Chapter Thirteen
For most of her life, Abigail had dreamt of finding an amazing discovery, worthy of including in a London exhibition.
Important enough for prominent men of the age to write papers about it.
Perhaps for her to draft her own findings.
Father and she had discussed it happening, working out what they would do—but every single one of their plans had been based on the idea that he might be alive when it happened.
It was only now, standing in the midst of the landslide that had almost killed her, that the discovery of ancient bones feet from her, that Abigail saw truly how difficult everything was going to be. Simply because she wasn’t a man.
Annoyance and anger flared through her, blotting out the practicalities Judith would lean toward or even the manipulations Sophia might try. She wasn’t a man, and neither were her sisters.
Slowly, she lowered the ancient sea creature’s skull back onto the rock and turned to study Robert O’Sullivan. There were deep creases around his bright blue eyes, and his pleasing mouth had thinned as he watched her.
“Will you help me get to London?” Abigail asked.
“I am an honorable man.” Robert stepped nearer, the tempting scent and presence of him, catching on her senses, and reminding Abigail poignantly of the kiss they’d shared.
How if she had been given free rein to explore every one of her desires, they would have gone further.
Then again according to Judith, since he wasn’t proposing he wasn’t worthy of a second thought.
“And I want to help you. I will help you. But I need to know everything you can tell me about Lyme…”
“Around smuggling?”
Robert slipped his hand over hers, cupping and holding her outstretched fingers, as if she were something precious, as if he could not see the dirt beneath her fingers, or did not care. “It is vitally important.”
“In exchange—”
“I will do whatever you need me to do for your discovery. If it is in my power, I will do all I may to aid you.”
She had been drawn into his arms without her even realizing it was happening, her hand creeping up and around his neck, until her forehead was resting against his.
She could feel the strength of his body radiating through her.
There was solidarity, a true comfort to be held.
Abigail could not remember when she had been embraced in such a manner.
It was more enjoyable than she wished to admit.
When she drew back, it was to look up into his gaze and feel the rush of excitement pounding through her veins at the sight of him so near to her.
The tiny faint trace of hair, not even stubble that decorated his chin and cheeks.
The length of his eyelashes. How his auburn brown hair needed a trim, and hung forward boyishly…
“Everything I can, in exchange for everything you know.”
Was it an oath? A bond? It certainly tied them together, regardless of what her mother was intending, connecting them in a way Abigail far more than marriage. This was an exchange where she might actually get her heart’s desire. Or at least what she had always considered to be her biggest ambition.
“I want to be a geologist. Not just in deed, but to be recognized as one professionally.” She whispered it, the words soft and easily dismissed but Robert heard them, she saw his reaction: the slight lifting of his mouth in the smallest inclination of a smile.
He was not judging her for her ambitions, nor was he raising all the reasons why she wouldn’t achieve her desires, he was simply, wondrously listening.
“I want to be a respected geologist, who publishes papers. Is invited to give talks. Goes to Paris and argues with—”
Here for the first time, he stiffened, but when his hand drifted up to push a stray piece of hair off her face, it felt protective rather than restrictive.
“Those are a lot of ambitions, a lot of purpose.” His breath was warm on the skin of her face, comforting and life affirming.
Abigail dropped her head, awaiting the inevitable warning of what she would face in London society, and the predictable rejection he was about to foresee in her future.
“As I said, whatever I can do to help you, I will.”
“Truly?”
“Indeed.” He gave her a quizzical look. She found herself nodding, fully prepared to give anything to achieve her ambitions.
Of course, he could not know how difficult it was to admit such longings.
Although she was beginning to see the advantage of telling Robert such truths, he had not failed her so far—he had danced with her, defended her from the rudeness of the Costigans and Mr. Monaghan, not to mention his willingness to kiss her without thinking it had to mean everything.
She just hoped he did not feel shortchanged from their deal.
“There have always been rumors about these parts,” she began as he helped her off the out-jutting spill of rocks.
