Chapter Four #3
“Ahh, Miss Abigail, I hope you never change—we always know where we stand with you. No subtlety or grace to be found in you.” The words themselves were appreciative, the tone in which they were delivered was not, nor was the look on Mr. Monaghan’s face.
“It is considered quite the social event of the month, Mr. O’Sullivan. Quite a difference from what one might see in Ireland,” Mr. Suchet added rudely.
“I am looking forward to it,” Robert said.
It was not just these two men here who were so cavalier and dismissive of Miss Fossey, but the Weirs too, and their maid shared a similar attitude toward Abigail.
All thoughts of his abandoning Miss Fossey fled.
It annoyed him no end to see her being spoken to in such a manner, so he added, “And if Miss Fossey is agreeable, I hope to lead her out for the first dance.”
With a low, but long whistle that transformed into a mirthless laugh, Mr. Monaghan shook his head.
“Miss Abigail doesn’t dance.” He licked his lips before adding in a confiding manner, “And her oldest sister does, but in the manner which you’d ask.
You will learn, Mr. O’Sullivan, on closer acquaintance in Lyme that Miss Abigail Fossey likes nothing more than making us all feel insignificant to her, and in fact—”
Robert’s growing dislike of the two of these two men was mounting, from their informality to their presumption, but as Robert opened his mouth to offer a rebuke and a defense, he was delighted to hear Miss Abigail speak up first.
“Actually, Mr. Monaghan, I simply don’t dance with you.
Or your uncle. But I should be delighted to take to the floor with Mr. O’Sullivan.
Good day, gentleman.” She marched off before any of the three of them could muster a reply.
Robert had to practically chase after her.
His feet landed hard on the pebbles as he ran after her.
“Good show,” he said when he was alongside her again.
Miss Fossey glanced at him sideways and gave him a faint smile. “They do warrant the name of gentlemen. They speak in riddles about puppets, and societal rules, and my lord knows what else. You must not believe whatever they meant about my sister.”
“In Bath and London, I feel confident in saying they are not the sort who would gain the respect due to gentlemen.”
His response earned him a true grin, which, along with the growing daylight, illuminated Miss Fossey’s face, bringing a pleasing animation to her features.
It highlighted her freckles that danced over the bridge of her nose and cheeks, played into the shadows of a dimple on the right of her mouth, and caught her sooty eyelashes, softening the contours of her firm chin.
“My sister says I must play at being polite because they have some money, more money than us…” She trailed off.
Just as Robert was about to beg her to continue, she shook her head.
“I should not have said so rudely.” She bit her lip, wrinkled her nose, and then added as if she were throwing caution to the wind, “They are always far nastier to me when I am alone than when my sister is there.”
Looking back over his shoulder at the faint outlines of the two retreating men, made Robert aware of his anger toward them.
It would not have been hard to strike at them, to beat both of them, bringing them low onto the rocks and pebbles of the beach, not with his training.
Still, what would be the good in that? His false name and rationale for being in Lyme might be exposed and for what purpose?
To protect Miss Fossey? She did not seem as if she wanted or needed such attention.
“Yes, my sister makes certain they do not say such things publicly to me. Mr. Suchet owns a stretch of land.” She pointed to the east, in a direction Robert could only guess at.
“Mr. Monaghan is his heir and his nephew, and quite…what is the word Sophia used? Oh yes, high in his instep about his prospects.”
A faint warning sound echoed through him, about these two, about their possible association with smugglers if they were as wealthy as Abigail said. And he told himself he would inquire into both Mr. Suchet and his nephew once he was back at the Dower.
However, a stronger feeling was sweeping through him: an admiration for the older Miss Sophia increased in Robert’s chest. He was oddly touched that she would confide in him this secret.
He offered her his most hopeful smile. “I was sincere when I talked about the ball. I would be pleased to dance with you.”
It was not merely an honor, Robert realized as he watched her.
He wanted to dance with her. For her own sake, as a way of pushing back the critics.
For his own, as a way of laying some kind of strange claim to this spinster.
She might never be more intimate with a man than this dance, and it suddenly mattered that she agreed to dance with him.
“Let us see if you still feel that way when the ball occurs,” Miss Fossey said as she moved closer to the cliff edge, her words both a challenge and an offer combined.