Page 10 of Mending the Baron's Sins
“He’s quite devoted to Mr. Byrne,” Esther explained.
“He is better than he was,” George said quietly, “so your uncle must be doing some good.”
“Hmm.” Esther would not disparage her uncle’s skills. He was an accomplished physician and surgeon indeed, highly knowledgeable about chemicals, and she owed him great friendship and loyalty for all the help he had given her in her own training. Yet, there was something that niggled her.
She had glimpsed once before how her uncle was dependent on older methods of healing, sometimes cleaving to medicinal books which had been written many years ago. He had a tendency to reject modern methods and new scientific books, which suggested alternative ways of healing. He was suspicious of them all, saying such methods hadn’t been tried and tested yet.
“You are thinking something,” Esther said, nodding at Orla with a butter knife. “Very intently. What thought has captivated you so?”
“Just that I feel a little sorry for the baron.”
“Ha!” George promptly tried to cover up his bark of laughter with a hacking cough.
“Oh, so smoothly done,” Orla said wryly as Esther blushed red and clapped him on the back again. “You have little liking for your master?”
“He may not be my favorite man in the world,” George murmured, shrugging. “But no, I would not wish his sickness on any man.”
“I also wonder…” Orla trailed off, staring down at her plate, though her eyes were unfocused. In her mind, she wasn’t at this table, but back in the baron’s chamber with him, thrusting aside the curtains as he shrank away from the sunlight. “It is no way to live. Perhaps with a little help, I could encourage the baron to live his life properly again.”
“I like her,” Esther said suddenly to George at her side.
“You like anyone good hearted.” He tutted, tiredly.
“You make that seem like a bad thing!”
“It is not a bad thing.” He shook his head, then his eyes flicked toward Orla. “Be careful, Miss Byrne. You might find the baron is not particularly keen on being saved.”
Orla lifted her teacup to her lips and took a large gulp, her mind made up. She was here for a reason, and whether Baron De Rees and his foul temper wanted to be saved or not, she still had to try.
Chapter 4
Horace lost himself in the darkness ofMacbeth,reading the woes and shadows that plagued the man. He was so lost in the world, closeted in his library, he did not notice that the door had opened.
“Horace?” a familiar voice called to him.
Horace lifted his head. He saw Mr. Kennedy leaving swiftly, having shown Walter into the chamber. Walter, no longer bearing the purple face and angry lines of their argument from two days before, was now soft in manner, creeping into the room.
“Am I so terrifying, old friend, that you look ready to run at any minute?” Horace asked.
“Well, they tell me you broke some more stuff after I left.”
“I did.” Horace closed up his book and rested it in his lap. He should rise to greet his friend, but he felt greatly dizzy this morning, and the mere prospect was a difficult one. So, instead, he inclined his head in greeting and gestured for Waler to come further into the room. “Have you come to resume our argument?”
“No, far from it.” Walter hurried forward. He ran a hand through his dark hair, his cheeks turning pink again as he took the chair opposite of Horace and sat down. Then he blinked and looked around the library. “This room is usually so dark. What happened here?”
“Ah, that would be my healer’s doing.” Horace chose not to mention her by name.
When he’d woken that morning, waiting for his laudanum, Miss Orla Byrne had insisted he leave his chamber. Wordlessly, he’d come to the library, not wanting another argument between them. He decided the sooner he did her bidding, the sooner she would walk away and he wouldn’t be distracted by his desire for her. She’d come in, flung open all the shutters that were usually closed, meaning the six long windows in this room now flooded the space with a grey light from the frosty day outside.
“It’s nice,” Walter mused, then shifted his focus back to Horace, who sat uncomfortably in his large armchair beside the fire, with large mahogany shelves behind him full of stacks of books. “I’m sorry about our argument, and I’m sorry for what I did. I hope you believe me when I tell you I made the investment with your best interest at heart.”
Horace shifted in his seat. He wished to be angry at Walter, to demand why he was not consulted, but he did not havethe energy today to have another argument. He slumped in his chair, feeling an envy curl in his gut for his friend.
Walter could go where he wished to and have what meetings he wished to as well, entertain himself with other people's company and feel free to invest his money where Horace could not. Sometimes, he didn’t even have the energy to read the business contracts Walter left behind after his visits.
“I know,” Horace relented eventually. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, too. My temper…” He paused and rubbed his temples. “Sometimes it seems I cannot control it.”
“You have never been great at controlling such a thing,” Walter said in clear jest with a smile.