They started toward Lyme to hire help. “Gossip even about when there will be landings, or an influx of good brandy to drink or sell. It’s not often here because of how open and busy Lyme is, but it does happen along the coastline.
” She gestured toward the sea and their current bay.
“In Guncliff Coves and Westhay Water, too.”
“Any of the beaches which are especially popular?”
Abigail tried to remember all of the jumble of conversations or snatches of talk she’d overheard when she’d hurried past at a party or the occasional assembly.
The trouble was it would have been quite some time ago.
“Someone warned me to stay away from Charmouth at night, but it could just be that on occasion the water is choppy.”
“Who warned you?”
“I don’t remember.” That was the truth. It had been said at a party. She recalled Sophia’s annoying laughter more than she could the person who had said the words.
It had been over a decade ago, but Abigail didn’t want to say that in case Robert regretted his promise.
Nerves gripped her. She had very little information to give him.
Fear snaked through her, bright and urgent.
What if she knew a person who was involved and she accidently condemned them? What if her father had been?
“Is there anyone you have always suspected…”
“Yes.” Relief rushed in, even if she was not entirely certain about the veracity of what she was about to say.
It was more of a feeling than fact. “I’m sure that Mister Victor Suchet is involved.
” It was the best bit of information she could muster.
Glancing out at the sea far beyond them.
She expected to feel at least the slight stirrings of guilt, but none came.
The man regardless of his power and position was a louse.
Telling Robert, she suspected him did not seem wrong.
“What makes you think that, besides the fact you dislike the man?” Robert asked. Of course, Robert was no fool. He would need more from her. “It is a serious charge, that of treason. That is what you are accusing someone of.”
“He always has money.” At least that was the truth.
That fear was growing, moving up from her stomach and through her chest. “Mr. Suchet has a well-thought-of home. Everyone always says so. His estate abuts Westhay Waters, so it would make sense.” Their mother had always wished that Sophia might have snagged the older man’s attention, but not even Abigail could wish that on her sister.
She wouldn’t wish those grasping hands or that unpleasantly leering mouth near any woman.
Let alone her own sister. It was just as well the man had never married.
“He has more than most people in the county. He has tenants, but… besides, my father said he always had the best wine. He went to the estate once and spoke of drinking the delicious bottle of brandy. Isn’t that the truth everyone speaks of—that French wine is the best in the world? ”
“That is certainly what is said.”
“Have you never tried it?”
“No, at least not enough to claim to be an expert on it.” Robert sighed. “Is that all you know?”
Abigail nodded, nothing else was coming to her. She could not tell if he was satisfied or disappointed with her answers.
However, he offered Abigail his arm to stand. “Come. Let us make our way back.”
Once on her feet, Abigail took up the skull in her arms and turned back to Robert, he gave her an encouraging smile. “We can find some hirelings to help with the extraction of the rest of your sea creature.”
They started making progress back toward her workshop.
“We cannot discuss the smuggling matter amongst others. No one can know of my interest in them.”
Abigail nodded. She knew she needed to focus on Robert’s worries about smuggling, but truthfully her anxiety was also mounting.
Rather, it had never entirely diminished after confessing her wish to become a geologist. Now it was admitted, and out in the world, her truth was threatening to overwhelm her.
Adding to the possibility of someone she knew, or multiple people being involved in something treasonous.
It was rather like the confessional might consume her, or if she did not achieve it, she would forever be disappointed in herself.
Abigail’s hands started to shake, and she recognized the symptoms of a fit of nerves, which might soon be upon her.
They did not happen often, but when they did, it was better for her to be alone, confined to her bedroom.
Hastily, she stowed her skull into the basket she had brought, it did not quite fit, so she passed the basket over to Robert.
She could not risk dropping the skull so she would carry it back herself.
What she needed was to reach the safety of her workshop, and insist that Robert leave her.
“I have heard of landings,” Abigail said.
“How?” Robert asked.
“What do you mean?”
“How do you find out there’s been a landing?”