Page 8 of Mending the Baron's Sins
“What were your first ever symptoms?”
“Very different to now,” he said slowly. “It was nausea, pure and simple. It changed over time. These days…” he gestured tohimself. “I am a husk of the man I was. As if I am a nut that was shelled, and I am simply the empty shell left behind.” He spoke without looking at her, but into the fire, then abruptly leaned forward and snatched the laudanum from her, lifting it to his lips and downing it in one gulp.
“Pain?” she asked.
“Constantly.”
“Where?”
“Here.” He rubbed his temples as he lowered the vial, practically smacking those thin and handsome lips.
He’s addicted to the laudanum.
She took the empty vial back from him, not intending to leave it on the dresser as so many had done before.
I need to help him.
As he sat back in his chair, resting his head on the rest, waiting for the laudanum to take effect, something stirred in her gut. There was a sympathy there, and perhaps a fear too. No matter what this man was like in countenance or personality, he wasnow addicted to laudanum. That would have to change if he was ever going to recover.
“I think…” she trailed off as he lifted his head, looking at her again. Perhaps now was not the time to tell him that a long-term dependency on laudanum was no wise thing. “I think I will leave you for now,” she changed tact. “I will return shortly to see what more we can do.” She nodded at the window. “Leave it open a little while longer, my lord. The fresh air is good for you.”
“Would you have me freeze to death in this room?”
“Pah!” She couldn’t help laughing and nodded at the ostentatiously large hearth beside him. “I have seen men and women cope with the most horrific sicknesses, with a fire no bigger than a candle to keep them company in winter. Surely, a man in your position appreciates the large fire he is so fortunate to have?” She thrust the vial back into her bag, not looking at him now.
His handsomeness was a distraction. This weird attraction making her even more argumentative than normal.
“I shall leave you now.”
“Good. You will return later for my next dose.”
“As you wish,” she said reluctantly and left as swiftly as she could. Once she was out of the door, she leaned upon the wood and closed her eyes, cursing at the image of Baron De Rees there that appeared in the darkness. “That is so inconvenient,” she whispered into the air.
***
Orla’s heart still hammered against her chest as she hurried down two sets of stairs toward the servants’ quarters, ready for breakfast. In the large kitchen, the staff were gathered around the two tables which had been prepared for them. Esther beckoned her across with an eager wave of her hand, as beside her sat George, the groom which had greeted Orla on arrival.
“Well? How are you this morning?” Esther asked eagerly as Orla sat down beside her. “You will not leave us already, will you?”
“Already? Ha! I would be scared like a little mouse if one meeting from the baron would frighten me off so easily.”
“You would not be the first,” George explained with a mouth full of toast, gesturing for her to help herself from the middle of the table as the staff all fell into separate conversations around the table. “Not many people can stand Baron De Rees’ temper, though don’t tell the butler I said that,” he added in a conspiratorial whisper. “He’d have my guts quite literally for garters if he heard.”
“Him in garters?” Esther giggled at the idea. “Mr. Kennedy has a preoccupation with doing the right thing, of following the hierarchy,” she explained in a rush. “I do not imagine a woman healer pleases him greatly.”
Orla glanced toward the butler that sat at the head of the table, as if he was king of this domain. He didn’t meet anyone’s eyes, but looked over their heads, as if judging them all and if they came up to scratch.
“So, you will stay?” Esther asked eagerly.
“Of course. There is much work to be done.” Orla nodded as she helped herself to a healthy serving of toast and tea.
“You ask her,” George murmured, elbowing Esther.
“You do it,” Esther urged.
The way the pair of them were sat quite close together suggested an intimacy to Orla. Then she noticed that neither of them looked one another in the eye, and she wondered if it was her imagination.
“You,” George urged again. “It’s not my place to pry.”
