You’re a taint on the Ranelagh and Somerville line. A disgrace. You’ll never amount to anything.
Rhys smiled humorlessly. “My sire seemed to think so.”
“It isn’t easy being good all the time.” Her tone was knowing. “I try, but it’s much more fun being bad, isn’t it?”
He couldn’t disagree with that. Although he probably should in the presence of a tot.
He settled for, “Regrettably so.”
“The truth is, I did something very bad.”
He doubted it. He wasn’t good at much, but he was an expert on behaving badly.
“Can you keep a secret?” she went on.
“Probably not.”
“I stole the schoolmaster’s wig.” She confided in him anyway. “But he’s an idiot. He doesn’t even know about Lamarck’s theory of transmutation.”
“Well, then. He must be an idiot,” Rhys said.
He’d never heard about Lamarck’s theories; God willing, he never would. He’d always been more athletic than academic. He enjoyed boxing, riding, and other gentlemanly sports.
She nodded, her face blazing with indignation. “And he wantedmeto wear the dunce cap!”
Being no stranger to dunce caps and idiots, Rhys felt a tug of commiseration. “I’m afraid you’ll discover that the percentage of those with bacon for brains in the world far outweigh those with functioning intellects.”
She looked at him…and giggled. “You’re funny.”
“I endeavor to amuse. Now if you’ll excuse me—”
“I have to go too. I have to get into the caves before the tides rise.”
He stared at her. “Surely you’re not planning on going into the caves alone?”
“I am. I’m a fossil collector.” She flipped open the lid of her basket to show him the contents. He saw an assortment of stones in unusual shapes and colors. “I just found these ammonites and bezoar stones. They’ll fetch several shillings a piece at our shop.”
Curiouser and curiouser.“Your family owns a shop?”
Her thin chest puffed out. “Foley’s is one of the most famous fossil shops in Dorset. Well, next to Mrs. Anning’s. Her shop is more famous, but ours delivers a better value.” She sounded like a newspaper advertisement. “Gentlemen, some of themlords, travel from London to buy our goods. The very rich ones hire Father to go on expeditions to find fossils for them…” Her face fell. “Or at least they did until he died.”
The kernel of a plan that had begun to sprout in Rhys’s head came to an abrupt halt. Right. The father was dead, which meant that Rhys couldn’t make use of the man’s cave-exploring abilities. Too bad. But maybe there were other locals whose skills Rhys could employ for such a purpose. Yes, that was the ticket. Why undertake something unpleasant when one could hire someone else to do it?
“I’m not supposed to know the shop is in trouble, but I overhear things. Aunt Patty says little pitchers have big ears. But don’t big pitchers also have big ears? I’ve never understood the saying. Anyway,” she chirped on, “Mama is going to save the shop. And I’m going to help her.”
“Indeed.” Rhys was only half-listening, his mind brewing a plan. “By the by, would you know the names of other reputable fossil hunters in the vicinity?”
“Mrs. Anning in Lyme Regis is the most famous.” She paused, her gaze shrewd. “But my mama, Margaret Foley, is just as skilled. And she charges a better price.”
“You’re recommending female fossil hunters?”
“Iam a female, and I find fossils.” She pointed emphatically at her basket.
“Right.” Rhys didn’t bother to hide his skepticism.
The girl huffed out a breath. Then she tossed her basket onto the sand. In the next instant, she dashed toward the nearest cliff…and began toclimbit. Her agility was as astonishing as it was terrifying. He got over the shock and ran over.
“Get down this instant,” he shouted—yes,shouted, for the chit was halfway up the rocky wall already, so high up that he couldn’t be sure she heard him. Devil take it, if she fell…
