Chapter Nine #2
Awkwardly, Abigail looked away and down the settee at her spread out feet, and the deep swirling pattern of Sophia’s Indian shawl.
It was starting to fray at the edges, it had been bought when Father was still alive, and the romantic curls of blue, turquoise and pale gold had seen far too many seasons and parties.
With a free hand, Abigail pulled at one of the loose gold threads, mustering up the courage to say what she really meant.
“I think the gossip is wrong. There is no basis for such speculation. Judith is right.”
“You mean to tell me that Mr. O’Sullivan has never given any inclination of any romantic interest in you?” It was hard to entirely know how to judge Miss Schillers’s question, but Abigail thought she sounded doubtful.
“You believe there is a chance of marriage between us?”
“Yes, of course,” Miss Schillers said. “How I have longed to see one of you girls wed. I remember your own dear parents’ wedding over three and thirty years ago now…” She let out a sigh.
“What would be a sign of interest on his part?”
“Oh, my dear, sometimes I forget…” Miss Schillers sighed. “Well, a kiss would be a good sign, or, if he is more formal, if he has taken your hand.”
“Only when we danced.” This was a lie, but she doubted most would consider Mr. O’Sullivan helping up and over a handful of pebbles a serious way of accessing an intention. It was too little. There needed to be more for Abigail to be convinced.
“I do believe Mr. O’Sullivan could not be ignorant of what is expected of him—” There was a noise outside the room, and Miss Schillers rose to her feet. “Not after today. I should see to your sister. Excuse me, pet.”
Mr. O’Sullivan may not be ignorant, but I am. I have no intention of simply being married off. Abigail frowned down at Milton with such a mulish refrain she expected the cat to react. Milton did not. Although his nose did twitch.
A strange idea twisted its way through Abigail as she watched her cat and dwelt on Miss Schillers’s speculation.
Her interest in Mr. O’Sullivan was not of a marrying kind.
Yet it all seemed to lead back to the idea of a kiss.
And that was something that had been intriguing Abigail for the longest time.
Only she wanted was that curiosity satisfied and then they could resume their proper business—searching for fossils.
With that in mind, she lay back on the settee, a decision made as she feigned sleep. Tonight, she knew exactly what she needed to do.
*
The walk between The Dower Hotel and her family’s home had never previously struck Abigail as an overly arduous one. But with her sore ankle, the task took far longer than she expected. Wisely, she had taken her father’s walking stick which helped balance her and keep her steps steady.
The hotel was bustling, filled with people despite the lateness of the hour, and when Abigail slipped alongside it, she overheard that frantic and excited talk, focused almost entirely on the rockslide and the fears the town had had.
There was a jolly song echoing here and there, and much chatter about the daring Mr. O’Sullivan. How brave he was. Such a hero.
If the dratted man heard such gossip, his ego would be ridiculous. No one could listen to such inflated talk and not come away with a distorted idea of their own worth… Besides, if anyone was going to praise Mr. O’Sullivan, surely it should be left to Abigail?
Her eyes swept the lower floors of the hotel.
The hotel was rammed, and as Mrs. Weir kept saying, Bessie had quit, leaving them without notice.
Abigail could see Mr. O’Sullivan was not there.
She turned away and toward the rear of the building, where the staircase curved up toward the higher floors. Where the bedchambers were.
There was such noise and chatter coming from the guests, and busy pressing bodies, no one seemed to pay her any heed, so Abigail headed upstairs.
Excitement pounded through her chest, but her steps did not falter, she had to see him. It was even possible to ignore the soreness in her rib and the damaged wrist, because nothing quite compared to what she pictured when she finally reached his room.
Put simply, she had to see Mr. O’Sullivan. The reassurance he had offered her previously, the sheer strength of his presence, whatever he might say was a necessity now.
On the second floor, Abigail started to walk past the rooms. She had a faint memory that Mr. O’Sullivan had mentioned he had paid for a view of the sea and cobb. So, she made her way toward the upper floor and the front of the hotel.
She tried three possible doors. Two were empty. It was not the height of the season, and the third did not budge.
“O’Sullivan?” Abigail assumed an accent, masking her real voice.
To her surprise, the door swung wide and stood there with a rifle raised toward her face, here was her savior. He was pointing a musket at her.
“Going to undo your good work from earlier?” Abigail asked.
Mr. O’Sullivan stepped back, his eyes wide as he stared at her. Abigail saw him check behind her. “I did not expect to see you here.”
“I had to see you.”
For a moment, he smiled and then lowered his weapon. “I should not have argued with you earlier today. I misspoke. I offer you my apologies.”
“I do not wish to talk about our argument. Or this morning.”
“Not even my daring rescue?” His former arrogance was returning, and Abigail knew he must have heard a great deal of the chatter downstairs. He would have heard himself called a hero, and no man could resist such praise.
“No, that’s not why I came here.” Once Abigail had set her mind on something, she could not allow such things as rules, society’s expectations or anything of the like, deter her. She must be entirely practical.
“Then what are you doing here?”
Abigail was done standing in the corridor, she walked forward and into his chamber, turning only when she was fully in the middle of the room.
It was the first hotel bedroom she had ever been in, and the luxury of the surroundings flooded in on her, attempting to distract her with their pleasing colors and handsome arrangements.
When she turned around to face Mr. O’Sullivan, the confidence that had brought her here fluttered away in her stomach.
But she told herself, she would not back down, not after what had happened today, not having almost died.
“I came here because I had to know something. I had to know—that is, I need you to kiss me.”