Page 27 of Mending the Baron's Sins
“I shall go and greet your guests,” Adam said, departing quickly and heading to the door.
“Well, how are you doing tonight, my Lord?” Colm asked, leaving off with his fussing of his own suit and moving toward Horace.
“Well enough.” Horace reached as casually as he could for the post at the bottom of the stairs and leaning upon it. It was difficult to try and seem so nonchalant when inside, his mind was whirring.
Do not fall over tonight. Do not let the dizziness win.
Orla had turned toward him and hurried to their side.
“It is very beautiful,” she observed. “The burning torches, the dinner, it’s all so…” She paused, bit her lip, as if struggling for the words.
He didn’t fill the silence, but gazed at her. She was quite stunning in her simple gown. It wasn’t like the highly classy and fine gowns which Lavinia always wore, excessive in their lace and beading. It also wasn’t like the gowns some of his past ladies would have worn, with far too many ruffles and bows. Far from it. Dressed in a deep red gown, the opposite of the pastel fashions of the day, it was a contrast to her dark hair that made him stare at her.
You do not know the power you have over a man, Orla.
“Was it always like this?” she asked, moving to his side. “Back in the days of parties every week?”
Horace smiled at her, though Colm tutted.
“Orla, you should not be so inquisitive,” her uncle warned.
“Why ever not?” She shrugged. “If the baron does not want to speak about it, he has a mind and tongue of his own. He will be sure to tell me.”
Her vivacity made him smile all the more.
“It was… elegant,” he answered her softly, his voice wistful. “People laughing every night. There were games, card games, parlor games, you name it, and we played it. There were performances here too. Local traveling troupes I’d pay to come and entertain us. Masques, even masquerade balls. It was a sumptuous time.”
“It sounds like something out of a dream,” she said with a contented sigh.
“These days, that’s all they are. Dreams.” His darkened tone made her chin jerk up.
It was the first time in days she had looked him straight in the eye. His breath lurched in his chest, as if he couldn’t quite latch onto it at that look.
“You will be able to live freely again, my lord. I am sure of it. Dreams do not have to remain dreams.”
Colm coughed, as if telling her to stop talking, but Horace just continued to stare at her. Neither one of them looked away.
Are we staring at one another for too long?
“Your guests, Horace.” Adam’s voice called from the doorway and Horace snapped his gaze away from her, trying not to see out of the corner of his eye that she shifted on her feet, fidgeting, as he did.
“Horace,” Walter said, his voice deep as he had the hand of a young woman beside him. Her auburn hair, glorious in its hue of red, was piled high at the back of her head. Her heart-shaped face was gleaming with joy, the white gown practically ivory and glowing in the candlelight. She smiled, turning her head back and forth as she took in every inch of the hall. “This is Miss Grace Bonneville, and her aunt, Mrs. Victory Holmes.”
The lady behind her was tall and austere, where her niece was short and full of effervescent smiles. As Grace smiled upon everything she looked at, Mrs. Holmes glowered, her nose lifted high. She wore a fine chain of jewels around her neck, and Horace judged by that necklace alone that Mrs. Holmes was trying to gauge from one glance at this house whether Walter had wealthy enough connections to marry her niece.
“Welcome to you both,” Horace declared and stepped forward, releasing the post of the staircase. He was acutely aware of the way that Orla followed behind him, maintaining a distance, but still there, in case he needed her. “Welcome to Ingelby Hall.”
***
“Oh yes, my Lord,” Grace spoke boldly, with a heavy American accent. “I cherish and treasure the beautiful English countryside.” She leaned a little toward him, as if speaking with confidence, though half the room was hanging on her every word.
Frustratingly for Horace, the other half were listening to Orla. Because of Grace’s incessant speaking, he had no chance of hearing what Orla was saying from the other side of the table. He just noticed between the flickering the candles the way she turned her head, laughing with Adam and Colm together. Each smile made his heart flutter in his chest and envy curdle his gut.
It had to explain that feeling of nausea that was beginning to linger.
“You have always wanted to settle here, then?” Horace asked, trying his best to be polite as he shifted his focus back to Grace at his side.
“Oh, undoubtedly,” she gushed and placed a hand on her heart. The way she touched her own chest seemed to captivate Walter in particular. Horace hid his smile behind his wine glass. “Dear little England has my heart. It’s so quaint, so small and sweet.”
