Page 14 of Mending the Baron's Sins
“It sounds familiar.”
“Therefore, I encourage raising your blood sugar and eating more.” She pointed down at the plate. “I know the first few bites may be hard but trust me.”
“You keep asking that today.”
“Then why not try trusting me?” she asked with that small smile in place again. It quite transformed her features, but not as much as when he had seen her laughing in the garden with Esther. He felt a longing to see her smile in such a way.
Slowly, he reached for the cutlery and began to eat. It was hard work, his stomach turning over at each mouthful, but he persevered. She waited until he swallowed a couple of bites, then stood and tidied the room around him.
“I thank you, Orla, but do not hold on to too much hope.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that good food will not heal me,” he said tiredly. “Your uncle talks of travels that have made me sick, some foreign disease,” he added bitterly.
“And what do you think is the cause?” she asked, turning to the fire. Evidently seeing it had burned down, she bent to her knees and added a log to the fire. As she leaned forward, his eyes traced her back and rear. He had to clear his through, sudden thoughts erupting that shouldn’t be there.
“I always thought it could have been something in the textile factories instead. I heard tales once between the workers that some of the substances we use are not safe.Gladstone and Coatesis a large company. I’m not even sure all the chemicals that we use, in truth.” He put another potato in his mouth, startled that this bite was a little easier than the last.
She had stiffened on the hearth rug and slowly turned to face him, still on her knees.
Do not stay down there if you wish my thoughts to behave, Orla.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“You think it is a dangerous place to be? One of those factories?” she said quickly.
“Perhaps. I’m not certain. Why?”
She leaped to her feet, as if one of those burning logs had fallen on the skirt of her gown.
“My brother works at one of those factories.”
Chapter 5
“You mean to say,” Orla was struggling to control her anger. She felt her nostrils flare, and her face flushed red, the heat palpable even with the fire beside her. “You know your factories are unsafe. You suspect them of making you ill, and yet you continue to run them as you do? You send workers, poorer than yourself, men who have no choice, into those conditions?”
The baron stared at her. He was chewing a mouthful, frowning. There was such puzzlement on his face, she thought she might as well have spoken a different language.
“My Lord?” she said sharply.
“I don’t understand what you want me to say,” he said hurriedly. “They are factories. People have to work in them.”
She marched toward him, suddenly feeling sick. Her poor brother was a diligent worker. He had scarcely missed a day of work in his life except for when he had a severe case of flu, for which he was told off for at the factories. She’d had no idea that one of the owners of that factory was the very man she now served.
All the sympathy she’d once had for Baron De Rees now withered and died, like one of the many plants that had been frostbitten and turned to ice beyond the windows.
Abruptly, she took the tray of food from in front of him.
“What are you doing? I was eating that.” He tried to take the tray back, but she was too fast for him.
“You have complained the food is not to your liking.”
“I was still eating it.”
“But I must not disobey the Baron De Rees, must I?” she said tartly. “God forbid I disobey the man who would be so insistent on orders that he would send many men to work in conditions that his own body could not bear so badly, that it has condemned him to a sickbed for five years.”
“Orla–” His voice was sharp now. He tried to stand out of this chair, but he looked weak, unable to do so.
