Page 39 of Mending the Baron's Sins
She put her hands on her hips.
“I won’t let you get that close to a grave,” she warned, her voice strong.
“Do not be afraid, lad,” the baron called to Thomas. “Come.” He beckoned forward. Thomas waited for Orla to second the motion, then he approached.
“My Lord, this is my brother, Thomas.”
“Good day to you, Thomas.” The baron bowed his head in greeting as Thomas bowed fully. Adam still had to support the baron, for he was struggling to hold up his own weight. “I am pleased to meet you. Orla has spoken about you.”
“It is good to meet you too, my Lord.” Thomas’ words were quiet and reverent, though there was no smile. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go home and rest before tomorrow’s shift.” Even as he spoke, he tried to stop his yawn. “I’ll see you soon, Orla.”
She parted her lips to beg him to look after himself, but the baron spoke before she could.
“Wait,” the baron called. “Let us drive you home.”
Thomas halted a few steps away, stumbling on the cobbles outside of the mill. He turned around, his face as white as the cotton fluff still stuck in his hair.
“In that?” Thomas asked wildly, askance, as he pointed at the coach.
“Yes, in that.” The baron nodded. “Please. It’s the least I can do for one of my employees.”
Thomas took off his cap and wrung it in his hands. He looked about himself, as if he expected the baron to suddenly declare he was talking to someone else other than Thomas, but it was not to be.
Orla stared between them, her gaze lingering on the baron. She wasn’t just looking at him because of that handsome face, nor the pale pallor of his skin that was now worrying her. She looked at him because she didn’t know what to think of him, nor of what he was doing.
“Please,” the baron urged again. “Let me drive you back. You must be tired after your shift, surely?”
“Aye, my lord.” Thomas bowed again and walked forward, moving even more uncertainly than before.
The baron released his grip on Adam and urged with a wave of his hand for Adam to show Thomas up into the carriage. The two men climbed in, but before Orla could follow, the baron held a hand out.
“What is it?” he asked, his voice deep.
“What?”
“That look.” He pointed at her face. “That is no smile, Orla. You just held my hand in there.”
“I think it best if we do not talk about what I did,” she said hurriedly. “The Irish are not just lucky. We can be fools and dopes sometimes, too.”
“You held my hand,” he insisted. “Yet now you look at me in this way, with an expression I cannot understand. Tell me this.” He shifted his weight, laying a hand on the side of the carriage,clearly needing it for support. “Are you embarrassed in front of me about your upbringings?”
She flushed a deep shade of red. Anger riled in her gut, like a swarming snake, writhing madly. She jerked her chin higher.
“I am not embarrassed of my family,” she hissed darkly.
“I thought not. Nor should you have reason to be.” He eyed her warily. “So, I can only deduce that you are actually embarrassed to be seen inmycompany?”
That anger vanished in a second. It was replaced by her feeling very small indeed. She looked around that the workers who were still leaving the area, heading home. Some glanced their way, clearly curious about their sick owner who had deigned to visit their factory today.
“I thought so,” he mumbled. “God’s blood.” She flinched at his curse, though he did not try to explain it. He gestured for her to get into the carriage before him, though she hesitated. “Do you wish to run from my side now?” he asked softly.
“No.” She stepped up into the carriage and sat beside her brother, rather relieved when Adam reached forward to help the baron inside instead of her. The whole journey, Orla tried to focus on her brother and his marveling gaze as it traveled around the carriage.
To her dismay, she could not stop thinking about the way the baron would no longer look at her. He stared at his lap, no looking or talking to anyone, as if the weight of the world now hung on his coat tails.
Chapter 12
“Here we are.” Thomas pointed out of the window at a sign bearing the wordsByrne’s Hats and Haberdasheries.As the coach came to a stop, Horace reached for the door.
