He gave Lydia a little squeeze, then handed her over to her ma. “They are the reason you’d do best to let me call you Mrs. Porter and think of you as my employer instead of—”
“Instead of what?”
He’d told her enough hidden things for one evening. “Instead of my friend.” It was as much as he would admit to.
She didn’t argue. He helped her and Lydia get down the ladder and watched until they’d left the house before returning to his loft. There was no doll to scold him into behaving, nothing but the guilt of all he’d relived and all he’d refused to admit to.
Sitting there alone and painfully sober, he couldn’t face the enormity of his regrets and failures. The sobriety he could do something about.
He bent low and pulled his nearly empty bottle from under his bed. His supply would be down to three bottles by the time he fell asleep. Another failure. Another regret to add to the heap.
The warm burn of oblivion did what it was meant to.
He didn’t hear the rest of the party, didn’t hear his parents come into the house afterward, didn’t have to think about the weight of past years on his heart. He simply escaped the only way he knew how.
Chapter Seventeen
Eliza was truly hopefulfor the first time in years. Plans were coming together for her inn. Joseph had a location picked out—a piece of land he owned that he was willing to either lease or sell to her. Jeremiah Johnson had agreed to invest in the inn, seeing it as an opportunity to improve his own profits. Dr. Jones couldn’t contribute anything resembling a fortune, but his little bit had placed her dreams within reach.
And she wasn’t alone in those dreams. Twice in the past weeks, she’d been held in Patrick’s arms, once while she’d told him her heartaches and struggles, and again, last night, as he told her his. He loved her daughter and treated them both with such kindness. He had difficulties and worries a plenty, but the man she was discovering beneath his expertly donned armor was compassionate and thoughtful and seemed to harbor some partiality for her. And her heart was quickly growing quite partial to him.
When Sunday afternoon arrived, the time each week that she had all to herself with no expectation of work, she didn’t hesitate to take Lydia and hurry up the road to Mr. and Mrs. O’Connor’s home in the hope that Patrick would be there. She was certain she could convince him to take a little jaunt with her.
Their home was overflowing. She’d forgotten that they had family dinners on Sundays. She hadn’t meant to interrupt.
Mrs. O’Connor welcomed her inside. Maura rushed over with an embrace and a smile. Her pregnancy was becoming more obvious. How far along was she? Perhaps this would be an autumn baby instead of a winter one. Eliza really needed to find more time to sit and gab with her friend. During their sojourn at Widows’ Tower, they’d never gone more than a day without spending time together. In Hope Springs, days and days sometimes passed without talking together. And this one would pass as well.
“I’d come hoping to talk with Patrick a moment,” she said.
A knowing sort of smile tugged at Maura’s lips.
Eliza jumped in quickly. “About my inn. I need his input . . . as abuilder.”
Maura took Lydia from Eliza’s arms then turned to face the gathering. “We’ve a lass here in need of a builder. Anyone interested?”
Aidan crossed to them and took Lydia from his mum. “Patrick’s up in the loft.”
