Page 7 of An Inventor and An Inconvenience (Gentleman Scholars #5)

F aith stood in her father's dining room, surveying the table with a critical eye. The damask tablecloth had been meticulously pressed, the silver polished to a mirror shine, and the crystal arranged with geometric precision.

Professor Somerton's academic receptions were infrequent enough to be notable occasions, yet regular enough that Faith had developed a system for their preparation that left little to chance.

"The floral arrangements should be delivered by noon tomorrow," she murmured to herself, making a notation in the small leather-bound book she used to track household matters. "And Cook has confirmed the menu, though she's still grumbling about Professor Hartford's dietary restrictions."

A smile touched Faith's lips as she recalled Cook's colourful assessment of the professor's delicate digestion. Some of the household staff's observations about Oxford's esteemed academics would shock polite Society—and provided Faith with invaluable insights into the men who shaped the university's policies.

With the dining room arrangements settled, Faith moved to her father's study to ensure it would be suitable for the post-dinner conversation that inevitably followed these gatherings.

The room would need to be presentable without disturbing any of her father's ongoing work—a delicate balance that often required Faith to decipher which stacks of papers and books were current research and which were simply accumulating dust.

As she carefully straightened a pile of journals, her gaze fell upon a familiar leather bookmark peeking out from beneath several scientific periodicals.

Faith's breath caught as she recognized it—a simple strip of tooled leather, worn smooth by years of handling. She had given it to her father as a gift nearly thirteen years ago, her childish hand having laboriously traced the Latin motto: Scientia potentia est . Knowledge is power.

The sight of it transported her instantly to her eleventh summer, when Meredith had first taught her those words. They had been tucked away in a corner of Professor Silver's study, heads bent together over a volume of Francis Bacon's works that they'd "borrowed" while their fathers were deep in academic debate over tea.

"Listen to this, Faith," Meredith had whispered, her finger tracing the Latin phrase. "This is what my father says is the most important idea in all of philosophy."

"What does it mean?" Faith had asked, still struggling with her Latin declensions despite her determined self-education.

"Knowledge is power," Meredith had translated, her eyes bright with conviction even at twelve years old. "This is why we must learn everything we can, even if they try to stop us."

Faith smiled at the memory, gently touching the bookmark.

That afternoon had been the first of countless clandestine study sessions. While their fathers discussed lofty academic matters, Faith and Meredith had created their own curriculum —an eclectic blend of whatever texts they could access when no one was watching.

Mathematics had been Meredith's favourite, while Faith had been drawn to the natural sciences.

Together, they had puzzled through geometry problems by tracing shapes in spilled tea, and conducted simple chemistry experiments using kitchen ingredients when the household staff wasn't looking. More than once, they had nearly been caught—like the time they'd attempted to recreate one of Robert Boyle's air pressure experiments and shattered a glass jar in Professor Silver's study.

The memory of their hasty cleanup, stifling giggles while frantically sweeping up glass shards before their fathers returned, still brought a smile to Faith's face. They had been partners in intellectual crime from the beginning.

Faith returned to her preparations, moving into the drawing room where the academic gentlemen would take their brandy after dinner.

As she arranged the chairs in a configuration that would encourage conversation while ensuring Professor Hartford wouldn't be too close to the fire (another of his peculiarities), her thoughts drifted to the plans she and Meredith had begun developing for their school.

Just last week, Faith had received a tentative inquiry from Mrs. Bennett, the blacksmith's widow, asking whether Faith might consider teaching her daughter to read "properly, not just shop signs and Scripture."

The letter, painfully composed with numerous crossed-out words and ink blots, had moved Faith deeply. Here was a woman who recognized the value of education for her daughter, even though she had little herself.

Faith had shown the letter to Meredith during their meeting at the library, expecting her friend to share her excitement about this potential first student for their adult women's classes. Instead, Meredith had looked thoughtful.

"Why not teach the mother as well?" Meredith had suggested. "And perhaps her son too, if she has one."

