Chapter Twenty-Four #2
“Miss Fossey is to be my wife.” Emotions rocketed through Robert, and he tried his best to keep them in check. To suppress them. Bury them down far, so that the baron would not detect them. There was nothing that Montacute hated more than an excess of feelings.
There was a tiny movement—a twitch—around the baron’s left eye.
A normal man might have raised an eyebrow.
But there was very little that was normal about Montacute.
“I see.” Each word seemed to carry weight and meaning, although Robert was not certain quite what Montacute saw, as the baron was famed for seeing far more than just the surface level.
Thankfully, Montacute stepped away and turned his back on both Robert and the bed. Away from Abigail.
Behind him, Robert could hear Abigail moving, presumably quickly trying to put on some clothes.
This was the moment he had been waiting for, preparing for.
He knew he would need to tell the baron of his intention of quitting the service.
Yet. Yet it had been years of his life, and as he looked up into Montacute guilt, anxiety pulsed through him.
Still, it meant that Abigail and he could start anew and that was worth any brief discomfort. She was worth the consequences.
“Spit it out,” Montacute said as he moved toward the doorway. “Whatever it is that seems to be plaguing you, Davenport.”
“I wish to leave the service.” Robert followed the baron, hoping to shield Abigail as best he could.
Montacute paused. His hand came out to touch the doorframe. His knuckles blanched as he gripped the wood, before dropping away. When he looked back to Robert, the baron gave him the smallest of nods. An attempt at servility.
“I see.” Montacute mirrored the earlier response from Robert. “Let me be the first to wish you nothing but happiness.”
This warm reaction in the baron was shocking, that Robert could not think of a reply—it would need to be equally polite, well mannered, and yet convey the gratitude Robert felt toward Montacute’s actions in recruiting him to the service, after his injury.
“Thank you.” It came from behind him as Abigail walked up to stand next to him.
She was supporting him. Gently she touched Robert’s arm, before turning and looking up without fear at Montacute.
Her sharp brown eyes showed no shame as she straightened before the baron.
Staring him down. Despite himself, Robert found himself deeply proud of his future wife.
She was so unapologetically herself. In her haste, she had donned Robert’s breeches and pulled part of a shawl around her chest. Many women would have been awkward in such situations, but Abigail had none of this typical embarrassment.
“Madam.” The baron nodded at her, before glancing between the two of them, there was calculation in his face. “I assume there is some plan that you have both settled on.”
“We have,” Abigail said. Her voice was strong. “We will be visiting Dublin, and Robert’s home. He has met my family, but I have yet to see his.”
This was not something they had discussed, and yet it made sense.
Perfect sense. She had worked out what their next steps should be.
A broad smile brightened his face. Abigail had known that Robert needed to see his mother again.
Show her the meandering cobbled streets of Dublin.
Taste the ale, which tasted like nothing else in this world.
Memories pounded through him, and how he had missed the city of his birth, how he looked to show her the sights.
“I have made a complete debrief to the commodore,” Robert lied. “About my time in Lyme, detailing what I unearth about the Pinhayers.”
Only at this mention of Lyme Regis did Abigail tense, but Montacute was watching Robert with more scrutiny than he was expecting.
“I have nothing further to ask you, Davenport. I was happy with most of your workings around this gang. But you, madam—is it Miss Fossey? I would not object to asking you a few simple questions. When you are…willing.” This last part was Montacute’s slight nod toward Abigail’s state of undress.
Only once in his report had Robert made mention of the Fosseys.
That one of their number was aiding in his investigation.
Yet as a spy Montacute, who as a man who knew the workings of the human mind better than most, must have seen through any attempt to protect Abigail. He would figure it out, so quickly.
“We can talk now,” Abigail said. There was a sharp edge of annoyance to her response. “The questions do not need to be simple. I will attempt to help with whatever part of your investigation I can.”
Nerves throbbed through his chest, as Robert tried desperately to warn Abigail that Montacute was highly skilled at interrogations, and would see through any attempt to obfuscate or obscure the facts.
But it seemed that the baron might not be as okay with the state of their undress. His eyes drifted briefly over the pair of them. “I will be next door in the parlor. If you can join me in there…” He sucked in a breath, grimaced uncomfortably and then added, “…when you are ready.” Then he was gone.
Robert pushed the hotel door closed hastily. “Abigail—”
“You are going to warn me about him, aren’t you?”
“He is dangerous.” Robert knew he should be donning his clothes, but instead he came forward and snatched up her hands. He dropped his voice, barely above a whisper. “You must be careful. No mention of—”
“I know.” She kissed his cheek. “But you heard him. He does not think women are bright enough to manage any of this.”
“He sent me down to Lyme to investigate a female ringleader. He knows what women are capable of.” His fear of what Abigail might let slip worried him.
Abigail had pulled away and started to dress, scrambling into her chemise and then yanking her gown off the floor and toward her. “Only because he thinks it is a ruse. A temporary truce, not true leadership. Besides, he thinks we are a pair of fools. Now help me finish dressing.”
Once she was done, Abigail was all for facing Montacute alone, but Robert was able to convince her to wait for him to put his clothes on. It was a quick affair as Robert had no desire to linger.
Together, they slipped into the parlor, where Montacute was waiting for them.
The baron’s normal calmed facade was back in place, haughty, stiff and he had managed to locate an ink pot, quill and paper, in preparation for the upcoming talk.
He resonated a sort of dark looming displeasure as he looked between them.
“Madam, pray do have a seat.” The baron indicated a seat for her to take, opposite him. “I am sure you wish to stay in Davenport, although perhaps your fiancé would wish for tea?”
“I am not thirsty, my lord,” Abigail said, as she sank into the seat. She arranged herself as neatly as she could, and levelled her gaze at the baron. “Let us begin.”
The questions began. At first, they were fairly simple. A few little remarks and inquiries into Abigail’s family and her standing within the Dorset town.
“So, this is your first visit to London?”
“Yes,” Abigail said. “I have come up to Town to find a home for my latest discovery.” She reached out from her reticule and extracted the sketch of the sea monster they had found.
It was a good likeness. “I am approaching the geological society in an effort to join their number. However, they are remarkably shortsighted.”
“And what has that got to do with Captain Davenport?” there was a precision to the baron’s query and Robert feared what her response might say next. If Abigail conveyed her interest in science this would open up another line of questions, yet if she gave anything away about her sister…
“It is my fault his mission to find Pinhayers was unsuccessful. I was out late at night, working on my sea creature. Robert—Captain Davenport saved me, whilst there was a smuggling—a landing taking place. Without him I might be dead. That is another reason why I came up to Town.” His fiancé’s back straightened and then she turned and smiled with such a romantic look at Robert that it shocked him.
“Because they realized how much I needed to see my captain. And as a local to Lyme, unless you set up an ongoing service you will not be able to stop the sale of brandy and French wine.”
“I see.” Montacute studied her for a moment before turning and looking over Robert.
For a minute, the tension in the parlor stretched. Encompassing all of them. Then much to Robert’s shock, Montacute made a scuffing noise and proceeded to pack up his items. He was done with the pair of them.
Was Abigail’s theory about the baron correct?
And Montacute believed them nothing but lovesick fools.
Robert watched the man leave, wandering what the baron was thinking, but on that his lordship gave no clue.
Then when Robert looked back at Abigail, he realized that it didn’t matter what the man thought, all that mattered was that they were free.