22.
Irene was starting to like the coachman more and more. He was a man who understood the distance between people and did not carelessly invade their personal space.
Thanks to him, she didn’t have to startle or step back, nor did she have to ask for considerations from someone who might be offended.
With a blank expression, Irene nodded at the coachman and began to walk. Before she realized it, Diego was striding right beside her.
“…….”
Irene didn’t show it, but she tilted her head inward. She was surprised by the fact that Diego, whose legs were far longer than hers, was walking with such deliberate slowness.
The station was empty. Irene’s heart grew anxious, wondering if they might be late, but Diego showed no intention of rushing.
As she followed him onto the platform, she finally understood his composure. A steam locomotive, hissing and venting white plumes, waited for their arrival.
A station attendant holding a flag bowed low to Diego.
“This way, please.”
The door to the first carriage stood open. Diego did not care if dozens or hundreds of people had to wait for him; for him, it was only natural.
*Hiss—*
A sharp blast of steam, like the cry of a beast, struck Irene’s skin, causing her flesh to vibrate. She stopped in her tracks.
It was unfamiliar, yet hauntingly common. A wave of déjà vu washed over her, as if she had lived this moment before.
“…….”
The deafening roar, the steam climbing toward the sky, the rush of people, and…
Ah.
Finally, she remembered. It was the day she came to Therapia. Irene stared into the void, carefully tracing the ghost of her past.
The first steam locomotive she had ever ridden; her hurried steps to avoid losing sight of Baron Rios; the heavy scent of death that lingered around her young self.
Irene had looked around with terrified eyes. Baron Rios had never been an affectionate man; he did not care to look after a young girl. She had been forced to half-run to keep up with him.
The moment she met him—the man who had come to take her from the orphanage—she had sensed that life with him would not be smooth.
Yet, Irene followed him without hesitation. She was that desperate. There were many people in that station who knew her, many who remembered the tragedy that had befallen her.
—Oh, my goodness. Is that child *that* child?
—Dear, are you…?
—…….
—She hasn’t said a single word. It’s been over six months since she arrived. Can you believe she didn’t even cry for her mother and father?
—Expected, I suppose. After such an event. Oh, you poor thing.
*Don’t think about it. Don’t bring it up.*
When he sensed the lack of footsteps behind him, Diego stopped and turned. He narrowed his eyes.
Irene’s expression as she stared at the locomotive was frozen. Her face rarely betrayed emotion, but she was paler than he had ever seen her.
Her jaw was set with unusual tension, the cords of her neck strained, her fingers white.
As he scanned her, a memory clicked into place. He spoke in a tone designed to sound dismissive.
“Is this your first time on a steam locomotive?”
“…….”
“I don’t know how many accidents are reported a year, but I have never experienced one. It is not a monster that eats people, despite the rumors. It is merely a machine for transport. There is nothing to fear.”
“……have.”
Irene barely managed to move her lips. Her voice was thinner than the wind, scattering like dust before it could reach him.
Diego lifted an eyebrow.
“What was that?”
Irene replied, her expression indifferent.
“I have ridden one. Just once.”
“…….”
“Fatal accidents are surprisingly rare. Most are just service suspensions due to rockfalls or delays. Fatalities usually occur only when people cross the tracks carelessly. As long as you don’t jump in front of a moving engine, there is no need to worry.”
With that, she resumed walking. Despite her blunt words, color did not return to her complexion; her jaw remained clenched with a frantic, silent force.
Nevertheless, she moved forward. Like any well-bred young lady, she did not stumble or collapse, nor did she ask Diego for support.
That was exactly why she looked so precarious. Like someone standing directly in the path of the oncoming engine.
Diego followed a step behind, his eyes fixed on her. He could not look away, terrified that she might collapse the moment he did.
Yet, she endured, maintaining her composure until she reached her seat.
Standing in the doorway, Diego gestured to the first-class cabin.
“This is your room. I hope you rest comfortably until we reach our destination.”
“Yes.”
Irene nodded. Even though the transaction was over, Diego could not readily turn away. He did not know why.
Dithering in a way that felt alien to him, he added:
“My room is right next door. If you wish to talk or require assistance, you are welcome to knock at any time.”
“Yes.”
She nodded again, but Diego knew she would never knock before they reached Norte.
He turned away with a low, silent sigh.
“If you need anything, ring the bell by the chair. A crew member will come immediately.”
“Yes.”
Irene had already turned her head to look out the window, ignoring the bell. The growling monster began to crawl forward. The scenery that had been standing still began to retreat.
It was like that then, too. When she first left that place, she had watched the receding world with those same terrified eyes.
She had not known where this crude machine was taking her, only that she prayed for a place where no one knew her. A place where she could finally vanish.
Diego remained in the doorway, staring at her profile. Her face was as pale and cold as snow on a winter dawn.
“……I wish you a pleasant journey, Ms. Irene.”
After a long pause, Diego closed the door. Irene’s gaze remained pinned to the glass, as if she were frozen in place.
* * *
*Rummmble.*
The steam locomotive slowed, then groaned to a halt. The other carriages were already empty, signaling the final stop.
The journey from Therapia to Norte had been long. Throughout the trip, Irene had not left her room.
Though Diego had invited her to knock, she never did. Instead, he had been the one to knock on her door, unable to shake the image of her wan, fragile face from his mind.
Even he found his excuses pathetic, yet he had opened her door time and again.
—Would you care to have tea? I happened to bring some decent leaves.
—Good morning. Was your sleep uncomfortable?
—I’m tired of eating alone; would you care to have dinner together?
Each time, Irene had responded with a shake or a nod. Fortunately, as they neared Norte, the nods had become more frequent.
Norte.
It was an unknown land to Irene. No one there would know her name. No Baron, no Baroness, no Lucas, no Leticia.
The servants bustled about, unloading luggage. Diego rose, showing no urgency; it was in his nature to make others wait.
Irene stood by her door. Diego stepped off the train first, extending a hand toward her with a smile as carefully practiced as a drawing.
“…….”
She stared at his hand but did not take it.
Did he think she couldn’t descend a few stairs on her own? She had boarded without help, hadn’t she?
Diego did not erase his smile or withdraw his hand, as if he understood her thoughts perfectly.
Javier, the station attendant, and a few servants watched them from a distance. Only then did Irene voice her refusal.
“I am fine on my own.”
“I am not.”
“…….”
Come to think of it, even when he sent the carriage, Diego had insisted *he* was the one who was not okay. If she was fine, why was it a problem for him?
However, during her four years of college, Irene had learned a lesson: the higher the nobility, the more self-centered the person.
The pretentious sea anemone who was the third son of Count Rosano was a perfect example. He would flare with anger, grow sulky, and then behave as if nothing had happened, all because he had been coddled from birth.
If the Count’s son was like that, how much more self-centered must the Third Prince and a Grand Duke be?
Diego narrowed his eyes playfully and added:
“I would be grateful if you would consider my social standing and reputation.”
Ah.
It finally made sense. Diego wasn’t being self-centered; he was conscious of the eyes of others. Irene glanced past his shoulder.
The station attendant and servants were still watching.
She didn’t know much about such things, but it seemed a man of his status would be the subject of gossip if he didn’t offer a hand to a lady.
To Irene, gossip was as familiar as the air she breathed, but she realized, perhaps, it was not the same for him.