"Her son?" Faith had been surprised. "But our school is meant to be for women and girls—to provide the education they're denied elsewhere."

Meredith had leaned forward, that familiar passionate gleam in her eyes.

"Think about it, Faith. If we teach only the girls, they'll still face a world where their brothers, husbands, and sons don't understand the value of female education. But if we educate boys alongside them—boys from families who can't afford Oxford or even grammar school—we create allies for the future."

Faith had been sceptical.

"Our resources will be limited enough as it is. Wouldn't it be better to focus them where they're most needed?"

"Education is most needed everywhere it's denied," Meredith had countered. "The daughter of a blacksmith has no more access to proper schooling than her brother does, if the family can't afford it. The difference is that Society expects him to remain ignorant due to his class, while she's expected to remain ignorant due to both her class and her sex."

Their friendly debate had continued throughout the afternoon, eventually evolving into a broader discussion about the purpose of their proposed school.

For Faith, it had always been primarily about offering women the knowledge they deserved—the same understanding of mathematics, science, literature, and philosophy that men took for granted. Her own thirst for learning drove her vision.

Meredith, on the other hand, had increasingly come to see their school as a vehicle for broader social change.

"What good is knowledge if it doesn't improve people's lives?" she had argued. "If we teach a poor girl geometry but her family still starves because nothing in their circumstances has changed, have we truly helped her?"

Faith sighed as she adjusted the position of the brandy decanter on the sideboard.

She understood Meredith's perspective, but she couldn't help feeling that it diluted their original purpose. Women's education was already controversial enough—adding class considerations would only make their school more radical in the eyes of Oxford Society.

Yet she couldn't deny the practical wisdom in Meredith's approach.

Lady Beaverbrook, their most promising potential patron, had responded with particular interest to the portions of Faith's letter that emphasized how educated mothers would better prepare their children and manage their households—practical benefits that extended beyond the women themselves.

"Perhaps there's room for both approaches," Faith murmured to herself as she straightened a stack of sheet music on the pianoforte.

After all, their different perspectives had always strengthened their friendship rather than weakening it. Meredith's practical idealism balanced Faith's more scholarly focus, just as Faith's attention to detail complemented Meredith's broader vision.

Faith's reflections were interrupted by a knock at the front door.

Through the drawing room window, she caught sight of an unfamiliar carriage outside—not one belonging to any of Oxford's regular academics. Curious, she moved to the hallway in time to see Lucy admitting a well-dressed gentleman's secretary bearing an envelope sealed with an impressive-looking crest.

"For Professor Somerton," the man said stiffly. "Lady Harrington requests the courtesy of a prompt reply."

Faith's heart quickened at the name.

Lady Harrington was known throughout Oxford as a woman of considerable means and progressive ideas regarding education. She had established several charitable schools for poor children in London, though she had never before shown interest in Oxford's academic community.

"I shall ensure my father receives it immediately," Faith assured the secretary, accepting the envelope with what she hoped was an appropriately dignified nod.

After the man departed, Faith turned the letter over in her hands, desperately curious about its contents. Could Lady Harrington have heard about their plans for a school? Had Adriana perhaps mentioned something to her social circle?

With considerable self-restraint, Faith placed the sealed letter on her father's desk rather than giving in to the temptation to open it herself. Professor Somerton was particular about his correspondence, even when it concerned matters that directly affected Faith's responsibilities.

Returning to her preparations, Faith found her mind buzzing with possibilities.

Between Lady Beaverbrook's tentative interest, Mrs. Bennett's inquiry about her daughter, and now potentially Lady Harrington's attention, their school was beginning to feel less like a childhood dream and more like an achievable reality.

The thought sent a shiver of excitement through her. If their school succeeded—even on the small scale they initially planned —it would mean more than just the fulfilment of a personal ambition. It would be proof that women could create institutions of learning, that they could pass knowledge to others rather than merely consuming it in secret.

