The Victorian Definition of Love

Chapter 3: Incomplete Farewells

Old is gold but be it past or present my life has always been a moulded ball of soil trying to trick you to think it's gold.

Okay, shut up! That's what happens when you get stuck in carriage and your thoughts carry you to places that only exist in imaginations.

Shut up again!

After hearing the news about our carriage the stranger sitting across me glares at the coachman.

Poor soul, as if it's his fault that the carriage bogged down.

"That is ridiculous!" He speaks. His voice sounds deeper when he is angry.

"But you are not laughing," I point out and both of their eyes jump on me. Someone specific glares.

I guess this isn't the right time to joke.

"Forgive me, my lord," the beard coach man in a box coat with a double-breasted overcoat and a hat says. A sorry expression on his dark wrinkled face.

"I don't understand how that is your fault," I interrupt despite trying not to.

Both of them looks at me. The stranger's beautiful blue eyes are only capable of glaring. That's disappointing.

"How come there be a lady? I apologize, I thought you are alone, my lord," the coachman bends his head lower.

What?

"Don't you remember that I told you to not stop the carriage. I said, 'please, don't'" I mimic my earlier act to give him a clearer description. And that seems to ring a bell in his head.

"Oh! My apologies, I am such a forgetful young man," he says turning towards me and keeping his head down as it was. Only showing me his hat.

"You are a quite old man, if you ask me," the word escapes my mouth without realization, and I wince hearing my own self.

"I apologize again, I forgot that I am almost sixty," he apologises again, and I smile seeing his innocence. That almost reminds me of my grandpa though they are far different.

"It's okay," I say. "I am sorry too."

"Duncan, we cannot afford to be late," the stranger gives him a look that probably says, 'you know what I am saying'?

"I shall try to push the carriage," Duncan suggests.

He alone is going to push the carriage?

The stranger gets off the carriage leaving me alone in it.

I can be heavy so I think I should get off too. And maybe I can help them a little.

I move my body to get up, but the coachman speaks up, "stay there, my lady, we shall not bother you,"

What is that supposed to mean. Sorry, I don't understand.

Again, I get up to get down on the ground and the coachman speaks again. "It'd be ungentlemanly if we let you lay your feminine hands on this shabby couch."

Feminine hands my foot.

This feminine hand has punched too many noses and is still intact. My hands are what got me a gold medal.

"My lord you too don't engage yourself in such meagre work,"

"Duncan," the stranger warningly calls out.

"We are running late," he adds.

Enough is enough.

I jump out of the carriage and damn I shouldn't have jumped. Because the mud almost splattered on my dress all over and some drops even reached my neck.