Virginia Henley by Enticed Page B

fall by the wayside because you’ve got a wishbone where your backbone should be! For God’s sake, stop sniveling. Ah, here’s the tea. I think I’m going to have some brandy in mine. How about you, Kitty?” Kitty nodded her appreciation and Barbara piped up, “I’ll join you, by God.”
    Patrick went quietly into his father’s bedroom to find the doctor just closing his bag. “Ah, Mr. O’Reilly, glad to meet you, sir. I’m very pleased to be able to tell you that your father’s stroke was a slight one. He’s settled quite comfortably now. He’ll be in a very heavy sleep for the rest of thenight, but that’s quite natural. His eyes have a great deal of blood in them. It will take a few days before his system drains it away. I can’t be sure if there will be any paralysis until I check him tomorrow.” He glanced over to the bed and beckoned Patrick outside the room. “Now, I don’t want to worry you unduly, but these slight strokes sometimes are just warnings, and quite often days or weeks later they are followed by a massive stroke that either totally paralyzes or kills. All you can do is keep him warm and quiet.”
    Patrick saw the doctor to the front door and came back to answer the questions his sisters would put to him.
    “The doctor says he’s been very fortunate and it’s just a mild stroke. I’ll sleep in Father’s room tonight and I suggest you girls go to bed and get some rest. You can take over tomorrow. You know what he’s like when he’s ill—you’ll be run off your feet fetching and carrying.” He looked at Kitty. She was deathly pale and swaying on her feet. A great wave of protectiveness swept over him. He wanted to pick her up and carry her to bed. He wanted to cradle her against his heart and beg her forgiveness for being such a swine to her. He swore he’d make it up to her, but now wasn’t the time. He decided the kindest thing he could do was leave her alone, so he said good night and went to his father.
    Jonathan O’Reilly was a tough old man and within a few days he was recovering satisfactorily. The only noticeable effect the stroke had had upon him was that his speech was slightly slurred and one corner of his mouth was lifted a little. This gave him an appearance of perpetual amusement, which was, if anything, an improvement of his rather harsh features. As the three young women moved about his room administering to his needs, they cracked jokes and gave him the acerbic side of their tongues if his demands grew too outrageous. Even Barbara learned to answer him back. Thistreatment did a great deal to aid his recovery. If they had spoken in subdued whispers with an air of polite deference, he would have feared his death was imminent. They never saw Patrick during this time. He slept within calling distance of his father every night, but arrived home so late and quit the house so early each morning that no one saw him. As soon as he knew his father was going to recover fully, he plunged back into his business endeavors with unflagging vigor.
    Jeffrey Linton sought him out anxiously to see if the wedding plans would have to be altered. Relieved when Patrick told him the wedding could go ahead as planned, he invited Patrick to his club in St. James’s Street for the evening.
    “I thought you needed a title to walk into the hallowed halls of White’s.”
    “To become a member, perhaps, but you would be coming as my guest,” said Jeffrey.
    “Wasn’t it Beau Brummell, upon being invited to Manchester, who said, ‘Gentlemen don’t go to Manchester’? By the same token, factory owners don’t go to White’s.”
    “Come now, Patrick; only last week you told me the ideas of the Regency were dead. You’re not afraid of being snubbed, are you?” asked Jeffrey politely.
    “Afraid? Me? You must be joking! I’ll pick you up at nine.”
    They entered the card room and to Jeffrey Linton’s great surprise, Patrick was hailed heartily by Sir Charles Drago. “Patrick!