Chapter Twenty-Two
No one at the hotel batted an eyelash when Robert escorted Miss Fossey into the private parlor which adjoined his chamber.
Robert supposed a great number of illicit affairs were conducted across the city, and whilst part of his chivalric instincts wished to jump to the defense of Abigail.
However, neither the concierge nor the footman gave any sign they thought less of Abigail.
Instead, they kept their eyes downcast as if this was a perfectly normal occurrence.
Unlike the hoity-toity ton who might have a snide look to give, it seemed neither of these men were inclined to pass judgement.
Or perhaps they were simply too jaded to care, Robert was not sure which option was better.
The parlor was of the fashionable kind, far outside the budget that Robert on his captain’s salary might normally afford, but he was awaiting the return of Montacute, and the baron had no desire to limit his men from being housed in hotels that were convenient to him, rather than financially conservative.
So, the faint afternoon light peaked in through the elegant lace curtains, the furniture was of an antique style rosewood, of the sort Robert knew his mother would have envied, and there was a delicate watered silk wallpaper on the walls, and matching rose curtains and cushions on every chair and settee.
She drifted into the parlor and immediately Robert felt guilt.
In bringing her here, in letting her face the Society men on her own, in not finding a better way of shielding…
hell, he felt guilt the sort that pricked at his heart, tore at his chest and made him think a sea battle was an easy feat that resolving all that troubled Abigail Fossey.
Once Abigail sat in the armchair nearest the empty grate, and she had been served tea, Robert stared down at her trying his best to work out what to say next.
Her eyes glazed ahead, her face drained of color, and she was strangely quiet for Abigail.
Men in shock, either in the navy or in the customs office would be given a quick shot of port, but Robert doubted this would be wise.
Despite this resolution his eyes drifted over to the cabinet in the side of the parlor, and he wondered if perhaps he could offer her a glass.
With a drawing of breath, Abigail said in a flat voice, “My mother is well. She has written to say that she is returning to Bath to oversee my sister Sophia’s engagement.”
“Indeed?” Robert said, the formality and turn of conversation surprising him. He had brought her with him, in an effort to confess all, to clear his conscience but it seemed Abigail was not in the mood for such things.
“Yes, I am looking forward to witnessing my sister’s wedding.
It will be a great financial relief for us all to know that Sophia is happily set up for life.
I believe it is to be a navy man, or at least someone connected to one of those families.
A Mr. Dinkel—my mother tells me he is the son of a commodore. Perhaps you know of him?”
Robert found himself shaking his head. He wondered about the freedom the middle sister was enjoying and how quickly Mr. Dinkel and his father would run if the truth was discovered about the antics of the oldest Miss Fossey.
“I hope for a summer wedding as I do wish to travel to Bath. I am told it is not the best time to visit the city but since I have not found myself much enamored of London, perhaps I am not the best of judges.” As Abigail spoke, she was forcing herself back together, her loss earlier being slowly scraped back.
“Will you do me the singular courtesy of waiting to reveal what you know of my family’s involvement, as Sophia has done nothing to warrant the condemnation or judgement, and if she were securely wed… then…”
“Do you think that is how justice works?” Robert snapped. He had things to confess, admittances to give, and they were not to be credited to Abigail’s sister. There was nothing on this earth he wished to dwell on less than the other Miss Fosseys.
“I am sure as a very ignorant woman I could have no idea how it works,” Abigail said, bitterness coloring her face as she looked at him. “I meant simply to spare one person who is innocent of blame.”
“That is not why I asked you to come here today.”
“Then why did you?” Her tone did not welcome any romantic admittance, and Robert straightened where he stood, put on the spot by her sharp gaze. “Was it merely out of pity at my poor bedraggled state? That you removed me from public sight?”
“I do not believe I have ever pitied you, Miss Fossey. That is not the emotion you stir in me.”
“Then do you believe I might be with child? I am not, if that is your fear.”
The thought had not truthfully occurred to him, but Robert felt sure that Abigail would have sought him out if she had been.