And perhaps, Faith thought as she moved to check the conservatory where additional seating would be arranged for tomorrow's reception, their school might eventually reveal a truth she and Meredith had long suspected: that the limitations placed on female intellect were entirely artificial, products of custom rather than nature.

As she inspected the fern arrangements, Faith's mind returned to Lord Jasper and his mining device. She'd been impressed by his willingness to consider her suggestion about using steel, despite her father's dismissal of the idea. Perhaps there were more men like him—men who could recognize intelligence regardless of its source.

Or perhaps he was merely humouring her, as one might indulge a child showing off a precocious talent before gently guiding them back to more appropriate pursuits.

Faith frowned at the thought.

She'd endured enough condescension in her life to recognize it readily, and Lord Jasper's interest had seemed genuine. Still, experience had taught her to be cautious with such judgments. Many educated gentlemen were perfectly willing to discuss intellectual matters with women in private, only to dismiss those same women's capabilities when in the company of their peers.

"Faith?" Her father's voice called from the front hall. "Are you at home?"

"In the conservatory, Father," she responded, hastily rearranging her features into a more neutral expression.

Professor Somerton appeared in the doorway, looking distracted as usual. "Ah, there you are. How are the preparations for tomorrow's reception progressing?"

"Very well," Faith assured him. "Everything is arranged except for the flowers, which will arrive in the morning. Oh, and a letter came for you—from Lady Harrington. It's on your desk."

Her father's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Lady Harrington? How unusual."

He seemed about to say more, then noticed the arrangement of chairs Faith had been organizing. "Perhaps fewer seats in here? Professor Hartford complains that the moisture aggravates his rheumatism."

Faith nodded, making a mental note. "Of course. I'll move some of these to the drawing room."

Her father lingered, seeming uncharacteristically hesitant. "Faith, about tomorrow's reception... Lord Jasper will be attending."

"I assumed he would," Faith replied carefully, uncertain why this warranted special mention.

"Yes, well..." Professor Somerton adjusted his spectacles. "He expressed particular interest in discussing your suggestion about using steel in his device. I thought perhaps you might want to... prepare yourself for the conversation."

Faith stared at her father in astonishment. Was he actually encouraging her to engage in an intellectual discussion with one of his students?

"I merely mention it," he continued, clearly uncomfortable with her surprise, "because Lord Jasper is a valued colleague, and his work has potential significance for mining safety. Any insights that might improve his device would be beneficial to consider."

Before Faith could formulate a response to this unprecedented acknowledgment of her potential contribution, her father turned abruptly toward his study.

"I should see what Lady Harrington wants. No doubt some charitable appeal or other."

As he disappeared down the hallway, Faith remained rooted to the spot, processing what had just occurred. Her father had actually suggested—albeit in his roundabout way—that she continue her intellectual discussion with Lord Jasper. More than that, he had implied that her insights might have value.

The thought was so unexpected that Faith almost laughed aloud. After years of being redirected toward "more suitable" feminine pursuits whenever she expressed interest in her father's work, this casual acknowledgment felt revolutionary.

Perhaps Meredith was right after all. Perhaps change could come in small increments, through individual minds opening to new possibilities rather than through grand gestures of defiance.

Faith returned to her preparations with renewed energy, mentally reviewing what she knew about steel manufacturing and its potential applications in mechanical devices. If Lord Jasper truly wished to discuss the matter, she would be thoroughly prepared.

And perhaps, just perhaps, such conversations might eventually lead to broader acceptance of women's intellectual capabilities—acceptance that could pave the way for the school she and Meredith dreamed of establishing.

As the afternoon light slanted through the conservatory windows, painting the ferns in golden hues, Faith allowed herself a moment of pure hope. Between Adriana's treasure hunt, Lord Jasper's unexpected respect for her ideas, and the growing list of potential supporters for their school, the future suddenly seemed full of possibilities.

For now, though, there was a reception to prepare, academics to impress, and—most immediately—a new gown to consider for tomorrow evening's gathering. After all, if she was to engage in scholarly debate with Lord Jasper Linford, she might as well look her best while doing so.

