Page 92 of Mending the Baron's Sins
“Excited to start your new life as a midwife?” he asked, sitting back on the opposite coach bench.
“Aye,” Orla answered fast, though something in her chest tightened with the movements. Horace had made arrangements for her to begin the apprenticeship she had always longed for in London, but now the time had come around, she realized with pain that it would mean giving up on another dream—she would no longer be able to spend every day with Horace.
“We’re ready,” Horace called out of the window. Beside the carriage door stood Adam. He held up his hand, stopping the driver from pulling away just yet.
“Safe journey,” he said to Horace, reaching up and taking his hand through the window. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you on your feet again, cousin.” Adam’s eyes glistened, betraying the unshed tears in his eyes that he was desperately trying to hold back.
“I am indebted to you,” Horace whispered to him. “Thank you for everything.”
“Don’t mention it. Goodbye, cousin.”
“Goodbye.”
Orla smiled as she looked at the cousins. There was a bond between them formed over the years of Horace’s sickness that she was certain would be there forever now. A trust formed in stone.
The carriage lurched forward. With excitement, Orla reached to the window and waved to the staff and her family.
Her mother was perhaps the most exuberant in her waving, though Esther was certainly not far behind. Adam was the one who waved the softest, clearly reluctant to see them gone for good.
Horace waited until the carriage was out of sight from the hall, then he moved across to sit beside Orla, taking her hand in his own. He raised it briefly to his lips and kissed her, but it made her heart ache even more for him.
The last week, since they had made arrangements to go to London, they had not spent a night together.
Maybe this is our end. Maybe in London, we cannot be what we were again.
***
The city of London emerged on either side of the carriage. The journey had taken days, but now they were there, Orla felt as if she knew the city. There were similarities with Manchester, the same industrial feeling with a busyness of people hurrying up and down the pavements, and carriages struggling to move between one another on the cobbled street.
Small and poor houses shifted to vast and wealthy. Some of the white stonework gleamed in the spring sunlight, and what treesshe could glimpse between the houses in illustrious gardens were blooming with new green shoots or early pink blossom.
“What do you think of it?” Horace asked from her side.
Since they had climbed into the carriage that morning, he hadn’t yet released her hand. She wondered if he was building up to the moment that he would have to let her go.
“It’s so full of energy. Rather like a beehive,” she said in jest, an attempt to lighten the air between them that had become tense and heavy. He managed a smile, but it was just the smallest hint of a smile.
The coach rolled to a stop outside of a tall redbrick building. Orla leaned toward the window, looking out at the hefty and intimidating structure.
“This is it?” she whispered.
“Yes. Your new mistress said she would meet you there and introduce you to the apprenticeship.” Horace sighed and separated his hand from hers.
Orla suddenly felt cold. She turned to face him, putting her back to the window, longing to be touched by him again, to be as they had been in Ingleby Hall.
“I made arrangements for you,” he spoke quickly and quietly, not looking her in the eye as he reached into the pocket of his tailcoat and pulled out a slip of paper. “If you want them, these are lodgings for you nearby. They’ll allow you to come and go from your apprenticeship with ease.”
“Oh. Thank you.” She took the paper, her heart now hammering in her chest. There was nothing left to do but to say goodbye, yet as she looked at him, the thought of not being able to see Horace every day brought her close to tears.
Something in his face contorted.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he pleaded. “This is your dream, is it not?”
“Aye. It is,” she muttered hurriedly, nodding and sniffing, trying to fight those tears.
“Oh, Orla.” He moved swiftly toward her on the coach bench. In one easy movement, he slipped his hand across her back and pulled her into him. Her hands dropped the slip of paper on her lap and her fingers gripped the lapels of his tailcoat tightly. He bent down toward her, kissing her with the softest of lips.
It was brief—all too brief for her liking. She wished to stay in this carriage with him, to beg him to make love to her again, so thatthey could indulge in this passion, this love, and never turn their backs on it.