Surely, she would not be foolish enough to keep such a secret from him, nor condemn their child to be born into disgrace.
But his silence was the wrong approach, because Abigail carried on heedlessly.
“Why have you invited me in here, determined to show your wealth and position?”
“I believe you must be set to think I am only motivated by the worst of inclinations. Can you not imagine I might be motivated at all by anything good in me?”
The question at least made her pause and glance away back to her tea set, slowly she helped herself to another cup of tea.
He saw that her hands trembled as she lifted the cup and saucer up, but it was he who suffered the direct hit when she said, “I once believed you the best of men. Perhaps the best person I had ever met. But now I am not so certain. I no longer know what to believe in regards to you. I laid myself bare before. You know all of my secrets. I did not even have the use of your true name.”
“You knew the man I wished to be.”
“That is not the same.”
“Please,” he quavered a little as he took a step closer. “Please listen.”
After a tiny pause, Abigail nodded.
“I am Irish, but that in itself is never simple. My father is English, Anglican and loyal to the royal crown, but my mother is Catholic…and she…that is…” He turned on his heel, moving over to the fireplace, his fingers drumming at the wooden surface, trying to make sense in his mind, so that he might make sense of it aloud.
“I do not say this as an excuse for my falsehood but as an explanation of my actions. I am used to playing at one thing for one person, and the next moment loyal to another. I have become an actor I suppose without really meaning to. Part of my family needed to be loyal to one creed, the other part wished I could be another way inclined. But when I grew up, I needed to work, and the navy’s offer…
it took me away from such inner familial conflicts. ”
It had seemed the perfect escape twelve years ago when he’d joined up.
A way out of everything and everyone in Dublin, where no decision that he made would please everyone.
The memories of his maternal family reared up in him, the guilt he had felt in departing without saying goodbye, making him feel terrible.
How many letters he had drafted to his mother, explaining himself only for these to be burnt before he sent them.
But he could not dwell on those matters now.
“My decision made matters simple, when they are complicated. And I for my sins enjoyed the simplicity of it all. The taking of orders, the knowing who my enemy is. I did not have to pick one side of myself to fight.”
“I think I know a little of what you speak, I must constantly choose one side of myself to serve,” Abigail said.
“And never is one side given enough. I wished to be a scholar, a scientist, a good sister and daughter, your lover… but no matter which one I turn to, it seems as if I have failed at all of them.”
“But you have tried,” Robert said, realizing that made all the difference, “You have given all of yourself in these endeavors, whereas I have more often than not simply pumped for whichever option was the easiest. I could just loathe the French and be done with it.”
“Did you loathe them then? That must have made my readings and translations horrible to see—no wonder you hated it when I had Curver’s work on me.”
“I thought them to be treasonous,” Robert said before adding, “By the time the battle of Trafalgar happened, I did hate the enemy—witnessing what they did to my men. To me. It made things more straightforward.”
Abigail opened her mouth as if about to add in a valuable point, but in his haste, Robert ploughed on, “You made me see that having things, life, work, my family… love…that having these complications in one’s life, was the very thing that gave it merit, rather than distancing oneself from it.
I did not allow myself the privileges of dreaming for another life, instead I was simply set on making my choices with consideration for others. ”
This admittance made a small smile dawn on Abigail’s face for a second and then she frowned at him. “Lud, why would you want that? To not have dreams?”
“Because it was the only way to live my life. The only way I could see it.” How he wished she would look up at him, and acknowledge his gaze, but for the first time Abigail looked away from him. So, he crouched down in front of her, and as gently as he could he murmured, “Abigail?”
Her eyes lowered to look at him, but she didn’t reply.
“Now I realize I don’t need to have dreams or simplicity.
It’s all laid before me, in you. You make things simple.
You are my dream. Please tell me what I might do to help you,” Robert said.
It was gnawing into him, this helplessness, having no clue what might make her Abigail again.
“I told you that witnessing your hurt earlier made me wish to commit murder, and I know you had your ambitions caught up in your visit to London. I know what I must do to make things right.”