Faith smiled to herself as she imagined Meredith's reaction to that particular thought.

Her practical friend would likely tease her about finding Lord Jasper's intellect suspiciously more interesting now that she'd met him in person. And perhaps there was some truth to that—though Faith would never admit it aloud.

Some things, after all, were better kept private—just like the education she and Meredith had pursued together all these years, hidden in plain sight among the hallowed halls of Oxford.

~~~~

The dining room buzzed with conversation as Oxford's finest minds gathered for the monthly faculty dinner. Faith moved carefully between the guests, her dove-grey silk gown rustling against the polished floor. She'd chosen the modest frock deliberately – elegant enough to reflect well on her father as hostess, but not so fashionable as to draw attention.

"Miss Somerton." Professor Walkerton's wife caught her arm. "Do tell us about the new window treatments. Such a lovely shade of crimson."

Faith smiled politely, though her attention strayed to the far end of the room where Lord Jasper was engaged in what appeared to be a tense discussion with Professor Reynolds. The cantankerous professor was gesturing dismissively at what Faith presumed was Jasper's latest adaptation of his mining device.

"Your father mentioned you've been assisting with household accounts," Mrs. Walkerton continued. "Such a practical skill for a young lady. Though I dare say you needn't trouble yourself with too many figures."

"Indeed," Faith murmured, straining to hear fragments of the men's conversation. "Though I find mathematics rather essential for household management."

"Mathematics!" Mrs. Walkerton tittered. "My dear, surely you mean simple sums?"

Before Faith could respond, Professor Whitmore joined their circle. "Speaking of calculations, did you hear about Lady Harrington's proposed funding for practical education initiatives? Most controversial."

Faith's pulse quickened. Lady Harrington's letter to her father – could this be what had been distracting him?

"I understand she's interested in supporting technical training for the community," Professor Whitmore continued, oblivious to Faith's sudden interest. "Your father was consulted, I believe."

"I'm sure Miss Somerton wouldn't trouble herself with such matters," Mrs. Walkerton said smoothly.

"No indeed," Faith forced herself to say, though each word felt like a betrayal. "If you'll excuse me, I believe the second course needs attending."

She managed to slip away, making her way toward the corridor where she nearly collided with Jasper, who appeared to have escaped his own uncomfortable conversation.

"Reynolds refuses to even consider the educational applications," he said without preamble, frustration evident in his voice. "Claims it would disrupt the proper social order to teach mechanical principles to miners."

"Is that what's caused the tension with my father as well?" Faith asked. "Lady Harrington's educational proposal?"

Jasper's expression shifted to surprise. "You know about that? The funding would support technical education alongside the mining innovations. Your father was asked to develop a curriculum framework, but Reynolds and his allies are fighting it."

"That explains the correspondence he's been so preoccupied with," Faith said, pieces falling into place. "And why he's been so distracted during your consultations about the device."

"The device itself works," Jasper said, lowering his voice as a pair of professors passed by. "But its potential goes beyond mere efficiency. If miners understood the principles behind it—"

"They could maintain it themselves," Faith finished. "Like how understanding mathematical principles makes household management more effective."

"Exactly." His eyes lit with the same passion she felt. "Knowledge shouldn't be parceled out based on social standing. It should—"

"Faith!" Her father's voice carried from the dining room. "The wine, if you please."

"Back to our proper roles," Faith said with a slight curtsey that could have been either playful or bitter.

Jasper caught her hand before she could turn away.

"Some roles," he said softly, "are made to be rewritten. Meet me in the library tomorrow? I have something I want to show you – an adaptation of the device that might interest you."

The warmth of his touch lingered long after Faith returned to her duties, but it was the promise of their meeting that truly quickened her pulse. Whatever had been distracting her father was connected to Lady Harrington, educational initiatives, and Jasper's device – and tomorrow, she might finally understand how it all fit together.