Page 12 of Mending the Baron's Sins
“That was Miss Orla Byrne. She has come to be assistant to Mr. Byrne, my physician.” He tentatively took a sip of his tea. It was an unusual taste, very fragrant, and if he wasn’t mistaken, there was some ginger in there, too. The first taste made him grimace, but as he took a second sip, it was not so awful after all.
“The air was almost as frosty in here as it is outside then,” Walter observed.
“I do not approve of her.”
“Why? Because a woman is a healer?” Walter asked with a creased brow.
“No. I know she has a clever mind; that is not the problem.” He shook his head and stared down at the cup. “It is no place for a woman to waste her life at my sick bedside, Walter. That woman belongs elsewhere.”
“Ah, I see.”
It was a pitiful statement, but it was the truth. Horace took a rather larger gulp of his tea, trying to cover up the confession he had just made, that he did not deserve to have a woman like Miss Orla attending at his side.
“You were about to tell me something.” He gestured for Walter to go on.
“Ah, yes.” Walter shifted once more in his seat, now appearing quite nervous. “I met someone.”
The words made Horace nearly drop the cup.
“What?”
“I met someone,” Walter said again. “Her name is Miss Grace Bonneville. Oh, she is beautiful. Almost as beautiful as that fair healer who has just given you that tea.”
“Walter–”
“I’ll behave.” Walter held up his hands in innocence. “The thing is, as part of our courtship, I have invited Miss Bonneville and her family to stay with me in Lancashire. The familyhas high expectations. I was wondering,” he halted, shifting uncomfortably and fidgeting. “I was wondering if I could introduce her to you. A titled man, it would surely impress her.”
Horace wasn’t sure what made him feel sicker. Was it the idea that as he was a titled man being reeled out like some trick pony? Or was it the fact that he could hardly indulge in the idea of impressing any woman these days?
“I’ll make a poor impression,” Horace said plainly, gesturing to his chair.
“You are my friend,” Walter’s voice had deepened. “I’d like her to meet you.”
Horace didn’t answer at first. In order to have something to do, he raised his cup to his hands and downed the rest. Finding that he quite liked it after all, he reached for the teapot which Orla had left behind and topped up his cup, sipping from it again.
His stomach had now quite curdled, but not because of the tea. It was because Walter was living the life that he wanted, the life he longed for. Walter could court a woman, consider marriage, and perhaps even father a child someday.
With his eyes down turned to the liquid, Horace imagined a small boy running through the library. He imagined the lad reaching for the books on the shelves, desperate to read them ashe had done when he was younger. He saw himself following the boy, trying to help him with the books.
It was just a dream, a dream that would certainly never be realized now. He was in no state to father a child or have the energy to raise one.
At the thought, his gut stirred. He saw himself in a bed again, indulging in pleasures he had not known for five years now. He saw a woman’s legs wrapped around his waist as he moved above her, pleasuring her, then he saw Orla’s dark hair upon the pillow.
Stop it.
He snapped himself away from the thought and sat straight in his chair, meeting Walter’s hopeful gaze.
“I’ll be glad to help in any way I can, and I’d like to meet the woman who has turned your head.” He smiled as Walter did, too.
“Thank you, Horace. You do not know what this means to me,” he said with a contented sigh and sat back in his chair. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Nothing more than you already do.” Horace shook his head. “Let us just try to avoid our arguments in the future. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
“Good. I have smashed enough glasses recently. I think poor Mr. Kennedy might lose even his great patience with me if I was to smash anymore.”
Walter’s laughter filled the air as Horace sipped again from his tea.
