She exhaled slowly. The snowstorm might abate by morning. Perhaps she would just have to manage this evening. She could only pray, just as the coachman had said.
Chapter 23
Delia sat on the edge of the narrow bed, gazing around. She had managed to secure a room for herself for the night. Sister Mary Majella and Miss Tilney had agreed to share another room, while Ambrose was sharing with Mr Giles. Mr Hawkins had taken the only other single room available.
She took a deep breath. The inn was old, built in Tudor times, with low wooden beams. It was called the Black Swan. It had a cosy and warm central room, dominated by a huge fireplace, within which a fire was roaring. It had been a welcome respite as they had scurried into the place through the snowstorm. And they hadn’t missed dinner. It was going to be served in an hour.
Her room was tiny, barely bigger than a broom closet. But it had a small dressing table upon which stood a basin and pitcher for washing. Minnie’s trunk had already been brought in and was lying on the floor. A small lantern cast an eerie glow around the room.
She heard the storm still raging outside the small window, whistling around the inn. It felt good to be out of it and staying in a bed for the night, even if there was the problem of how to manage her attraction to Ambrose. She took another deep breath. She would do it somehow. She must.
There was a soft tap on the door. Delia’s heart started hammering. Was it him?
“Come in,” she called, her heart beating harder.
But it wasn’t Ambrose. Sister Mary Majella pushed open the door, smiling at her warmly.
“I thought I would come and see how you have settled, child,” said the nun, sitting down beside her on the bed. She gazed around the room. “The saints be preserved. It isn’t big enough to swing a cat in here.”
Delia burst out laughing. “No, it isn’t. But it is cosy and much better than being in that coach battling the storm. I am certain none of us would have slept a wink tonight.”
“That is true,” said the sister, nodding. “I was sure that old carriage was going to split into two.” She hesitated. “I know that it is none of my business, but I couldn’t help noticing that you and Mr Hartfield seem to be growing closer, child. You both vanished this afternoon into the woods. And he sought you out before we left the other inn, as well.”
Delia felt a fierce blush suffuse her face. “I am mindful of your advice, Sister. I know that you are only concerned for my well-being.” She exhaled slowly. “I must admit I am very confused. Because itistrue. We are growing closer. It seems we grow closer by the hour…if that is even possible.”
Sister Mary Majella sighed. “I have seen it before, my dear. What you both are experiencing is a savage attraction of the flesh.” Her eyes grew dreamy. “I know I shouldn’t tell you, but before I took my vows and entered the convent, I had a lover. We had the same fierce attraction for each other that you and Mr Hartfield share.”
Delia’s jaw dropped. It was the last thing she had expected the nun to say. She was so pious, even if she had a wicked sense of humour and a slightly salty turn of phrase.
“I can see I have shocked you,” continued the nun, her eyes sparkling. “But I was once a young woman just like you, child. I loved the Church and God, but I was also just a regular colleen. I thought I would get married and have a family and live just like my ma and da had.”
“What happened?” asked Delia in a quiet voice. “What happened to your lover?”
Sister Mary Majella sighed again. “He was going to marry me,” she said, her voice turning wistful. “And I wanted to marry him. We were on fire for each other, so we were. But his da sent him away to work in Liverpool, across the channel. He never came back.” Her eyes shone with tears.
“Oh, I am so sorry,” said Delia, putting a gentle hand on the nun’s arm. “That must have been dreadful.”
“Aye, it was,” said the nun. “We wrote letters for a long time. I was planning to join him in Liverpool, and we were going to marry there. Start a whole new life.” She paused. “But his letters to me grew further apart until they finally stopped altogether. I heard afterwards that he had met a local girl and married her instead. So that was the end of that.”
“Were you heartbroken?”
“Oh, yes,” said the sister, nodding her head. “I cried for months, on and off. I thought my life was over. I could never imagine falling in love again. He was the only one I wanted.” She took a deep breath. “And it was true. I never did fall in love again. Two years later, I got my calling and joined the convent. The rest is history.”
Delia shook her head. “It was a cruel thing what he did to you.”
“Ah, it is just life,” said the nun, shrugging her shoulders. “We were young. Just past twenty years. We had a fierce passion for each other, but it waned, at least for him, as these things do. If he had remained in Ireland, it might have been different, but I have learnt not to dwell on what might have been, child. I have my calling, and I am happy. I hope that he is happy, too.”
“That is very forgiving of you,” said Delia, frowning. “Although I suppose it is part of our duty as Christians to forgive.”
“It is,” sighed the nun. “The point that I am trying to make anyway is that I do understand what it is like to be in the grip of passion to the point that nothing else seems to matter.” She hesitated. “But it can pass. And you do not want to do something that you may regret.”
Delia’s face reddened again. “You mean…like letting that passion run away?”
The nun nodded. “Yes. There is danger in it, child. I can tell that you are an innocent in this world. You do not have much experience with men, do you?”
Delia shook her head. “No. I have never had a lover, nor any man that I thought of in that way.”
Sister Mary Majella sighed. “Do you know about the birds and the bees? About how a child is made?”