up again. “The Polite Science Society has never before admitted a woman into our lists. But tonight, let this tradition yield to a new and better one, even as we all must yield to the discoveries of those who follow in our footsteps. Please join me in welcoming our newest Fellow, Madame la Marquise de Lantier.”
This time the applause thundered throughout the room, though Lucy saw one or two scowling faces slip out quietly into the hallway. Lucy herself clapped hard enough to make her palms burn, as the marquise rose to clasp Mr. Hawley’s hand. Mr. Hawley then bid everyone a good night, though it was clear most of the assembled natural philosophers planned to linger and continue their beloved arguments with friends and nemeses alike.
Lucy rose, and Mr. Wilby was not so lost to politeness that he failed to rise with her. “Until next year, Mr. Wilby.”
“Don’t be certain, Miss Muchelney.” His lips were pursed as though he’d swallowed an entire lemon since the discussion began, and with a nod that was barely polite enough to qualify, he scurried hastily away to a knot of red-faced and agitated young men in the corner.
Lucy turned—and found Mr. Hawley approaching. “My dear,” he said, holding out his hands.
Lucy didn’t take them. She only raised her head. “Mr. Hawley.”
He dropped his hands after a moment, chagrin reddening his face like a sunrise. “I’m sure I owe you an apology.”
“I’m sure you do—but there’s someone else you might apologize to first, if you please.”
He huffed a little. “I’m certain I have done nothing to offend madame la marquise—though really, someone ought to have warned me...”
“No.” Lucy shook her head. “You ought to apologize to your sister.”
“How did you...” Mr. Hawley trailed off, then heaved a lengthy sigh as if letting go a burden long carried. Lucy fancied she could see every year of his age fall over him, one at a time. “We have not spoken in some time.”
“She wanted to become a Fellow,” Lucy said. “I read her letter. Youpublishedher letter.”
“Yes. Not because I doubted her ability, but because I wanted to gauge what the rest of the Society thought of the notion of including women of science.” He shook his head. “They were almost entirely against it. The language in the letters they sent back! Those I refrained from publishing—but I never forgot them. They haunt my nightmares to this day.”
“You could have supported her,” Lucy said, her voice low and stern.
“Would that have stopped them? As a Fellow, she would have been far more open to attack. All her work would have been doubted, all her hypotheses resisted. It would have meant endless trouble for all of us, and I cared about her too much to subject her to such a gauntlet.”
“Did she agree with your decision?”
Mr. Hawley sighed again. “I think you know she did not.” He looked over at the marquise, who was laughing merrily at something Mrs. Edwards was saying to her, while the novelist’s husband blushed furiously. “She might have been here tonight,” he murmured, then clamped his mouth shut and drew himself up. “Do you intend to put your name forward for Fellowship in the Society?”
Lucy nodded, holding his gaze. “Will I have your support?”
“My dear girl,” Mr. Hawley began in his usual chastising tone, then seemed to catch himself. “You will,” he said instead. His lips twisted up, but when his eyes met hers again, his gaze was clear and steady. “Though I may argue against many of your conclusions.”
“Have I ever demanded you shouldn’t?” Lucy countered.
“No. You have only ever asked for the truth. Forgive an old, stout man for not bending as swiftly as he ought.” With a bow and a flourish, he walked over to Sir Eldon and Mr. Chattenden, who were looking rather green around the gills.
Lucy was above all a creature of curiosity, and there was one question left unanswered. She made her way through all the handshakes and congratulations to where Mr. Frampton stood sipping cheerfully at his port in a corner. “How did you know?” she asked.
