he accomplished the catch. Quickly and in another careful series of movements, he secured the blue damselfly in a small cage with muslin meshed sides.
The insect flitted about, knocking into the mesh, before settling on the leafed stem he had positioned inside.
Rupert turned his attention to where the damselfly had been hovering. The small pond with a fountain in its center had attracted numerous insects throughout the morning. Some appeared to dip into the water for no more than a drink, but the damselfly had appeared busy in an area between lily pads, drawing his notice.
He had captured a female. Rupert had watched, as awe-inspired as ever by the workings of nature, as the female now in his possession had mated, then gone beneath the water to lay her eggs. The male of the species had remained nearby until the female approached the surface again, at which point he lowered himself to the water to rescue her, for she seemed too tired to break the surface of the pond on her own.
Why would an insect behave in such a way? What in the nature of the male damselfly drove him to rescue the female after he had already achieved his purpose in passing on his lineage? Most would say insects, and all creeping things of the earth, had no morality. What would drive the male to act so, save a natural urge to continue the species?
He jotted down his musings, though he had no intention of including them in his current work.
The Duke of Montfort had requested a catalog of insects and flora of his gardens, filled with illustrations and basic scientific notations. It was a monumental work, and the nature of the project would be invaluable to future generations. It was precisely the type of publication the Royal Society of London would notice.
If Rupert could gain the attention of the Royal Society, and the approval of its members, there was every chance of attaining a fellowship. Perhaps he might even get his work published in the Philosophical Transactions.
He looked down into the mesh cage at his specimen, watching as the tired female crawled slowly up the stick. So simple a creature, yet, with such a vastly mysterious life, it could be the key to seeing his name printed in the same journal that published Isaac Newton.
Though only seven-and-twenty years of age, Rupert had dreamed of being published by the Royal Society’s journal for nineteen years.
Rupert went to work studying the plants in the pond. The damselflies had a liking for the area, likely due to the lack of predators. There were no fish, ornamental or otherwise, in the water. Though a fountain poured into it, the fountain had plenty of lily pads and moss growing around its edges to keep certain parts dark and cool, even at the hottest part of the day.
Sketching in the plant life always slowed the process of discovery. As vital as plants were to the insects, he simply did not have the love for the greenery that he did for the mysterious creepers and crawlers of the world. Flowers and trees grew where they were planted, then fed and sheltered wildlife.
As lovely as pond fronds might be to one observing the scene, his time would be better spent elsewhere.
After making notations for colors and the paints he would need for the sketch, Rupert stood and stretched his arms overhead. It was then that he remembered he had cast off his coat. His valet often bemoaned the state of Rupert’s coat and trousers, the knees and elbows of which he coated in mud quite regularly, crawling about in gardens to look beneath leaves and rocks. Today, it would be Rupert’s shirtsleeves that were moaned over.
Rupert grinned to himself and cast about, looking for the missing item. He had removed it in something of a temper, when the close-cut fabric made it difficult to get into the position necessary for observation of the damselfly.
His hat had disappeared, too, though he didn’t recall where that had gone. After a few minutes of work, he found his coat beneath a shrub and his hat laid atop it. A moment later, he had gathered all his things and went in the direction of the castle. Though he could have stayed at his home part of the time, sixteen miles away, being on the duke’s property at all hours made some of his observations far easier.
He took the servants’ stairs up to the guest quarters. Rupert doubted the duchess would