Chapter Five #3
Before Abigail could muster up a full-throated defense of her discoveries and the scientific endeavor in general, there came a softly uttered ‘ahem’, its burr and cadence, rich and masculine.
When Abigail turned around, she saw Mr. O’Sullivan and felt a huge rush of relief at his arrival.
But she could forgive him if he removed her from this situation. Immediately.
“Good evening.” He bowed elegantly. Abigail mirrored the curtsies of both Miss Costigans. Mr. Aglow continued his full-face smile and a nod of greeting, whilst Miss Guthrie looked as if she were already purchasing her niece’s trousseau.
Mr. O’Sullivan’s clothes were finer than she expected, of a somber black cloth, with a pressed white shirt and cravat.
His waistcoat was a beautiful icy blue, which seemed to match his eyes.
Abigail could not pretend much interest in fashion, but she thought Mr. O’Sullivan looked as handsome as ever.
His sharp gaze moved between the women before him, seeming to see and know all.
“Miss Guthrie, Miss Costigan, Miss Eugenia, Miss Abigail.” His all-consuming expression swept from lady to lady until it landed and settled on Abigail.
It made her feel as if there was no one else present, conveying that these words were meant specifically for her ears only.
“You are all looking well this evening.”
Both of the Miss Costigans giggled again but Abigail simply smiled.
She was not going to allow the companionship they had created as they hunted for fossils to be dented by the fact she found him attractive.
Science and scholarship must come first. “Thank you,” she replied. Mr. O’Sullivan grinned back.
“Most fortuitous,” Mr. Aglow said with his jovial pompousness at its full-throated best, “I was hoping to run into you this evening. I do believe I have your winnings from the card party.”
Mr. O’Sullivan brushed off the remark. “We were simply playing for pennies. And the good fun of all.”
“But you won, sir,” Mr. Aglow continued. “And I am a man of honor, a debt must be repaid.”
“Well, if you must repay me, the recipe for the delicious drink that was served. I heard it was a ‘punch’…”
To Abigail’s surprise, Mr. Aglow frowned most pointedly and then suddenly declared he needed to leave. Without a backward glance, he said over his shoulder, “I will send your winnings to the Dower.”
“I believe, Miss Abigail, we are due our dance,” Mr. O’Sullivan said, smoothly turning to look at her. “I am not much skilled at the cotillion, but I believe I could pass muster at the quadrille.”
“Then it is just as well you have only just arrived, since I believe the cotillion is about to finish,” Abigail said.
Mr. O’Sullivan extended his hand, and Abigail reached out for him and took his arm.
“Are you regretting not asking either of the Miss Costigans for a dance?”
“Lord no,” Mr. O’Sullivan said, “I am wondering if my countenance will hold up under such scrutiny during the dance.”
A pang of worry throbbed through her, and despite her desire to dance with Mr. O’Sullivan, even if it was only the briefest of moments to be held by him, Abigail asked, “Shall I feign a twisted ankle? No one here would be hugely surprised. I am not known for being the most elegant of women.”
His fingers which had moved to hold her own, tightened in what felt almost like a squeeze and she saw a warmth enter his gaze as he beheld her, before vanishing.
It was a look of mutual understanding, that Mr. O’Sullivan respected her.
If he wished to avoid the potential pitfalls of a dance, she would of course understand this.
That he regarded in quite a kindly way. That—
“No,” Mr. O’Sullivan said, “I think I shall manage as long as you will not mind if I am not the most precise of dancers.”
Abigail had half a mind to tell him that she did not care if he fell down halfway through the set. She had not danced with a man in over five years, so it would be a welcomed change however he chose to perform. But she bit back her words.
When the music began, and the pleasantries of bows and curtsies were done with, each partner set off on their twists and turns. Abigail moved closer to Mr. O’Sullivan and finally felt the prolonged touch of his hand on her fingers.
Awareness exploded through her. A newfound discovery alighted within her, despite the onslaught of the vivid surroundings of the ball.
It might as well have been a scholarly discovery—in the feel of his hands on her, the touch soft and fleeting but all-consuming.
It made Abigail know she needed more of it—wanted to find out a great deal about what else could be conveyed by hands, by touch, by sense, by feeling.
Science, fossils, the greater unknowns of the ancient world, were often kept back from women, and it seemed to her as if this was not the only thing she needed to know more about.
She had been right, there was a new realm of physicality she needed to know about.
It seemed that Mr. O’Sullivan had to be the one to teach her.