Page 41 of Mending the Baron's Sins
“Well, all businesses have their difficulties at times,” Mr. Byrne said with a laugh, as if trying to shrug off the matter, though Horace was acutely aware of the fact that the windows needed updating with new ones, a cost which for the shop must have been too great.
“Especially when a competing business opens down the street,” Orla said, but once more, Mrs. Byrne waved a hand at her.
Horace looked around. He could have sworn he read about a hat shop being bought out by Walter in their papers. Was he now the owner of their competitor? He prayed it was not the case.
“Please, show me what else you have,” Horace urged Mr. Byrne on.
He could have sworn he spent an hour or more going through their wares. He purchased so much that by the end of his order, his body was tired. He perched on a nearby windowsill, wiping sudden sweat from his brow as Adam clutched his shoulder, with clear worry palpably wafting off him.
Orla had stepped forward to help her family wrapping up the goods, and even Thomas had made a reappearance. His hair was now damp after his wash, and he hastened to help his family with the tissue paper, too.
“You have been most generous, my lord,” Mrs. Byrne said, coming to his side and offering up a glass of water for him.
“Not at all. Thank you for the water.” He took it from her, gulping it gladly and pulling on his cravat. Was it his illness making him feel so heated? Or was it the knowledge that this business was so much cleaner and healthier than his own, yet doing so poorly in comparison? It left him ill at ease.
“I must thank you properly,” Mrs. Byrne said with eagerness. “Please, stay for dinner. Nothing so good as Irish hospitality, I assure you.” At the back of the shop, Orla dropped one of the tissue-wrapped hats, but her mother either pretended not to notice or truly didn’t, for her gaze was so fixed upon Horace.
Orla stood straight with the hat in her grasp, such a look of fury in her eyes that Horace felt quelled on the windowsill. Never could he remember feeling so small.
“No, thank you,” he said quickly, wishing he could get rid of that flashing anger. “You are most kind, but I must return home. I’m afraid I grow tired fast these days.”
“Of course.” Mrs. Byrne smiled. “Orla has told us about you, of course. She’s very eager to help you.”
“Thank you, Ma. I am here,” Orla called. Horace noticed that her Irish accent was all the more pronounced in this company, as if the whole family together made each other’s accents come out easier.
“She has always been like that.” Mrs. Byrne laughed as she waved a hand in the air. “Never afraid to speak her mind.”
“That she is,” Mr. Byrne said as he crossed the room and handed some of the parcels into Adam’s grasp. “I hope she has not spoken out of turn with you, my lord.”
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
When Orla looked in danger of dropping another hat in her anger and distraction, he chose to lie instead.
“Never,” he assured them. Orla looked away from him fast. “Has she always been a healer?”
He seemed to have touched a nerve without realizing it. Orla flushed red, though he could only see the side of her cheek, forshe kept her face averted. Mr. and Mrs. Byrne looked at one another.
“In a way,” Mrs. Byrne said eventually. She sat down beside Horace on the windowsill. “My little carer, I’ve always called her. Aye, she’ll help anyone who needs it. Big heart, you see? Soft heart. Soft as sugar, as my own ma used to say. She’ll help anyone who asks, sees the good in them, the pain, even if others may think they do not deserve it.”
Horace felt guilt swell inside of him. He was surely one such case. He glanced toward Orla, thinking of her kind heart.
“I do not doubt it,” he said, wondering if the affection was too noticeable in his own voice. He cleared his throat, attempting to make his tone more neutral. “Her first day attending to me, I’m afraid I was quite disparaging of women healers. Yet she aided me most assiduously, despite my insults.”
“That’s our Orla,” Mr. Byrne said with affection. “A big heart, and quite determined.”
“Oh, aye, she is,” Mrs. Byrne laughed. “Even if we think a young woman her age should be wed by now. All well and good, being along and doing a job like this, but it does tend to isolate a lady.”
“Ma,” Orla called, warningly.
“Well, listen to me, prattling on.” Mrs. Byrne took the hint fast. “I’ll talk the length of an Irish winter about my children if encouraged, and believe me, winter is long there.” She laughed and Horace smiled at her. He rather liked Mr. and Mrs. Byrne. It made the guilt of the working situation he had placed their son in all the worse.
“Everything is wrapped up now,” Orla said pointedly from across the room.
“Well, thank you for my goods,” Horace said and moved to his feet. Adam moved to help him, but Horace assured him he was well enough to handle himself. It was strange, usually by this time of day, he was dead on his feet, but although he was tired, he was not as bad as he had been in the past. It was very unusual, considering he had been out for some part of the day.
Adam led the way outside with the boxes, and Horace followed. He thanked them one more time, listening as they called out to him, thanking him in return, then the door closed, and he left Orla inside to say goodbye to her family.
“I must leave you, cousin,” Adam said as he deposited their boxes and parcels in the back of the coach. “I have a meeting in town to attend. I’m seeing to those improvements you wished to make to your tenants’ houses.”
